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angelguk · 5 years ago

Text

→ pu$$y fairy — a jeongguk scenario

member: jeon jungkook

word count: 3.2k

genre: smut + college!au + jeongguk and oc are in a weird fwbs without the friendship part just the benefits except jaykay lowkey has feelings + virginity au

warnings: virgin!oc / blowjob / we talk about dicks for a bit / oc is strange / jaykay is confused / cum swallowing / first times / not really edited / mingyu the meddling best fwend

soundtrack: on the way, jhene aiko + hold on (slowed and reverb), the internet

Jeongguk doesn’t hate Mingyu. He truly doesn’t. He is one of his closest friends after all; he’d held him up after Jeongguk had dumped half a keg down his throat and his legs had promptly collapsed. He’d also been a successful wingman for when Jeongguk was aiming to add Seolhyun to the list of girls he’d bagged, sent pictures of his organic chemistry notes when Jeongguk had missed more than half of the classes in high school and didn’t laugh at him when he was heart-broken over Sua and borderline depressed. He was a true friend; someone Jeongguk could rely on. It was a simple brother-like relationship that Jeongguk deeply treasured. So no, he could never hate Mingyu – but he could absolutely long to punch that insufferable asshole in the face.

He should have known this was going to go downhill exceptionally fast the moment you stumbled into his room, wide-eyed and nervous in your unsure steps. When his pants had hit the ground, the shock in your eyes was a dead giveaway to how messy this whole arrangement was going to be. The second clear sign was when you jumped out his window because the sight of his bare dick terrified you.

And this was all the result of Mingyu being a meddling shit who didn’t know when to mind his business.

He remembers it with a clarity that makes his shoulders tense, how Mingyu had snuck you into the conversation while twisting a soju bottle in his hands.

“Yo… JK…. You mind if I ask you a question?” He’d said. Jeongguk shrugged, focused on flipping the meat on the grill because he was starving and the prospect of cooked meat was a lot more appealing than feigning interest in a conversation. “Alright…," Mingyu took his silence as a cue to speak. “Have you ever fucked a virgin?”

He should have known then. He really should have known.

“I don’t know. I don’t ask any questions when I’m hard,” Jeongguk had replied, unknowing of the dangerous path this conversation was guiding him down.

“Yeah and most of the time you don’t fuck on an actual bed. I’m not even surprised you don’t ask questions.”

“Hey!” Jeongguk had swung the tongs around. “I ask important ones, like consent and making sure we’ve got a condom around. But virginity? Not my concern.”

“Seems a bit…. Whorish to me.”

“Not whorish. I just have my priorities elsewhere… Like cumming for example.”

Mingyu had sighed as he poured him a shot, the air leaving his lips heavy. “I shouldn’t even be asking you to be honest. You’re a decent guy but your kind of a dickhead when it comes to sex.”

“How does not pondering on virginity make me dickhead? Again, as I said, priorities are elsewhere.”

“Dude you’ve never even tried to have meaningful sex at least once in your life. When was the last time you were actually emotionally invested in the person you were sleeping with? Hmm?”

The answer was Sua and he knew that but Mingyu was decent enough to keep her name out of his mouth, the judging look in his eyes saying enough.

“You know… I don’t do well with the whole emotional thing. I prefer it physical. It’s less messy. But what does this even have to do with virginity?” Jeongguk hated to admit it but he was somewhat interested in where this conversation was going. If only he knew it was leading to a massive train wreck of the one thing, he steered clear from – emotions.

Mingyu had just sighed again, tipping the soju bottle into his shot glass once more. “There’s a girl who I’d like you to meet.”

He’d scoffed, mouth stuffed with a perilla leaf wrap. “You know I don’t do blind dates.”

“It’s not a blind date,” Mingyu had retorted, the glance he threw at his friend’s direction precarious. “She wants you to take her virginity.”

Jeongguk had choked. Of course, he had. Even if sex didn’t mean much to him, taking someone’s first time like that felt very transactional. And Jeongguk wasn’t that big of a dickhead. But then Mingyu had opened his mouth, spewing various details about your life to him that he would rather have not heard over a KBBQ lunch. You were a friend from one of his business lectures, rather eccentric but sweet and funny. You were also a virgin and terrified of approaching men on your own, one of the reasons Mingyu had sprung up this arrangement. Jeongguk wasn’t one to fall into things like this but it was too late. Mingyu was a marketing major for a reason, he knew how to spin words in his favour, convince people into agreeing to things that they normally would not. And that’s how Jeongguk found himself staring at your retreating figure after you’d thrown your body right out his window, landing hard on the lawn of the house he rented with Namjoon and Seokjin. The crazy thing was that you’d gotten up immediately, not showing any sign of a broken bone or injuries, before promptly sprinting down the road to the bus stop. He should have known then. He really should have known. And yet, here he is, pants discarded on the floor of his room and his dick aching from being unrelieved for longer than it’s ever been, while you crouch over him, squinting at his penis like it’s a foreign object that could kill you.

“Could you please stop staring at my penis like that.” He says it out of frustration, but also the way you’re examining his length makes him feel self-conscious in a way he hasn’t felt like in a long time.

“Sorry,” you murmur, not breaking eye contact with his dick. “I’m just… fascinated. It’s rather….” The sentence tapers out and you swallow hard as if it pains you to admit it, “...Ugly.”

Jeongguk decides then and there he hates you.

“I mean... It’s not that it’s ugly!” you swiftly attempt to amend, catching the glare he directs at you. “It’s also big!”

“I know. And you just said it was ugly,” Jeongguk retorts, weighing the options in his head. Either get a poor blowjob from a girl he’s terrified of (but also bizarrely attracted too) or kick you out of his room and finish himself off. The situation sucks either way but it’s better than the last time when you’d leapt out of the window like a gazelle.

“I misspoke,” you say, gently falling onto your knees. You flash him a shy smile, a soft delicate little thing that makes your eyes glitter and Jeongguk instantly picks the first option. “It’s just different to what I expected it to look like.”

He scoffs, swallowing hard on the sudden lump in his throat. “There’s no way you haven’t seen a dick before. You don’t watch porn?”

The grimace you make is enough of an answer. “I have… Not all the time though, it’s too much for me sometimes. Also, it’s weird seeing it in real life and not, like, through a screen.”

“Noted. But still, it’s not that ugly,” Jeongguk murmurs, trying not to compare his penis to the visuals he has in his head. His pride is wounded from that comment he won’t deny it.

“It kinda is,” you reply. Jeongguk flicks your forehead in retaliation. “Ow! Why’d you do that.” There’s that stupid pout in your lips as you glower at him. He despises how his dick twitches at the sudden thought of your pretty mouth wrapped around his length. Despises it even more when you gasp at the slight motion trembling through him. “It moves?!”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk sighs, wondering how on Earth you’re over the age of twenty and still like this. “It does. Also, don’t insult my dick. It’s rude.”

“Sorry again,” you pause as if you’re considering whether what you might utter next is offensive. You open your mouth anyway, unable to comprehend the fact that your words are slowly chipping away at his ego. “It’s kinda scary that it moves.”

“Oh my god, you are the literal worst.” Jeongguk thinks his boner might evaporate. It’s a miracle it’s lasted this long. You’d sauntered into his room around half an hour again and he’d been hard from the get-go. Truly amazing his balls hadn’t shrivelled up yet. “You know you’re about to blow me off right?”

“I know… I’m stupid,” you counter, eyebrows furrowing together like you’re attempting to figure out exactly how Jeongguk’s dick works. It’d be very simple if you just asked him. It’s essentially an up and down motion, some swirls, a lot of wetness. Nothing too difficult. But when you glance up at him, the innocent glaze over your eyes almost hopeless, he can tell it feels the same as defusing a bomb. “I just… Don’t know what to do. Show me?”

And there it is - the foolish little thing that landed Jeongguk here half-naked on the edge of his bed in the first place. Even though you were mildly repulsed by the male autonomy you were still so eager to learn. Something Jeongguk didn’t know he would be into until you posed that question and his balls tightened in a way they have never done before.

“Okay,” he mumbles, hoping you don’t suspect the twitch that runs through his length when you say that. Not like you would, to be fair.

But then you sweep your hair back, lean in fast, no preparation or anything before your breath is brushing against his crotch and Jeongguk nearly screams.

“Woah, woah, woah! I thought you just asked me to show you? What are you doing?” Maybe he scuttles further down the bed, terrified of the rush of heat you send straight to his gut.

Your eyes flicker upward, bright and ingenuous. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“You’re not -,” Jeongguk sighs breath weighing through the air. “You’re not doing it wrong. I just think... We should go slow right? It’s your first time? Maybe don’t rush into it?”

“I watched a YouTube video and they said to do it like that,” you reply. Jeongguk can’t help but blink at you, brain reeling from attempting to understand your being.

“You watched a - never mind. You’re giving me a headache. And I thought you knew nothing. Porn would have been a better research alternative but to each their own.”

“I did it for preparation! I didn't know it’d be this nerve-wracking in real life. And, I told you, real dicks are gross. She used a dildo.”

“How is a dildo any different to a real dick?” Jeongguk fingers dig into the mattress a little harder when you lean it once more, gingerly resting your head against his knee.

“It’s just different. Less grotesque. And they come in various colours.”

He might just actually scream. “It’s literally made to replicate a penis.”

You sigh, your breath skipping against his skin. The room is suddenly tight, closing in on him and you’re not even really touching him. And then you catch your lip between your teeth, pressing down with a quick thoughtful bite. “I think you’re deflecting right now.”

“I’m not,” he splutters. “Why would I even be deflecting right now?”

“I mean, we’re having a conversation about dildos when your dick is hard and I’m meant to be blowing you. Sounds like deflection doesn’t it?” He hates the way your eyes glitter, bright and captivating as your gaze locks into his.

“Like I said,” Jeongguk retorts, “We should take it slow.”

“Okay then. I’m done talking about dildos unless you have anything else to add?”

“I don’t,” he murmurs, “Okay then, onto giving a blowjob.”

“Onto giving a blowjob,” you reiterate. And then, like a psychopath, you smile. “Where should I start?”

He hates that body is on edge right now, hands trembling even though he hides them by squeezing his bed-sheets tight. “Try giving it a lick first? You can put your hand around the base too - if you want to.”

“Here?” His knees nearly buckle when you wrap your warm palm around his length, grip firm around the base of his cock. But that’s nothing to the gentle lap of your tongue against the side of his cock, a quick little thing and nearly launches him off the bed.

“Oh - uh - yeah, there.” His voice sounds far off and without warning your mouth is against him once more, tongue a sinful little thing that slips along his length, wet and warm and so sneaky he’s unsure of what to respond with apart from an instinctual buck of his hips. It’s easy like this, your tongue pressed against his cock and your hands slowly dragging upwards, placing a perfect pressure along his length that leaves him sighing into the air of his bedroom. Your movements grow more direct, reading the increasing desperation in Jeongguk’s body as he moves closer and closer to you, waiting until you feel sure enough. And then, finally, your mouth sinks onto him.

He nearly whimpers. Nearly. There’s a heat pooling in his gut and ebbs through every muscle and nerve, the coil of his desire springing tighter with each inch that slips down your throat. You take him so well, Jeongguk can’t help but watch in awe, the wideness in your eyes making him harder than he’s ever been in his life. Even with your inexperience, the way you swallow his cock is obscene. It’s an imagery Jeongguk engraves in his memory, purposefully stored because he knows he’ll think about it whenever his desires override his logical thoughts again. You lap him up like you want this, a soft moan echoing from your throat and along his length as you move deeper, mouth plaint to his dick. He forces himself to sit still, give you the time to adjust, lick and taste to your leisure, forcing the impending wave of heat back down into his gut. He holds it there even when you move away, the sound of your wet mouth popping off his dick permeating the air.

And of course, you lick your lips afterwards, a swift swipe of your pink tongue against them, your eyes trained on his.

“Like that?” you ask.

Jeongguk’s going to die. He is. And you’ll be the reason why listed on his death certificate.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, chest tight with want. “Like that.”

You lean back in without question, mouth taking his length like you were made for it and your hand works against the parts of him you can’t reach just yet. His mind wanders as his eyes take in this sight of you, on your knees and mouth open wide just for him. Someday he’d like to see if you could truly take his length, all of it. Down your throat. Hard and fast like his hips wanted to go. But this is more than perfect. How you concentrate on blowing him like you want to see him spill himself down your throat. It’s almost adorable, the earnestness in your gaze every time your eyes flicker upwards as your mouth moves along his cock. He likes this more than he’s willing to admit, the slowness in your pace, how your tongue is shy sometimes when it laves against his tip. It’s a change from what he usually gets - and a welcome one too. A tiny part of him feels like it would be fitting to hold your hand. You’re so pretty too, especially when your lips are on him. He’d like to take care of you, see what your face looked like when his tongue was deep inside of you, know what your taste like as you moan out his name. He doesn’t even register the words as they leave his mouth, head lost in the images colouring his thoughts.

“Taking me so well, baby,” he can’t help the grunt, the pet name natural to him, “So pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

And you hum like you like it - like you like pleasing him, sinking further down until his tip bumps against the back of your throat. The zip down his spine nearly sends him spiralling.

“Baby,” he feels it then, when your eyes shift to meet his, the snap in his gut. “F-fuck, I’m gonna cum. You need to stop right now if you don’t want to down your throat.”

But you don’t, moving faster like the twitch of his dick in your mouth spurs him on, your lips firm as they wrap around him. He doesn’t hold in his moves this time, hips gently moving up to meet your mouth, the tremor running through his bulky thighs nothing but a warning before it hits him hard. A wave of heat, melting through his muscles as his eyes flutter shut, your tongue lapping him right up, no protest as he unravels down your throat. It’s over in an instant but Jeongguk feels like mush, head floating and his bones soft with how hard his back hits the mattress. You pull off his length a second later, letting him feel you swallow all of him first.

“Holy shit.” His mouth is still disconnected from his brain.

There’s a beat of silence, so awkward that Jeongguk shuffles himself back onto his elbows even though his bones feel like giving way. And then your laugh tinkles through the air, a soft gentle thing that makes his heart seize in his chest.

“That… wasn’t so bad,” you say, staring at him with an ease that spikes an urge to press his lips against yours in his heart.

“Oh,” he replies, like an idiot. “You liked it?”

“Well, it didn’t suck… pun intended. Your moans are really loud.”

Jeongguk blushes - he blushes - even after the stupid joke you made.

“Um, yeah. I do, I guess. Sorry, I kind of forgot to show you what to do. But you’re a bit of a natural, to be honest.” He abhors the diffidence in his voice.

“I guessed that,” you retort, the smile on your face hypnotic, “From your really loud moaning.”

“Can you - fuck how do you ruin any intimate moment when it happens?”

“Guess I’m a natural at that too,” you say it with a laugh, and Jeongguk can’t help the smile that tugs against his lips.

“Um,” he tries, fully aware of the front view seat you were getting of his soft dick. He sits up to try and shield it, feeling awfully exposed. “If you’d like… I could return the favour?”

“No, I’m good.” There’s zero hesitation in your voice and you’re up before Jeongguk can think of a decent excuse to keep you in his room. “Maybe another time? I’ll text you. Bye Jeongguk.”

It’s then he regrets not encouraging you to undress earlier, his assumption that this would be the worst blowjob of his life incredibly incorrect. Perhaps if your clothes were scattered around his bedroom he could have found a way to convince you into his sheets while you searched for them. But you’re fully dressed, already bounding out of his door like his dick wasn’t down your throat moments ago. He watches you go with forlornness, mouth dry with words he’s incapable of expressing at this very instance and his heart oddly warm at the sight of your skipping away with a carefreeness he admires. He still hates that you’re leaving, perhaps the only positive of this situation is that you’re using his bedroom door instead of his window.

“Bye,” Jeongguk mumbles into the vacant air. You don’t even catch it, shooting him a quick grin before you’re bounding down the stairs as if this doesn’t even matter to you. A stumble on a stepping stone to something greater. He plucks up his phone, pants still lost somewhere on the floor. Blocking Mingyu for twenty-four hours should be enough of a punishment, right?

mingyu the man [10:21pm]

bro..

you alive?

jaykay [10:26pm]

i focking hate u

u know that right?

mingyu the man [10:31pm]

you dont my g

how was it?

did she jump out the window this time?

jaykay [10:34pm]

worse

mingyu the man [10:37pm]

bro wtf wot she do??

jaykay [10:40pm]

she actually gave me head

mingyu the man [10:45pm]

????

how is that worse dude you’re just as weird as her

jaykay [10:46pm]

ITS WORSE CAUSE I LIKED IT

mingyu the man [10:51pm]

damn....

you like crazy coochie don’t you

jaykay [10:52pm]

WHAT R U EVEN

MAN FUCK

I HATE U

mingyu the man [10:53pm]

lmao u don’t i brought her into your life u lurve me

im best man for the wedding

not jaehyun

u got dat right

jaykay [10:56pm]

i hope you fall into a ditch and die

mingyu the man [10:58pm]

okay big man

you gon see her again tho?

jaykay [10:59pm]

....maybe

idk man im fucked up right now

like???

SHE JUMPED OUT THE WINDOW??

mingyu the man [11:01pm]

and u still invited her over to suck your dick again

crazy coochie got u bad bruh

jaykay [11:06pm]

FUCK U

mingyu the man [11:11pm]

mhmm if thats what u say

i have a class wid her to tomorrow

any messages u want to pass on?

hello?

[mingyu the man is blocked]

hello? jaykayyyyyy

JAYKAY

SEAGULL

damn he got it bad

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #smutcentralnet #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #hey kristy #shoutout 2 ella kristy and luna 4 beta reading mwah

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jimlingss · 5 years ago

Text

The Art of Benefits

➜ Words: 9.8k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Smut, FWB!AU

➜ Summary: There's only one aspect of your life that's missing: sex. But you know yourself. You catch feelings as quickly as you catch colds. But when your friend arranges a meeting with a certain Park Jimin, you'll become inclined to learn the craft of detachment, aka. the art of benefits.

➜ Warning: sex, sexual discussions, toys, sucking dick, period sex, etc.

cr.

[2nd Year Fall Semester] Life as a sophomore wasn’t shabby. Assignments, papers and midterms came and went with decent grades that you eventually forgot about. Lectures, club meetings, and studying took most of your time too. But Christmas was arriving and that meant it was sweater weather. It also meant that snow was dusting from the sky and you were watching couples cozying up and keeping each other warm from across the dining center. It was unfair really. You were cold too. In fact, most of the time you happen to be cold. And while relationships were too much of a time commitment for you to take on, you deserved a cuddle buddy just as much as the next person. Or a fuck buddy. Either works really. You’ve never been opposed to a friends with benefits relationship. The only problem is, it would never work for you. But if you somehow learnt to detach your emotions, it could be the most efficient thing yet. After all, good sex with another warm body was the only aspect in your life that you were missing. “I mean it’s possible. A lot of people start friends with benefits relationships on campus,” Wendy says as she stuffs her face with her sub sandwich and muses mid-chew, “There’s actually a lot of candidates to choose from.” You’re exasperated at her nonchalance. As if it’s as easy as going to the supermarket and picking someone up. “Who?!” You need someone who would be on the same page as you, with the same priorities, a good sex partner who wouldn’t catch feelings either. But frankly, you don’t know that many people. “Well, what about that guy from your class that you were crushing on? Didn’t you say he was super smart? Might help you on your assignments too.” “Namjoon?” You shake your head. “He’s got a girlfriend.” “Okay. What about that older guy in your board games club?” “No. Seokjin’s graduating next semester.” Wendy hums, eyes flickering around the dining hall center as she contemplates. “How about Yoongi? From what you’ve told me, he seems pretty cool.” You loll your head to one side and stab your sweet and sour chicken. “I’m not going to sleep with someone from work. That sounds like a disaster waiting.” “Jungkook?” “That’s weird. We went to the same elementary school together.” You can still remember his bowl cut hair as clear as day, and not to mention, the two of you share a group of friends. If things go downhill, it would be a complete mess. The epitome of inefficiency. Which is counterproductive to your goal. “Taehyung?” At this point, Wendy’s just listing out random people that you know, but you play along just for amusement. “Nah. Yena has a crush on him.” She takes another clean bite of her sandwich. “What about that guy that works at that McDonalds that you find cute. What’s his name? Hugo? Howard?” “Hoseok,” you correct with a feigned glare that makes her smile. “And that’s a big fat no. He doesn’t even know I exist. What am I supposed to do? Waltz up to him and ask to be fuck buddies?” She grins. “Well, I mean—” “It wouldn’t work,” you deadpan before she laughs and in turn, makes you giggle too. The chatter of the room settles in your ears as background noise. You gaze out the window to the sparkling snow piles that reflect the lampposts soft, white light. The sun has long fallen even though it’s only six p.m. The low lights peeking through the somber clouds covering the horizon does little. You dread the thought of having to venture out into the cold and catch the bus home. You don’t notice how Wendy’s looking at you while she sips on her water. Not until she hums. “You know what? I know someone I could hook you up with.” Your brow cocks and the corner of your mouth twitches. “Is he a fuckboy?” Your long time friend shrugs with a glint in her eyes that makes you unsure if she’s serious or not. Wendy once joked that she had a boyfriend from Northern Canada and convinced you hard enough that you legitimately believed her for a good month. So you can never be quite certain when it comes to her. For all you know, she could just be making it up to entertain you. “Sort of, but he’s a nice one.” Wendy stays vague. “He was my lab partner.” You stare at her and when her expression remains blank, you scoff. “Sure, sure,” you draw out the syllables with a small laugh and bat the air with your hand just to end the conversation. And when it’s never discussed again, Wendy moving on to tell you a story about something she suddenly remembers, you’d one day come to realize that was a terrible, terrible mistake. // That one day is now. 3:50pm. Wendy: hey i set up a meeting what that guy 3:50pm. Wendy: third floor library 3:50pm. Wendy: he’s in a red hat btw The text comes right when you’re leaving your last lecture of the day. 3:51pm. Y/N: what guy 3:53pm. Wendy: your future fwb 3:53pm. Y/N: ?????????????????????????????????/ 3:53pm. Y/N: ???????????????? 3:54pm. Y/N: wtf i wasn’t SERIOUS 3:54pm. Wendy: wat 3:54pm. Y/N: I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING 3:56pm. Wendy: lmao too late 3:56pm. Wendy: at least meet him he’s waiting sis 3:54pm. Y/N: can’t you cancel????????? 3:57pm. Wendy: n a h You nearly burst an artery in your temple at the emojis and memes she spams to you. 3:59pm. Wendy: I already told him the gist btw 4:00pm. Wendy: don’t chicken out With no other choice, you make a u-turn and head towards the library with too many thoughts swirling inside your brain. Chances are this stranger is going to see you, think you’re ugly as shit and try to back out of it. It’s going to be awkward as all hell and you’re not sure you’re ready to have this traumatizing memory for the rest of your life. Then again, you wonder how Wendy even convinced this dude to meet up. If he’s really that easy going. If this is a typical thing people do now. Or maybe Wendy showed a picture of you on your insta and he agreed afterwards — it wouldn’t be the first time she did that, much to your embarrassment. But you hope it’s the latter case. At least that eliminates the possibility of him trying to backpedal his way out of it after seeing your face. You also wonder how the hell you’re going to find him. The library is full of students, the rowdy ones and the studious ones being disturbed by them. You wonder what he looks like, what he’ll be like. Third floor. Male. Red hat. You arrive at the appropriate floor and begin scanning the premise, walking around as your eyes sweep the area. Almost immediately you catch a brunette hunched over and on his phone by the table. He’s wearing a red cap on backwards, purple tee shirt. He has a frat boy aesthetic. Not really the type you go for. Looking over him, you round the computers, bookshelves and tables. But finding no one else with a red hat on the third floor, you sharply inhale and approach the boy with his fluffy cheek rested in his hand, arm propped up on the table lazily. Scrolling through his phone. “Excuse me.” Your voice is light and hesitant as if you were asking help from someone at the front desk and not seeing if this was a potential fuck buddy. It’s mortifying to say the least. His head lifts, brown eyes catching the lights. You clear your throat. “Wendy…” “Oh. You’re her, right?” He smiles and thankfully, doesn’t seem to be disappointed. “Wendy’s friend?” “Yeah. I’m Y/N.” “Jimin.” Now that you get a closer look, he’s kind of cute. But you don’t dwell. Or look him in the eye. It feels like a job interview. But worse. “You were Wendy’s lab partner?” “That’s me.” He pockets his phone. “I’m a kines major. You?” “I’m in the arts faculty. Political science.” “Cool, cool.” Jimin nods and then gets to business without any shame, “So Wendy already told me about it. You’re looking to have a friends with benefits relationship?” “Yeah….about that….” “I’m down if you are.” His hand opens up, gesturing to you. You’re not sure how you feel about how laid-back he is, but he remains upfront which you suppose is the right thing to do. “I have a dorm room in the Sierra building by the engineering faculty building if you know where that is.” “I’ve walked past it before.” “Cool. Anyway, my last f.w.b. ended two months ago and I kind of miss it,” he quickly clarifies, “The sex, I mean.” You’re speechless and contemplating if you really want to do this. You know if it works out, it’ll be fairly efficient. You’ve always gotten off by yourself and while it works, it’s not something you’d call completely satisfying. Having someone’s help— good help — is a change you’ve been considering. But a friends with benefits situation has always been one of those ‘what if’ scenarios. You've just never had an opportunity like this to make it actually happen. Jimin senses your hesitance and leans forward. He lowers his volume. “Are you a virgin? Cause I’m cool with—” You scoff. “No. I’m not. I just...haven’t done something like this before.” “Friends with benefits?” His question is answered by your body language. “It’s not bad. Safer than one night stands and more consistent too. You don’t have to go out and find someone every time you want to have sex. And it’s a low level commitment.” The corner of your mouth pulls and you agree. “It’s efficient. But...I need time to think about it.” “Sure. Tell me when you make up your mind. I’ll give you my number.” He opens his hand again and you pass him your phone. He quickly types it in. “Take your time.” // And you do. You weigh the pros and cons against each other, considering every possibility and all the consequences. Part of you wants to just go for it. The same part that once decided in high school at midnight that bangs would be a hot look on you. (It wasn’t). The part of you that dyed your hair blue that one summer on a whim. The part that doesn’t want to think and wants to jump head first into things. Jimin made a lot of good pointers too and you’re certain this would be a good outlet. An experience. It helps that he’s quite attractive too and seems to be trustworthy and rational. Yet, part of you wonders if it would be a bad decision. There’s a chance that you might catch feelings. For you, it wouldn’t be unheard of either. You have a tendency to catch feelings as fast as you catch colds. And you already know that’s the demise of these kinds of relationships. Once a party gets involved too deep, it’s game over. There’s nothing but heartbreak. The only way it would work is if you minimize your interactions with him. The less attached you are, the less likely you are to develop feelings for him since the only way you would like anyone is if you knew them. So the less you know, the better the outcome. It’s an equation. It’s the art of the benefits. And if that works, if you master the art, it would solve every potential issue. The dorms for sophomores are bigger than the ones for first year freshmen. Instead of a single room with two beds on either side by the walls, there are private bedrooms with just a shared bathroom, a main living space and kitchen. “Bathrooms are over here,” Jimin gestures. There’s one room at the end of the hall and another one beside his. “Both my roommates are out, so you don’t have to worry. They’re pretty nice.” You feel awkward lingering at the entryway with your backpack on. You clear your throat. “Can I get a drink?” “Oh yeah. There’s new water bottles by the sink, I think, and there’s orange juice in the fridge if you’d like.” “No, I mean, do you have anything alcoholic?” you correct and he blinks at you owlishly before smiling. You drop your bag and find it in the fridge, a whole vodka bottle. You fill a shot up with a glass on the drying rack. The clear liquid burns as it travels to the back of your throat. The bitter taste nearly makes you gag, but you feel your face warm and you ease even more, knowing it works. In the meanwhile, Jimin studies you, standing from across the kitchen island. His hands are casually dug into the pockets of his gray sweats. “We won’t have to follow through with this, you know. I’m fine either way.” “No,” you quickly refute, irrationally afraid he’s changed his mind. And the words spill out of you as you cringe, “I’m horny as shit, I’mjustnervous.” The guy smiles, eyes slightly crinkled when he does so. “Of what?” “A lot of things.” You don’t pour a second shot even though you kind of want to. But you have things to do tomorrow, so you can’t nurse a hangover and you most certainly don’t want to be drunk while doing this. “If you didn’t notice, I don’t do this often.” While you’re at it, you tell him, “I don’t know how to suck dick.” He leans against the counter, grinning. “Okay. I don’t mind.” “Also, if you haven’t noticed either, my ass is kind of deflated.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m more of a boob man anyway.” You narrow your eyes, not sure if he’s lying or trying to make you feel better. But there’s no time to dwell when he seriously asks— “Do you still want to do this?” It takes a second for you to muster your courage. And once you do, you know you won’t back down. “All right. Let’s do this!” You walk into his room like you’re about to go fight off a monster. Behind you, Jimin grins and it takes a good moment for him to calm you down. “Are you okay with kissing?” he asks, door shut and distance closed. He’s intimately close and you nod. Finally, your brain stops overthinking and you let yourself feel. Jimin’s lips are full and plush, and they’re good against yours. The soft smacking fills his room. The two of you kiss until your lips part and he begins to lick into your mouth, tongue entering without much hesitation. You fall back onto the mattress, noticing that the bed’s been made sloppily, but better than your own. The pair of you keep kissing and he hovers over you, capturing you against the sheets. Pathetically enough, you already begin to feel your center throbbing and it’s a relief when you both get rid of your clothes. He doesn’t talk much — doesn’t give much commentary or even dirty talk. But you don’t mind. All you’re offering after all is soft sighs and quiet moans. Jimin squeezes your breasts and fingers you for a good minute. He’s surprised to see how wet you are, even letting out an ‘oh shit’, but you make no efforts to come up with an excuse. The stretch feels good from his thick fingers, but you bet it’ll feel good around his girthy cock too. He goes to grab a condom from his drawer, but pauses. “Do...you want me to eat you out?” “I’m good,” you politely decline, afraid it might be too intimate. You’re not sure where the lines are drawn, but it’s something you’ll have to gauge while you go. “Do you want me to suck your dick? You might have to teach me though.” The corner of his mouth tugs. “I’m good too.” As Jimin rips open the condom package, you turn yourself around and get onto all fours. He doesn’t protest and when he enters you, it feels good enough for you to fall forward into the pillows. His cock is of average size, but he’s girthy and your cunt stretches to accommodate him. He groans in his throat when you clench — and the sound gets you off, making you squeeze again. Jimin pounds into you, his pelvis hitting the meat of your ass, cock drawing in and out against your tight, warm walls. You do your best to meet his thrusts halfway, jerking your hips back and you stifle your moans with your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. The sloppy sounds of slapping and the creaking of his bed makes you glad his roommates are gone. And while the sex is not mind-blowing per se, it’s still good. Enough that you climax once he rubs your clit several times and he unloads into the condom too. It’s easier than you thought it would be. Not a big deal whatsoever. It took ten minutes in total and it felt good. It’s just sex — and that’s exactly it. Just sex. The very lesson of the art of benefits. You pick up your clothes off the floor, slipping them back on. “I gotta get going.” There’s no snuggling, no cuddling, no pillow talks. And it doesn’t seem like he minds whatsoever. “‘Kay.” Jimin picks up his phone off his bedside table to check his texts and waves goodbye without even looking at you. You leave, walking yourself out and humming as you stride down the hall. You’re glad you went through with it.

[2nd Year Winter Semester] You run there with your sandwich stuffed in your cheek. By the time Jimin opens the door, you’re still chewing while panting. It’s a comical sight by the way he smiles at you. You’re already winded before anything’s started. “I hadn’t eaten yet and I needed to get my blood sugar up.” Jimin’s lips are quirked. “We can always eat beforehand, you know. There’s food in the fridge.” “Nah, I’m good.” Having meals with your friends with benefits is the last thing on your mind. He shrugs. “Suit yourself.” You use his bathroom, releasing your bladder and rinsing your mouth thoroughly. You know yourself and you’re not a novice on how these relationships work. The less interaction and knowledge you have about him, the more you can keep your distance. “G-God,” he exhales shakingly, hand fisted in your hair. “You’re getting b-better at this….” Jimin watches through heavy lids as you’re slobbering over his cock. He tries his best to watch, but when you run your tongue over the weeping slit at the bulborous head, his eyes shut and his head naturally knocks back. You’ve gotten better at a lot of things in the few months that have passed, namely sucking dick, but your jaw aches and you wonder when he’s going to cum. It’s worth it though. You might be the one kneeling in front of him, but you feel powerful. It’s too easy to make him crumble. To make him moan like that. It makes you wet to hear him and knowing you could bite off his dick or make him lose a load, the sheer power eggs you on. Like you were taught, you inhale, ease your muscles and take Jimin as far as you can. He chokes as his cock hits the back of your throat. Your gag reflexes threaten your endeavour but you keep them at bay and Jimin’s hand in your hair tightens. Especially when you swallow. “Fuck. I-I’m going to cum.” Thank god. Finally! Usually, you let off so he can cum elsewhere (god forbid in your hair) or if he accidentally does it in your mouth, you spit it out on tissue. But this time, you made a commitment to yourself. You came here with a goal. So you inhale again and deep throat him, sucking as much as you can. With his curly pubic hair grazing your nose, Jimin cums. His groans staccato. His cock twitches. And you swallow the bitter, white fluid that comes out in ribbons. After a few seconds, you finally withdraw. Jimin opens his eyes, staring at you in wonderment. There are strands of saliva from between his softened cock to your lips and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Not gonna lie.” You clear your throat and swallow down the remaining taste. “That’s really nasty.” Jimin bursts out laughing. “Thanks.” “It’s the least I can do.” You stand up, shaking your left leg awake. It feels like pins and needles when you step around. “I’ve sat on your face like twice already.” You toss Jimin his pants off the ground and you get your cardigan back on. “You wanna come over on Friday?” “Uh…” You grab your phone from your jacket that’s also been discarded and check your calendar. “Sorry. Can’t. I’m busy on that day.” His brows raise, but he doesn’t question it. “How about Saturday?” you offer. “No. I have a kines exam scheduled.” Your face twists in disgust. “On a Saturday?” “Yep. I know. It sucks.” You sympathize, but you’re also surprised. “I didn’t know you were a kines major.” “What? I thought I told you.” “Guess I forgot.” You put yourself back together and a thought strikes you. Your eyes light up and you turn to your friend with glittering eyes. “Does that mean you can crack bones? I’ve always wanted to go to a chiropractor since my lower back always hurts. You should crack it for me.” Jimin grins. “Sorry, I don’t know how to do that. They don’t really teach you that kind of stuff.” “Oh.” Your eyes dim and you don’t try to hide your disappointment. You almost thought you could get a little more out of him, but you suppose decent sex is enough. As you grab your bag, you notice that his phone lights up. “You got a text from Victoria.” “Thanks.” He reaches over, but the curious expression on your face must be visible, since he says, “Don’t worry. She’s not my girlfriend or anything. She’s just someone I’m kind of into.” “Nice!” The corner of Jimin’s mouth quirks at your genuinely excited response even though he never looks away from the screen. You’re psyched though. If he has an interest in someone else, there’s less chance for anyone to catch feelings. Fewer connections. More distance. “If you ever want to end this, just let me know.” You throw your backpack on that’s heavy with your laptop and textbooks inside. “Yeah.” “I’m going now.” “Bye.” Jimin’s fingers fly across the screen to text the other girl back and neither of you spare each other a glance. The door shuts moments later and the noise echoes through the walls.

[3rd Year Fall Semester] In spite of being a junior now, things have relatively remained the same. According to course outlines, lectures are more in-depth in their content, but there’s still assignments, papers, and midterms. The grading schemes haven’t changed and you know there’s a shit ton of work waiting for you in the coming months. But you find pleasure wherever you can. The door opens, but it’s not Jimin on the other side. “Hey, Y/N.” Taemin, his roommate, is eating chips. “He’s in his room.” “Thanks.” You shuffle inside and after briefly greeting Jongin, the other roommate, who’s busy playing Animal Crossing on the living room couch, you beeline to his room. You find Jimin hunched over his messy desk, rounded spectacles on the bridge of his nose as he’s tapping furiously across his laptop keyboard. He glances at you. “Sorry. I need a second.” “Take your time.” You set down your bag and shed your coat, tossing it aside. You’re not sure what he’s doing, but you don’t ask. Instead, you pull out your phone and run through your usual apps. With no messages to answer or anything to scroll through, you check your email and find the words ‘emergency’ in one of the subject lines. After a minute, Jimin saves his document and closes the lid of his laptop. He stretches above his head with a groan and turns around, only to find you now hunched over your own device. “Sorry,” you mutter once you feel his gaze on you. “My manager needs me to fill out my timesheet and send it to her.” “I didn’t know you worked.” “Just part-time at the admissions office here on campus.” You go quiet as you skim over your email again to ensure it makes sense. “It’s a pretty easy gig.” He hums and you finish, shutting your laptop and sticking it back into your bag. That’s when you finally get a good look at the boy across the room — dark hair, blue shirt and gray sweats — and you notice how tan he’s gotten. It’s a good look. Your mouth tugs. “Did you travel over the summer?” “I went to the Caribbean with my family for like two weeks.” “Fancy.” “It was alright.” He gets up and re-stacks the textbooks on his desk into a single pile. Jimin notices the stack of flyers he was supposed to distribute. “Oh yeah. Do you want to join the crayon club?” Your brow lifts. “The crayon club?” “Yeah, you can come colour every Wednesday night and just hang out with people.” Jimin grins boyishly. “My friend wanted to make a club and he made me the communications executive. I’m supposed to get people to join. You don’t have to, but the first meet and greet is this Friday, and the more people the better. There’s gonna be free food by the way, if that helps.” You’re not sure that's a good idea. The two of you have never really met up outside of his dormitory, aside from the first time you met at the library. “Let me check my calendar.” You grab your phone again and thoughtlessly mumble, “Sometimes I’m busy on Friday. I’m part of the board games club and we meet up every other week…..don’t judge.” “I’m not.” Still, Jimin's smile widens and you feign a pout. You’re free this week. “I’ll come if you make me an executive too,” you quip carelessly while tossing your phone aside. “It’ll look good on my law application.” Jimin quirks his head. He didn’t know you were aiming for law school. “Okay.” “Wait.” You’re taken off guard, eyes as wide as saucers. “Seriously?!” He with a small laugh. Jimin gets up and closes the distance, making you lean against the headboard until he’s completely hovering over you, mere inches away. “We actually need a position filled anyway, so you just saved me some trouble.” “You better keep your promise, Park.” You end up showing with Wendy and Tiffany in tow — the former who wants to raid whatever food there is and the latter genuinely interested in colouring as a means of relaxation. It’s a bit awkward to meet so many new people at once and Jimin’s friends at that, but you can tell they’re nice at heart. Albeit, a bit rambunctious and too friendly. And you’re a bit horrified when one of them tries to eat a crayon to further advertise the club. “So, what’s up with you and Jimin?” Tiffany asks, peering up at you as she colours in the lines carefully. She’s unaware of your arrangement with the boy. It’s not something you’ve told many. You feign ignorance, not wanting to get into the details with strangers around. “What do you mean?” “Are you dating him?” You scoff. “I wish.” Immediately, Wendy’s brows raise to her hairline and the words that fumbled out of you thoughtlessly finally sink in. “I mean, no, we’re not. Not I wish.” Luckily, Tiffany spares you and doesn’t pry. But you’re mortified and you glance at Jimin from across the room laughing noisily with his friend. You turn away from him, trying to create more distance.

[3rd Year Winter Semester] With exam season here, you and Jimin hadn’t seen each other in a while. Luckily, Spring break was approaching, so you at least had something to look forward to. The idea of being able to lay in bed and sleep in automatically puts you in a good mood. Jimin, however, seems less than stoked. You watch from the bed as he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up before you’ve gotten a chance to. He was frowning when he opened the door, greeted you with one word and in general, has been quieter than usual. “Is….everything alright?” You wonder if you did something to piss him off, but then he says— “I flunked my final.” Oh. That explains his bad mood. “The one you took this morning?” you ask. “Yeah.” Jimin deflates with an extended sigh. “I didn’t get the first twenty questions and then I fucking ran out of time….” There’s a pause that lingers. “Well, you’re not sure if you actually failed, right?” You lean closer to him, quirking your head to the side. “The marks haven’t been released and who knows, the prof might curve it.” “Maybe. I don’t know.” Jimin scrubs a hand over his face, uncertain and stressed. “This ruins everything. I’m trying to get an internship at a clinical rehabilitation facility and I want to apply for a masters and now...fuck.” You’re surprised. You didn’t know he had so many goals. “I’m screwed.” Jimin flops back onto his mattress, staring at the ceiling. You loom over him, blocking his view. “Does the internship look at your GPA?” “They want a three point o average or more.” “What do you have now?” “Three point five.” The corner of your mouth pulls and a rush of air leaves your nose in a snort. “Then you’ll make it! Even if you failed one exam, it wouldn’t tank past a three. It can’t be too bad, right?” “Yeah, I guess.” Jimin sighs and absentmindedly tugs on your strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face and is grazing against his cheek. “I just don’t know anymore.” “It’s going to be fine,” you reassure, slapping your hand on his shoulder. “You’re just overthinking it.” “Maybe,” he hums. A sudden thought comes across your mind and your small smile turns devious. “Let me make you feel better.” You shift to straddle his hips and instantly, his hands lift to your waist. Jimin starts to grin as you pull at his shirt, trying to get him to strip. And you do your best to pleasure him. It doesn’t take much effort considering Jimin’s hand is already tightening in your hair the minute you run your tongue along his shaft. But he doesn’t let you suck him for too long, eager to feel you inside instead and pleasure you just the same. It’s eager and messy sex. You’re on top until your thighs begin to burn and you lose your pace. Then he re-repositions the both of you, so you’re flat on your back and he’s doing most of the work. You end up cumming twice. Once around his covered cock and the other time after he coaxes you around his stiff tongue and eggs you on, even when you’re sobbing from the overstimulation. It feels good. Better than good. Over time, the pair of you have gotten to know each other’s bodies better, what works and what doesn’t. Your relationship with Jimin is an investment that feels worth it. “Hey…” You’re both facing away from each other as you put your clothes back on. Jimin turns his head and you cast him a glance. “I was thinking of maybe starting birth control…” He blinks. “If you go get yourself checked out and make sure you’re clean, we can do it without condoms.” You pull down your sweater over your head and you both stare at each other. He looks surprised and responds in a delayed manner, “Okay. Cool. I’m down. I’ll get myself checked out this weekend. I haven’t really slept with anyone else since this started though.” It’s your turn to be caught off guard. “Really? What...about that girl you were into? Vicky?” “You mean Victoria?” He jumps as he puts on his sweatpants, getting both legs through at once. “Nah. It didn’t end up working out.” “Oh.” He’s entirely nonchalant about it, so you merely nod. Jimin walks you to the door and you notice that he’s in a better mood than earlier. You hide your smile to yourself, glad that it was mutually beneficial. Two weeks later, he gets an email before the two of you get down and dirty, and you’re the first one in his life to know that he got the summer internship. His excitement is infectious and you genuinely feel happy for him.

[4th Year Fall Semester] It’s so close, you can taste it. A whole new semester and cart of overpriced textbooks later meant you were a senior now. It also meant that there was just this year left and you were out of here. Finished at least one degree. A step closer to making the big bucks and being a whole ass adult. The idea is both exhilarating and frightening. 2:20pm. Jimin: Wanna come over? The text mocks you, but the temptation is tangible. Like a carrot tied at the end of a stick that’s attached to a hungry rabbit. You’ve been sexually frustrated since last night, feeling it in your loins since morning, and fidgeting and rubbing your thighs underneath tables and desks. The thought of getting that sweet relief properly is enough for you to want to ditch class altogether, but you can’t. Not for the next few days. 2:22pm. Y/N: can’t. 2:22pm. Y/N: I’m on my period :(( 2:23pm. Jimin: I don’t mind 2:23pm. Y/N: really???? 2:24pm. Y/N: are you sure 2:25pm. Jimin: lmao 2:25pm. Jimin: yes You brace through the rest of the lecture, paying more attention as the anticipation swells. And when it’s all over, you race across campus to the dormitory building you’ve become familiar with. Jimin opens the door before you need to knock and he plants a chaste kiss against your lips in greeting. You’re taken off guard, but don’t pay too much attention to it. “How was class?” “Good. You?” “Same,” he hums. You drop your bag in his room and gesture below your waist. “I’m going to need to wash up. The nether regions are a bit…” He smiles. “Sure. I got spare towels I can set down too.” You self-consciously linger for a moment as he goes to his closet to the upper shelf. The towels are luckily green and not white. “I’m surprised you’re okay with it. Having period sex, I mean.” “Why wouldn’t I be?” Jimin pushes his blanket aside and puts a towel down. “As long as you’re fine with it, then I am too.” “I don’t know. Doesn’t blood gross you out?” “Not really? Most of the time I’m the one making the mess, so it’s actually nice to have someone else make the mess for once. Plus sex is sex. What’s there to complain about?” His brow lifts and he looks at you. You scoff and it makes Jimin grin. You wash yourself up and he fucks you in missionary position on top of the towels. The pair of you have only done so a few times before. Typically, you’re face down, bent over, on all fours or looking away from each other. But the change is welcome. Jimin hovers over you and you can kiss him when you want to. “F-Fuck.” A pitched moan unintentionally spills from you when he hits a spot at your walls that has your toes curling. “Ji...min.” It’s more lubricated than usual, making the strokes easier. He goes softer too. Deeper. Jimin presses your thighs to your chest and makes you feel him all the way to your throat. The boy smiles tenderly at your reaction in spite of panting himself. “Feel good, baby?” “Y-Yeah.” You nod, eyes shut tight. You grip his forearms when he bottoms out again. “Always does.” Your warm walls pulse around his thick cock and you end up cumming soon after. He groans into your neck at how you tighten around him like a vice grip and he thrusts into you one more time before his cum fills you. The pair of you jump in the shower together to get cleaned up and then you’re picking up your clothes while he tosses the towels in the laundry. “What were you working on, on Thursday?” You blink, realizing that you texted him vaguely about being swamped and unable to come over, and that’s enough for you to unload and go on a tangent. “God, don’t remind me. It was my fucking thesis. I barely managed to finish it but I don’t even know if it makes sense and now I have to edit like fifty pages by myself before giving it to my supervisor, so that’s fun.” It feels good to let it off your chest. Jimin smiles subtly at your venting. “I could always edit it for you.” “What? Seriously?” “Sure.” He shrugs. “I’m not in poly sci, but that might make me a bit more unbiased. I’m not doing much these days either.” “Oh my god.” There’s an overpowering urge to bow at his feet or suck his dick until you’re gagging or do both. “You’re a life-saver!” Jimin laughs and it’s the sound of angels singing. “Just send it over. I can get it done by tomorrow. You have my email, right?” “Of course I do. Duh!” Your grin is big enough that your cheeks hurt and he has one that matches it as well. // A few weeks fly by and things calm down enough that you can finally breathe. But that’s when you receive a little text from a certain someone that has you skeptical if you can rest easy. 6:48pm. Jimin: I have a surprise for you 6:48pm. Jimin: I forgot about it You’re not sure what it is, but asking would be like pulling teeth with him. Jimin hates spoilers and he likes surprises all too much. Lately, you’ve both been getting into some freaky shit. Buying toys, blindfolds, handcuffs. As adventurous as college kids with a limited budget can get. It was rather fun for the pair of you, and expectedly, some experiments work out better than others. It sends goosebumps all over your skin every time he talks dirty. You like it when Jimin spanks you too. Although, you’re still unsure about the whole candle wax on your body idea. But there’s one thing for sure — Jimin can most definitely not role play for his life. The whole school girl fantasy lasted a good five minutes before he started bursting into giggles and breaking character every other second. Playing doctor only made you realize how ticklish he was too. And the tickle fight that followed was definitely not something one would call ‘sexy’. Even if it did lead to the deed being done. “Hey.” Jimin greets you with a grin and a chaste peck against your lips. “How was studying?” “Fine.” You brush off the question quickly, too curious of what he has in store. “Jimin, I’m not going to use that twelve inch dildo unless you want to drive me to the ER.” He bursts out laughing. “That’s not it. Good try though.” Instead of going to his room like you usually do, Jimin leads you past the kitchen area to the table. It’s been cleared off and you give an inquisitive expression. He grins and then gestures to it. “Lay down.” “What?” “Just lay down.” He takes your hand, guiding you on it and you obey wordlessly. It doesn’t seem like any of his roommates are home and you hope they don’t come back any time soon lest they find you lying face down on their dinner table. You feel Jimin round the table and pull your ankles together. You tilt yourself up to peek at him, but then he barks— “Down.” With a pout, you return to your position, arms folded underneath your head. You hope he isn’t about to rub spices on you and roast you in his oven like it feels like he’s doing. You feel the gentle pressure of Jimin’s hands against your spine, his thumbs pressing into your skin and he hums, “Relax. Okay. Breathe in for me.” An inhale is taken and his hands suddenly press into the middle of your back. You hear your bones crack loudly. It catches you off guard and you turn yourself with wide eyes. “You know how to do it?!” He boyishly grins. “I might’ve learnt a thing or two during my internship.” “Keep going, keep going.” You flip yourself over again, gesturing to your back and he laughs, going down your body and cracking your bones. You become butter in his fingertips, lower back feeling better already. “Lift your leg for me.” You follow his instructions to a t. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you ask sleepily, lulled by his care. If he massaged you too, you might just cream your pants. “I got this, I got this,” he reassures with a bit of arrogance. “I’m not a professional, but I know what I’m doing. You trust me, right?” A noise is made at the back of your throat. “If you break a bone on accident, I’ll sue you,” you mumble as he turns you over. “God, feels good.” After a while, Jimin gets you to sit up and continues. He looks nice when he’s concentrating. Expression blank. Lips plump and in a line. Brows only slightly furrowed. “Considering you don’t have any ailments, you don’t need to get your bones cracked often. You should stretch and do some exercise instead.” You scoff. “Having sex with you is enough exercise.” To prove your point, you latch onto his arm and tug him towards you. Jimin smiles and the two of you break a sweat against each other on the table before either of his roommates come home.

[4th Year Winter Semester] It was an invitation that you would’ve called yourself crazy for offering a year ago. But if it wasn’t for him editing your thesis and taking a load off your mind, you would’ve had a harder time. You had him to thank for that. “So?” Jimin’s seated across from you at the restaurant booth. It wasn’t surprisingly difficult to ask him to grab a bite with you. For some reason, you thought he would reject. “What’s the big news?” Instead of answering, you reach into your bag and slide the envelope across the table. He’s curious and takes it, pulling out the letter to read. You sip on your water, watching his expression intently. He mutters the words and it takes him through the first paragraph before he realizes. Then, at once, Jimin’s eyes widen. His mouth drops and he looks at you proudly. “You got into law school?” “Three of them,” you tell with a cheesy grin. “T-That’s….fucking amazing. Holy fuck.” He reaches over and hugs you. It’s awkward considering there’s a whole table in the way, but you appreciate the sentiment. You’re giddy and giggling at how excited he is. It makes you feel like the first time you opened the letter yourself. Jimin presses a kiss against your hair before withdrawing. “When did you find out?” “Two days ago. I really thought I wasn’t going to get in since I got rejection letters last week from the other schools, but then three of them came in rapid succession.” He shakes his head, still in awe. “Congratulations. Seriously. You deserve it, Y/N. God knows how hard you worked.” “Thanks.” You smile to yourself, fiddling with the hem of your blouse. “I was thinking of maybe leaving the city to a different uni, but….I’m going to stay with my parents for as long as I can to save up on loans.” “Yeah, sounds good.” He nods. “Moving out can be expensive.” “What about you? Have you applied to your masters program yet?” Jimin laughs. “Actually, I was planning on telling you that today too. I didn’t bring any fancy letter with me though.” You lean closer, sitting on the edge of your seat. “You got in?” “I did. Yesterday.” His enormous smile causes your own to expand. “I’m gonna do it part-time while working at the same facility I did my internship at.” You’re happy for him and you can tell by his expression that he’s genuinely excited for you too. The pair of you were taking steps forward for your future and while it was a little scary, for now, you enjoy the victory and pig out at the restaurant with little restraints. At the end of the night, you’re both wine drunk when you stumble back to his dorm room and soon, you’re trying to muffle your whimpers with your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. It doesn’t help when he presses the humming vibrator to your clit harder. “J-Jimin,” you sob, fingers twisting into his sheets. You’re slumped against the headboard as he surrounds you. “Louder,” he commands, watching you through heavy lidded eyes. The cold air of his bedroom made your nipples hardened, yet you feel hot all over, under his gaze and ruthlessness. Your hand curls around his wrist. “Your roommates are sleep—” You cry and keen against his chest when he plunges the toy into your swollen cunt that’s leaking down your ass and thighs. “It’s okay,” he murmurs in a low voice against your ear, “Let it go.” You feel the toy nudge against your cervix, the vibrations trembling through your body and you orgasm hard with your forehead pressed against Jimin’s shoulder. Even then, he continues to draw it in and out of you, studying how you’ve creamed around the vibrator, how your slick is dripping to his sheets that are already stained with the scent of your shampoo. “J-Jimin,” you whine loudly, not knowing if you’re trying to lean away from his touch or closer. “T-...too m-much!” “You can take it,” Jimin softly coaxes and you nod. You cum again after a minute and he immediately kisses you with a big smile before peppering pecks down to your neck. It makes you feel ticklish and winded. “Hey...Jimin…” “Hmm?” “Are we still gonna do this after we graduate?” you ask in a quiet voice, laying back in the ruined sheets. “I’m gonna be busy and you are too.” “We’ll figure it out.” He flops beside you and you both face each other. Jimin’s arm is draped over your waist and you stare at one another for a moment before he closes the distance. Jimin nudges you for a languid kiss, your noses brushing as his soft, plush lips press against yours. It’s unhurried. Slow. He urges your mouth to part for him and his tongue slips in as you whimper, giving you a chance to properly taste him. Sloppy, wet noises fill the room while heat rises to your cheeks. But you’re unbothered while swapping spit with Park Jimin. It’s lazy, yet it feels good. So much so that you’ve relaxed entirely. In the back of your mind, you know you should get up and put some clothes on. Any cuddling or post-sex touching has largely been unprecedented before this and it’s not good to make habits you’ll have to eventually break. You should get your sweater off the floor, or at least slip on his purple t-shirt…. But you give into the temptation and shut your eyes for one second. One mere second. That’s enough for you to doze off. When Jimin realizes you’ve accidentally fallen asleep, he smiles to himself and tugs the blankets up to your shoulders, securing you in warmly. // You stifle another yawn with your hand. It’s 9:30 in the goddamn morning and way too early for you. There’s a reason you pick afternoon classes, go to work afterwards and then go see Jimin to end your day off. There’s no situation good enough that warrants your alarm blaring before eight — but you suppose a graduation ceremony could be an exception. “There’s so many people,” your dad gasps in wonderment, looking around the vast hall. “Do you know them all?” “No.” You hold in your sigh. “I don’t.” For the past twenty minutes, you’ve been running around looking for your parents after they’ve wandered off and gotten lost. If they weren’t spamming their cameras on their phone and telling you to smile in front of the odd statue or the meaningless bulletin board that wasn’t even part of your faculty, it was calling your name as loud as they could to find you in the crowds. You’re happy over their enthusiasm but also burdened. It’s a lot of mixed feelings. “Y/N?” Dark hair and brown eyes — a certain someone who you weren’t expecting to run into is staring right at you with a boyish smile. “Jimin?” He looks good, a suit underneath and a black graduation gown over it that falls to his calf. His gown has a golden hood and tassel while yours is white — the colours symbolizing your different faculties and areas of study. “Hey.” His gaze is warm. “You look nice.” “Thanks. You too.” You don’t linger on him for long, not when his parents are right by his side. You divert your vision and greet them politely. Jimin surprisingly looks a lot like his dad and his mom has a kind face. They seem like sweet people and you’re suddenly breaking into a sweat. “Nice to meet you.” Your own parents make themselves known and you feel like your worlds are colliding as they shake hands and exchange names, congratulating each other on their child’s graduation. You’re about to get them moving along when your mom nudges you. “Is this your boyfriend?” Her voice is way too loud and you feel yourself burn in embarrassment. “No. He’s just a friend,” you whisper it sharply but much your dismay, they look unconvinced. You miss the way Jimin smiles to himself. “We should get a picture!” his dad declares and your own dad looks even more elated at the idea of spamming more pictures. You already had to delete a hundred blurry ones, but your mom ignores your groan and pushes you both towards some weird artwork on the wall. “Stand over here! Over here! Smile!” Your parents end up sitting next to each other on the rows and you have no words, forced to sit at the bottom with the rest of your graduating class. It’s a wonder that the Arts Faculty was scheduled right before the Faculty of Kines. Fate or coincidence, you’re not sure yet. But it’s still nice to see Jimin walk the stage and be able to cheer for him. “Congratulations, Mr. Park.” He grins. “Congratulations to you too, Miss L/N.” It’s certain that the numerous celebrations with family, friends and relatives will be chaotic, so you take advantage of the opportunity while you still can. You steal just a little moment for your selfish desires by standing outside before you’re both bombarded by your circle of people. “You know, I couldn’t have done it without you.” “Oh, stop it with the sappiness.” You can’t feign a roll of your eyes when your smile is so big. He swings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close and laughing. “Why? Don’t like it?” And the little shit slyly leans in to whisper, “You like it when I call you my baby though.” “Jimin!” He laughs and you sigh with a smile. You’re glad you ran into him.

[Post-Graduation] You open the door, welcoming yourself in. “Hey.” Jimin’s on the couch and glances at you, unfazed at how you’ve waltzed right into his apartment with little warning. You’ve always knocked out of courtesy for his roommates, but ever since he moved out of the dormitories, you find little need to make him walk all the way to the door. He’s watching a thriller and you flop down on his couch, leaning over to plant a quick peck against his mouth as a greeting. “How was work?” “It was okay. A bit busy. I met this nice old lady and we chatted for a bit. She called me handsome, so there’s that.” He grins and you scoff lightly, leaning your cheek on his shoulder as you watch the main character venture into an abandoned house on screen. Jimin loves his praises, so you’re not wholly surprised he’s kept a mental note of it. You’re not sure why it’s important though. Anyone with eyes would agree he’s good-looking. “How was class?” “Awful,” you mumble, feeling tired against him. You came over to get rid of some sexual frustration, but you’re not even sure you have the energy to do anything anymore. “Commuting was brutal this morning. Traffic was backed up on the highway and I was late, and yesterday I had to drive back at night. My parents are driving me nuts too. I can’t study properly.” Jimin hums a soothing note and slings an arm at the back of the couch where you’re sitting, letting you lean into him. It goes quiet as the two of you watch the suspenseful scene and then he absentmindedly pipes up after a minute, “You could always move in with me.” He continues, “It’s closer to the university and it’s quiet during the day, so you can study. We could always study together too.” It’s a good idea, but— “I can’t afford that.” “I don’t mind paying rent for a while. It’s the same either way.” It takes a second for the words sink in and then you’re peeling yourself off of him. Your gaze is met with Jimin’s, eyes locking into one another and the movie is left in the background. “As roommates?” He shrugs. “There’s only one bedroom, but sure.” A studio apartment. One bed shared. Two people. Watching movies. Having sex. Eating together. It doesn’t sound bad to you whatsoever, but you contemplate it. It swirls around inside your head and you murmur, “Isn’t that breaking the rules of being friends with benefits?” And you don't know why but Wendy’s words from the other day are echoing inside the caverns of your brain at the worst moment. “You know, your relationship with Jimin isn’t exactly normal.” You weren’t sure what she meant and you still don’t know. Not when she had advertised and encouraged this kind of arrangement all those years ago. When she had told you many people got involved in each other like this. But you’re starting to wonder if something is off. Did you do something wrong? Did your relationship with Jimin spiral out of control? But everything feels normal. After three years, you’d think you would’ve mastered the art of benefits by now. You sigh, getting a headache. Yet, Jimin merely shrugs. As if the definitions and boundaries don’t bother him whatsoever. “Is it?” “Kind of. I mean, living together, being mutually exclusive. It almost sounds like….” “Like what?” His brows lift. “Like we’re dating?” You feel hot in your face, skin toasted like a furnace. Maybe you’re being delusional or silly. Maybe he’s going to laugh at you. “This is what couples who are going to get engaged do.” “Maybe we should date then…?” The pitch of Jimin’s voice raises at the end, not necessarily a question but neither a statement. It’s questionable like he’s unsure how you feel. Like he’s playing a guessing game. And then he smiles at your shocked expression. Jimin turns to face you fully. His gaze is heavy, earnest. “Maybe we should date.” This time, it’s repeated as an assertion. Confident. Unwavering. Sincere. Jimin leans in to kiss you as if he can’t resist anymore. It’s tender, taking you off guard and you lean into him, finally allowing yourself to become surrounded by him. Mind. Body. And soul. When the two of you pull away, he smiles while catching his breath. “I-I’m down if you are. This apartment can be yours and you can study here and sleep here and whatever. We can eat together and I’ll buy you take out or cook. It’s fine if you don’t want to. I’m cool with anything. We can keep being friends with benefits, if that’s what you want….so…......what do you want?” You exhale lightly, feeling warm. “This...is a lot.” “Is it?” Instantly, Jimin appears panicked and you hold back a laugh. “We’ve technically been together for three years and...what we’ve been doing recently is basically dating. In my opinion.” “Did Wendy put you up to this?” “No.” He shakes his head. “Frankly, the person I talk to most these days is you. And I like it that way.” God, you hate him. You pull Jimin in for another kiss, an aggressive and eager one. Enough that you can feel the heat off of his own face. You move to straddle his thighs and when you break apart, you muster a glare at him. “You know, I’ve been trying so hard not to catch feelings. You’re ruining all my efforts, you know that, Park?” He grins. “Is this a yes?” “It is.” This time, he’s the one to kiss you, sealing your lips together as he smiles against your mouth and squeezes giggles out of you. Even if he doesn’t say it, even if he’s saving it for another day, you know from his tender touches that he loves you. And it’s mutual. No longer do you need to worry — leave right after the deed is done or be panicked when you’ve accidentally fallen asleep in his bed. You’re unashamed when he kisses you harder as a greeting, when he holds your hand, when you go out together. You can have pillow talks without needing to guard yourself, cuddle him, call him yours. And when Christmas arrives, meaning sweater weather and snow dusting from the sky, you have someone to keep you warm. Someone who you can come back to and call your home.

#bts fanfic #bts smut #jimin smut #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin scenario #lol I can finally use the smut tag #I know this ain't sfw y'all but I really wasn't kidding when I said I was experimenting a bit more with smut #with that being said I actually really like this fic #IT'S FLUFF AND SOFT AF #I LOVE ME SOME CUTE CHIM DON'T FIGHT ME

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moony-artnstuff · 4 years ago

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Matchup Commission @yunohawkeye

Note: @yunohawkeye it's finally here! Thank you so much for your patience, I know you had to wait very long for this, but I hope it is to your liking!

Warning: This matchup contains nsfw, don't like, don't read!

Lord of the Rings: I ship you with Legolas!

The height difference is adorable.

He loves your hair, and he’s surprised when you tell him how you actually want it because that’s not something you really see in Middle-Earth, least of all his own culture. Still he’d be happy to help you find the supplies you need for cutting and dying it the way you want it.

You like stealing his tunics, as they look like oversized t-shirts on you and they smell like him. The first time he saw you wearing his clothes he almost died from cuteness.

He loved how you were a bit shy when you first met and then gradually became more comfortable around him. He saw it as an achievement whenever you shared something new with him, and he loved getting to know you more.

He’s a curious ball of sunshine and when you get excited about something he gets excited about it too. He’s so supportive of the things you do and likes learning more about them. He’d also be really happy if you took an interest in his hobbies such as archery.

Legolas enjoys being with people (this is also expected of him because he’s a prince) but he also loves quiet moments with you. He’s happy you can entertain yourself when he has to do his duties as prince of Greenwood the great, as he wouldn’t want you to be bored or lonely while he’s away.

Don’t worry about shopping he will get you all the clothes you could ever wish for and he lets them tailor exactly to your size (benefit of being a prince). He quickly takes notice of your style and orders clothing accordingly.

This ellon is clingy as fuck and would love nothing more than to be in your presence at all times, so no worrying about that. He’s also extremely cuddly. Good luck trying to get to the bathroom at night, he won’t let you out of his grip.

He likes your random moments, as he has a lot of them himself. I imagine him as a kind of oddball amongst elves. The two of you keep each other on your toes, and you can often be found laughing about something the other said.

Legolas adores both your tomboyish personality as well as your tomboy looks. Legolas is a warrior and works with both ellons and elliths who are all badasses but all look quite feminine with their long hair and stuff, meaning your personality is familiar yet your looks are refreshing and he likes it.

Introduce him to video games, he’d be fascinated by them. I can totally see him getting fully absorbed in a fight scene, whether he is playing himself or encouraging you.

Loves to dance with you, he does it all the time. You’re relaxing on the sofa doing nothing in particular? Dancing. He sees you walking past in the halfway? Let’s twirl around together for a moment. He’s been away from you for some time and now finally gets to see you again? He picks you up and spins you around, so happy he is to see you again.

Like I said before, Legolas is a bit of an oddball amongst elves, so he would never judge you for being your weird and quirky self because really, he’s the same. It makes him so happy that you’re comfortable enough to be yourself around him, and it encourages him to do the same as well.

Legolas is a ray of sunshine and finds joy in almost everything in life, but he has seen dark things and lost loved ones as well. He is the perfect person to talk to when life is weighing you down or when you just want to talk about some heavier topics, as he knows what it feels like, while at the same time he’s also capable of making you smile again in mere seconds.

Your dark humor catches him off guard at first but he catches on quite quickly.

Legolas is all for having a good connection and good communication. He often talks with you about how he feels about something and asks your opinion. He also frequently compliments you and genuinely can’t understand how you can’t see how amazing you are. Will stubbornly continue with giving you compliments, all the while looking at you as if you are denying simple facts such as the sky is blue, because he means every word he says.

Teasing him will be a challenge as he can be quite the oblivious one (for example if you were to rile him up during the day with lingering touches and then play dumb he would get frustrated because he’d believe you’d genuinely didn’t know what you were doing when in reality you were teasing him), and he will probably take the things you say too literal (“Legolas, is that a banana in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” “Why would I have a banana in my pants?”). It’s best to just give him straightforward compliments when trying to flirt with him.

Legolas is a bottom. Like yeah, sure, he can take the lead if you want him to but he prefers to be the submissive one, and he loves the way you take the lead and how good you make him feel.

Just like with Thorin you’ll be introducing him to a whole new world regarding sex and toys. At first he’s a bit shy about the concept of dirty thoughts and talking about sex, but his curiousity and your openness to talk about it makes him more comfortable.

Loves it when you tie him up and have your way with him, especially when you peg and edge him.

You met at the counsel of lord Elrond where you volunteered to be part of the fellowship. Legolas was curious as to why a human woman would offer herself to such a task, and he started a conversation with you. He quickly came to like your company and often seeked out your company during the journey. You comforted each other after Gandalf’s death and while you are in Lothlorien he tells you about his home and the dangers it’s facing. He needs a bit of help from Aragorn and Gimli, but he eventually realizes he has feelings for you and he doesn’t hesitate to confess, because why would he? He loves you and wants to be with you, and if you feel the same then he wants to start courting immediately since your time together is already short with you being human and him being an elf.

The Hobbit: I ship you with Thorin!

He likes you being blunt. Thorin does not have the best social skills and though he is by no means stupid he can be a bit thickheaded sometimes. That’s why he likes that you’re not afraid to tell him how it is without beating around the bush.

Whenever you get bubbly or excited about something he gets this soft, fond smile while looking at you. He just thinks you’re so precious and he makes a mental note to often talk about your interests to see that spark in your eyes.

The teasing will get to him. God this dwarrow just can’t handle it, he might act all tough and stoic on the outside but he really is just one big softie on the inside who becomes a flustered mess the second you give him that look alone.

Just like you, Thorin is an introvert. He prefers to spend his time with close friends and family, such as the company and you. His favorite moments are spent with you, in your shared bedroom where you do your writing and he hums in front of the fire next to you, just enjoying each other’s presence.

You both tend to keep problems to yourself, so you help each other with opening up. It was a bit of a struggle in the beginning, with the both of you wanting to be there for each other but refusing to open up about your own problems. Slowly though, Thorin started to tell you about his past and the loss he felt when he lost his grandfather, his father and his brother in the war against the goblins. This made you open up about your feelings as well and the two of you learned to reach out to each other whenever something’s bothering you.

He’ll hold your hand when you have to be in a big crowd. As king and queen under the mountain it is expected of you to attend council meetings and grand parties alike, but Thorin always makes sure to stay close to you and offer you comfort until the two of you can retreat to your chambers again.

He loves your ‘randomness’, it refreshes him. He’s always been so focused on leading his people, reclaiming Erebor and then rebuilding it that he’s never really had any time for fun. You saying and doing random things gets him out of that cycle of endless responsibilities and to him it feels like a fresh breath of air.

Please play music with him! He feels a lot of pride in having such a talented and musical s/o. He would be so happy if you let him accompany you in your music with his harp.

Don’t worry about not having spotify or youtube in Middle-Earth, Thorin’s voice will definitely make up for it (we all heard him sing in Bag-end *chills*). He often hums to himself when doing a mundane task, and if you asked it of him he would be happy to sing for you.

He’s honored if you show him your writing.

Despite knowing you can handle yourself perfectly well he’s still very protective over you. He’s just so afraid to lose you, but he tries to tone it down for you as much as he can.

After the mountain is reclaimed he becomes much more loose and free spirited, he’ll be both your partner and your best friend for life

Although he can be a bit oblivious sometimes he makes an effort to see what your likes and dislikes are, for example your movie preferences, and he keeps them in mind when getting you gifts

Like I said before, you’ll have to help him with being open/vulnerable with you. It's not that he doesn’t trust you, he’s just not used to being vulnerable with someone, so he needs to take it slow. You’ll also have to teach him to stay calm and talk when the two of you have an argument. Thorin is used to leading his people and has always been put under a lot of pressure because of it, but you quickly showed him that getting angry and barking orders was not the way to handle a fight with you, and with time he becomes better and better at talking things out with you.

Your openness to sexual talk and constantly having dirty thought caught him off guard at first, as people usually don’t talk so easily about such concepts in Middle-Earth. He tends to get a bit bashful/shy when he hears you talk about it, but slowly becomes more comfortable to listen and maybe add some of his own thoughts.

Will sit you down and tell you in a very serious way that you are amazing when you turn down a compliment. For example, he’ll compliment you for your writing and you say something along the lines of “I’m really not that good, I’m actually quite bad at it.” and he’d just get this serious face and be like “Amrâlime, you are one of the most talented people I’ve met, don’t talk about yourself like that.” Que him starting a whole rant about how beautiful and amazing and skilled you are and genuinely not understanding how you can’t see it too. Thorin has never been good with words, but he sure as hell is going to make sure you know how amazing he thinks you are.

He’s never thought much about sex or having a spouse, untill you came along. He first imagined himself topping, but when the moment finally arrived and you took the lead, he did not mind at all (he’s a switch).

You’re gonna have so much fun tying him up in bed and edging him. He’s not one to beg, or even ask for something in general, so it’s gonna be delicious when he finally does break

You introduce him to a whole new world regarding sex and toys. Thorin loves to experience all kinds of things with you and eventually settles on his own preferences and dislikes. He likes it that you’re a dom, it makes him feel taken care of. Being able to be so intimate and vulnerable with you was something he never knew he needed.

You met when the company stopped in Rivendell, where the company found you playing the piano. You had heard about the arrival of the dwarves and started a conversation with them. Soon you hit it off with Fili, Kili and Nori (for some reason I imagine him liking sex jokes and also being open to nsfw talk) and before you knew it you were part of the company. At first Thorin was against letting you join them, as he didn’t understand what business you could have with dwarves trying to reclaim their homeland, but during the quest you became closer and closer with him, talking about what Erebor was like before Smaug took over and what life was like for him and his family when Thorin had to lead his people to the blue mountains. Eventually the two of you started courting and Thorin asked you to marry him after Erebor was reclaimed, making you queen under the mountain.

#commission #matchup #special matchup #legolas x reader #thorin x reader #the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #lord of the rings #lord of the rings x reader

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rhetoricalrogue · 3 years ago

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Jogging the Memory

Fiction Type: Fanfiction Fandom: Dragon Age Prompt: "I need you."

Diving into @fictober-event by putting a spin on some old reliable characters and putting them into the AU @alittlestarling and I have been throwing ideas back and forth to the other for forever.

“I need you to –”

Ravena met Blackwall’s earnest plea with an arched eyebrow. “To keep quiet that I know you from a few years ago?” She tilted her head. “Under a different name than the one you’re using now?”

“You don’t understand, it’s…” he sighed. “That old name is dead now, as is the past that went with it.”

She shrugged and went back to packing her bag. Before he had knocked on the door of the cottage she was sharing with her cousins, Ravena had been preparing to go out into the field and accompany the Herald into the Hinterlands to hopefully acquire horses for the Inquisition. Personal curiosity in the astrariums littering the landscape Roz had mentioned had been the main reason she had requested the to join the outgoing party, but she sincerely hoped that unlocking their secrets would lead to something that would benefit the Inquisition, fledgling organization as it was.

Oh Henri, she thought wistfully, a pang of grief sharp at her chest. If only you were here to see this with me.

“Some pasts we can’t run from, Rainier,” she told him, not looking up as she carefully put a well-worn notebook in with her belongings. She may not have her mentor here with her any longer, but she could still find comfort in the knowledge that his personal effects had been safely stowed away in the inn that he had been staying at before heading to the Conclave. She may never find a body to mourn amid the ashes of the temple she and her dear cousin had once helped restore, but at least she had his familiar book of notes to keep his memory alive. “Especially pasts like yours.”

“My name is Blackwall,” he hissed, tone suddenly sharp, dangerous. Ravena started when his hand shot out and gripped her wrist, her mind flashing to the dagger she kept inside her right boot. It was a gift from her other cousin Rolfe, one that had come with countless lessons on self-defense and how to properly use it. The crushing pressure of the fingers that ground around the slim bones of her wrist was a dangerously silent reminder that those very same fingers could easily wrap around her throat and made her sincerely think that she might have use for all those lessons Rolfe had taken pains to teach her. “And it would benefit us both if you would remember to use it.”

Not breaking eye contact, Ravena wrenched her wrist out of his grasp, eyes narrowing and mouth twisting into a frown. “Is that a threat?”

“That is entirely up to you, my lady.”

Weighing pros and cons had always been one of her stronger suits. It had been years since she had last seen Thom Rainier and the man she had encountered in the woods defending people from bandits was different than the man she had spent a night of passion with while in Orlais supporting her findings from a dig she and Henri had just gotten back from. At the time, she had thought Thom Rainier a handsome, if not arrogant man and the fact that he had thought she was similarly attractive and was willing to partake in a bit of mindless fun that didn’t have any strings attached. They’d spent a mutually pleasant evening together and he was gone before she woke up the next morning. To his credit, he hadn’t robbed her any of her belongings while she had been asleep.

It may be her ego talking, but she would have liked to have made enough of an impression on him that he would have actually remembered her name the next time he saw her. The only thing that soothed that initial sting was the fact that he had recognized her, even if he didn’t remember exactly where he knew her face from.

She licked her suddenly dry lips. The man defending the defenseless and teaching them to fight back was also worlds different than the rumors of murder and betrayal that had circulated after his seemingly mysterious disappearance from Orlais. “Mutually beneficial relationships seem to be a thing for us,” she said, tone careful. Almost instantly, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the flinty edge to his eyes seemed to warm. There was still a cautious way he carried himself, but then again, she had that same manner, her body ready to bolt should he make any sudden moves.

“That would appear so.”

“Even if some of us don’t remember that being the case.”

The laugh that she was met with sounded rusty from disuse, but genuine, nonetheless. “If it makes you feel any better, Ravena, I was a bastard back then. I rarely took the time to process names and commit the faces they belonged with to memory.”

“And that’s different now?” Are you a different person was the silent question that burned at the tip of her tongue, but it wasn’t a question she had any right to ask of him. Not yet anyway.

“It is.” She was not a short woman, but he still had to tilt his head and slightly hunch his shoulders to ensure they were at an equal line of sight. “I…I am trying, at least.”

Ah. So her silent question wasn’t quite as silent as she had thought. “That’s all any of us can do,” Ravena replied. “If it makes you feel any better, I guess I can forgive your lapse in memory. Our past encounter was brief.” She gave him a wicked smile. “Almost disappointingly so. Premature, even.”

He made a face, posture relaxing even further at her teasing. “You wound me.”

“A fitting injury to match the blow to my own ego.”

“You know, I could be persuaded to soothe that injury, should you be so inclined.”

Oh. Well this was an entirely different direction for their conversation to take from where it began. “Is that so?” She went back to packing her bag. “And if I was uninterested?”

“Then this would be the last time I brought it up.” He took a step towards her, his voice pitched lower in a way that sent a pleasant shiver down her back. “I may be an asshole when it comes to remembering names, but I can distinctly remember that night.”

Ravena closed her eyes and swayed towards him, so close that the warmth of his body all but sank into her skin. “Once I jogged your memory, you mean.”

“This is going to be a thing with you, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t decided.” She grinned. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps on always bringing up my past fuck them and forget them tendencies or perhaps on picking up a…mutually beneficial relationship from where we left it?”

Bag packed, she slung it over her shoulder before pressing close to Blackwall’s side. Not giving him any warning, she reached out and grabbed the collar of his gambeson, rising on the tips of her toes to close the short distance between them. It had been some time since she had kissed anyone, let alone this man, but oh. The initial surprise had been sweet, but the answering kiss was even better. Blackwall didn’t wait for any prompting before wrapping his arms around her and hauling her up return her kiss, the press of his mouth against hers almost intoxicating and bringing back several incredibly detailed moments of that night they’d shared so long ago.

She broke the kiss before they got too carried away. While it was tempting to entertain the thought of Blackwall having his way with her there on the nearby table, she was sharing the cabin with Ada and Rolfe, either of the two well within their rights to innocently walk in without thinking to announce their presence.

Ada would have been mortified and run out of the cabin. Rolfe, on the other hand…Ravena was absolutely positive her dearest cousin would have given them a round of applause and some sort of smartassed remark. Ravena loved him dearly and considered Rolfe to be more of a younger brother than a cousin, but she would have had no other choice but to chase him down and kill him for interrupting, so really, stopping before things got too out of hand was for his own safety.

“I’ll let you figure that one out,” she told Blackwall, winking cheekily as she moved past him and towards the door. She gasped when he reached for her wrist again, pulling her back for another quick yet searing kiss.

“I’m a quick study,” he murmured, breath warm against her lips. He moved back only far enough to bring her wrist that was still in his loose grasp to his lips, his mouth moving over the skin there, a silent apology for his earlier mishandling. “Ravena.”

“So I see.” She exited the cabin and held the door open for him. “Shall we? I wouldn’t want to keep Roz waiting.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that.” He held out his arm for her to take as they walked towards the makeshift stables, but she squared her shoulders and walked past him.

“You’re staring at my ass,” she said, not looking behind to confirm.

“It would be rude not to appreciate the view,” he shot back.

She shook her head and kept walking. “Ass.”

The smile on her face remained as they came up to the stables, Roz checking her saddlebags for gear and Rolfe making small talk beside her. Ravena made note of Roz’s worried expression, and she knew that the Herald had good reason to be worried; reports from the Hinterlands were still coming in of pockets of mage and templar skirmishes. While the Inquisition’s agents had made some headway in stabilizing the area, there were still violent flare ups that hopefully would become less and less as fade rifts were sealed and areas secured.

“Everything all right?” Ravena asked, hoping to break the tense silence that Rolfe’s lighthearted yet one-sided conversation hadn’t been able to.

“I guess we’ll find out once we get there,” Roz answered, chewing on her lip. “Are we ready?”

“Ready whenever you are.” Again, Blackwall offered his arm to her as she stood beside her own horse, and this time, Ravena took it. Her branch of the Trevelyan family tree were excellent equestrians, she herself learned how to ride at a very early age, but when an attractive man offered to help her onto a horse, she would have been a fool to let the opportunity pass without taking advantage of it.

Ravena was many things, but a fool wasn’t one of them. It was something that definitely didn’t escape her cousin’s notice either. He didn’t say anything, but the raised eyebrow and smirk he gave her was enough to know that they would be having a conversation once they had a chance for privacy. She sighed and rolled her eyes at Rolfe. It would be easier to tell him the truth; he was a spy by profession and even before his twenty-year tenure with the Chantry, had an uncanny knack for pulling information out of anyone before they even realized they were telling him everything.

Well, almost everything. Ravena glanced at Blackwall, who had elected to ride ahead of them and match his horse’s pace with Roz’s.

Some secrets weren’t hers to tell.

#fictober21 #my writing #otp: the griffon and the raven #ravena trevelyan #thom rainier #blackwall #I haven't written in a while and I am RUSTY but hot DAMN does it feel good to get words out of my head after so long!#I make zero promises on keeping up with a fic a day but I'm going to TRY to finish these prompts #digging into the Sweetheart meets Cousins Trevelyan meets Gaggle of Hawkes AU triptych #I really hope my formatting's okay this is the first time I'm c&p'ing from Word to here in years #also this was written in like an hour with very little editing #no betas: we find our mistakes once we hit Post

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violet-t-9 · 4 years ago

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Different perspectives (episode 131)

I’ve seen a lot of people saying how choosing Trent to ally with would be a horrible idea, and I 100% believe it too. However, I think we need to see how that is a valid option to consider from the cast’s perspective (and Matt clearly prepared for it to be at least a possibility, especially given the bit at the end where he showed the two minis).

Suggesting letting Trent in on their plan is not as unwise as many make it out to be. Sure it has very, very high risk, but M9 is just looking at all their options based on the information they are given and it’s worth considering.

1. The city will consume literally everything if they fail to stop the TT.

- Obviously, Trent is bad, but is Trent as bad as the end of the world though? (Well, that is still a bit debatable...) Sometimes, you got to work with your worst enemies to save the world, it’s just how it goes.

- M9 sought help from A LOT of people who they were not supposed to trust, and so far it has been working out. Not saying it would have worked out with Trent, but it is a valid option to consider. They worked with: Lucien and TT, Vess DeRogna, and to a lesser extent, Astrid/Eadwulf, Essek, etc. This is not their first rodeo guys. Obviously imo Trent is more horrible than any of the above mentioned, but like I understand why it would be an option.

- I have a hard time believing that Trent, who probably has some intelligence of some kind, would want the world to end, so even if he obviously will try to undermine M9 at some point I think it would be after the city is no longer the immediate threat (if they convince him of the gravity of the situation).

2. There is a high chance that they can persuade Trent to help, and Trent may come with extra people and more power.

- Sure Trent may be chaotic evil but even that kind of person would want self-preservation and also knowledge/power. If the M9 played it well I have no doubt Trent would join them. He wants to get close/monitor/get rid of M9 especially Caleb, he wants to know what they are doing and is certainly going to be interested in the city. So the chances of Trent going is... well, honestly, high. I don’t think he would just give up control over the situation. If he doesn’t go and sends others instead then working with Trent wouldn’t even be a concern now would it? Working with Astrid and Eadwulf doesn’t seem too bad.

- From a meta perspective Matt probably doesn’t want to play a lot of NPCs, but from a game perspective it makes sense that Trent would have more people to send. This is really a world-ending all-hands-on-deck situation. Yes this may not be the correct kind of help, but it is an option to consider - especially since they are trying to get Trent killed/kill Trent as a bonus anyways.

3. Trent will 100% double-cross them, or try to kill Caleb, or get tempted by the city, or all of the above; but consider, they can also use it against Trent.

- If Trent double-crosses them, M9 would at least expect it to happen and would see it coming. Especially if Trent already follows them and plans to pursue them anyways - then forming an “alliance” would give them an advantage. They would have to deal with Trent anyways. Sure Trent will probably choose a time when the city is no longer a threat and when they are vulnerable, but it would not come as a surprise. Trent could very well try to get Caleb/other members killed, but they would also be trying to get Trent killed. If Trent got tempted by the city, well all the better if he ends up like Vess DeRogna or if his mind got consumed by a hundred screaming voices.

- Now, since they are definitely not working with Trent, Trent could still be lying in wait to ambush them when they return, vulnerable and exhausted from the city business, and they may still have to fight him at their weakest anyways. So really, the confrontation is bound to happen.

- As for Caleb, he IS the one person who knows how absolutely horrible Trent is. The fact that he is even entertaining this idea means it must have some merit. He has shown that he is willing to face his trauma if it will benefit the party/others/himself in some way (things that he considers “bigger than himself”), and of course “allying” with Trent would be an opportunity for a lot of things (namely, killing Trent, catching him off guard and slipping the collar on, learning more information, finding some things against Trent) that Caleb is interested in.

- Also a bit unrelated, but they also had kind of a similar conversation regarding working with the Assembly before the Sanatorium, and decided to try reaching out to Astrid anyways. They also decided to work with the TT, which some would argue was a horrible, horrible idea, but they lost things as well as gained things in those interactions. High risk, high reward. Even though in this case, the risk might be too high, it is still worth M9′s discussion.

4. They didn’t just immediately get all the relevant information - the options changed throughout the episode.

- They didn’t always have to choose between Trent and Essek, there WAS a slim chance that they could have some semblance of both - which would actually be beneficial in its own ways, if played correctly. Obviously it carries a lot of risk, but everything they do have risks. It failed because of the failed persuasion check, and I’m glad it failed, but the potential benefits still exist.

- They asked Astrid precisely to confirm Trent’s level of interest, and dropped the idea soon after because Trent turned out to be REAL invested in terminating them as a threat and less in the “curiosity”/“wanting conversation” stage now. After the messaging, they quickly decided that associating with Trent wouldn’t be worth it.

Now for the list of cons against working with Trent: I don’t even think I need to list them, just typing his name so many times already made me feel revolted. He is dangerous, unpredictable, and he is as untrustworthy as it gets. Also he is just a horrible presence to be around (Lucien/TT are such nice companions in comparison, just in my humble opinion) everybody especially Caleb, and Essek is 100% valid in not wanting to work with Trent. Please don’t send me anything to argue about why working with Trent would be a horrible idea - I agree, I’m not arguing against that at all.

I know that it can seem like the choice between two potential allies should be obvious, but it is a nuanced situation (see above), and Essek is one person, who is at similar levels as M9, whom they still are not sure they trust completely - and have good reason not to (but they obviously do trust him, because they tell him everything and choose him as soon as they have confirmation about Trent’s intentions). All I’m saying is it is good for M9 to weigh their options, even if the choice may seem “obvious” to some of us. Personally I’m really glad that we don’t need to see Trent being even in proximity of them, but there were merits to either option and I think it was nice to see the options explored.

TL;DR: Trent is horrible and I’m so thankful they didn’t “ally” with him but M9 did have many valid reasons to consider, talk about and explore that option. It is NOT M9 being unwise or idiotic (at least not any more than normal). In fact, I think it was great and careful planning on their part that they took time to consider all the options - even though this option is pretty terrible in many people’s opinions (including some of their own and my own).

This is the cast’s game and they can decide how they want to play. If they want to take the time to discuss all the options available to them and the potential pros/cons, I consider that thorough exploration of the story on their part. The fact that they can have such discussions shows how detailed and complicated Matt’s world and characters are. I, for one, love those moments when they lay out their options and weigh the risks and benefits and would never consider M9 any lesser for addressing these options.

#cr discourse #critical role #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #the mighty nein #c2e131 #campaign 2

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

Note

The lack of action from our "heroes" is eerily similar to a Nostalgia Critic sketch I saw when I still watched his show. The idea was that to parallel what was reviewed in the episode, Fantastic Four, where the heroes barely did anything for most of it, Doug and his friends got superpowers and only choose to sit on the couch and watch Netflix while the world is under attack. The only difference is that was meant to lampoon the movie, and wasn't meant to be taken seriously.

Massive replay incoming! I haven’t seen the Fantastic Four, but I do still have a lot of thoughts on this choice and how badly it came across...

Though we can absolutely debate the merits/detriments of having 3/4ths of your title characters keeping to the sidelines while the Big Bad is here, I 100% believe that this could have been improved immensely if RWBY a) were more consistently written and b) allowed its characters to tackle conflicts central to what’s currently going on, not conflicts made up just for the sake of having a conflict (Yang randomly fights with Ruby, Ren has criticisms and then never brings them up again, etc.)

So what do I mean by this. I mean that the fandom isn’t necessarily wrong to argue things like, “RWB needs to be there to help Nora and Penny” or “They need time to regain their aura.” The problem is that the show never established these needs as necessary. The viewers have simply assumed those needs are there and judge the group’s actions accordingly. But for those of us asking questions like, “But how does Ruby standing by the window benefit Nora?” or “How long does it really take them to regain their strength?” we’re never given answers and thus are left with the belief that these needs do not exist and the group’s choices are not justified. It becomes, as you say, akin to a parody.

So how do we fix this? By having the show acknowledge those questions and provide believable answers. A few minor tweaks might include:

Having someone ask how long they’re just going to sit there. Let another character argue that they need to rest up before they do anything else. They can’t help others if they’re collapsing themselves. Then, keep these limitations consistent across the volume. In the last episode, Ren was suddenly using his semblance again, despite his aura breaking with very little time having passed between the two moments. So if he only needs a tiny chunk of time in horrific conditions to recover, why does team RWB supposedly need the whole day and night in complete safety, with heat, food, etc.? If “We have to recover” is meant to be a justification, show us elsewhere what lacking that results in: Ren, Jaune, and Oscar do not get their aura/energy back, they’re making mistakes, at the end of their rope, and generally not functioning because look, their conditions are so much worse. This is why a mansion break is necessary.

Have the group actively be trying to solve their problems. We didn’t start with “Someone needs to watch over Nora” we started with “Nora is incredibly injured and needs help”... but no one ever tried to get her help. Have them cycle through and reject some possibilities. Then have Weiss think of calling Klein and approach Whitley to see if he knows how to contact him. There, your protagonists are active and Weiss is helping to repair this relationship. As it stands, the group appears content to continue sitting around while Nora suffers, despite knowing she needs medical attention. We know, emotionally, they’re not actually content, but that’s what the actions imply. Where’s the scene where Ruby frantically asks May if the Happy Huntresses have any doctors and is it possible to bring one here? Where’s Blake hesitantly asking if it’s worth going back to Ironwood to get her help? The fandom assumes that sitting in the mansion = devotion to helping Nora, but we don’t actually see them trying to help Nora. Not in any meaningful way beyond putting cold towels on her head. What are they willing to risk and sacrifice for their teammate? Because sitting drinking tea while they hope things will magically fix themselves doesn’t convey much. We’re not talking here about how much the fandom assumes the group will do for Nora, we’re talking about what their actual actions read like.

Establish then why it takes three powerful fighters to watch over one unconscious woman already being cared for in a comparatively safe environment. The fandom acts as if Nora is a target when she’s not. No one is explicitly after her. If anything, given the initial assumption that the Hound was after Ruby as a SEW, she puts Nora in more danger by hanging around. Have the group debate the merits of being here to defend her if, by chance, something happens vs. putting their skills to use during a battle where very few huntsmen remain.

This debate should include the fact that half their team is missing. Not gone, missing. Last RWB saw they were going down to Mantle to help with general needs and low-level grimm activity. Now they’ve been MIA for hours. Blake, as the assumed love interest, and Ruby, as the sister, should be particularly desperate to find out what’s happened to Yang. If the group has to stay in the mansion for plot reasons, have Weiss talk them out of running into Mantle without a plan. What if what happened to the others happens to you too? The point is, May shouldn’t be the one concerned about the rest of the team and May shouldn’t be the one out looking for information.

Let the group actually decide something for once. Show us that they were going to help Mantle or Atlas and then, oh no, Penny interrupted those plans. As it is though, that scene frames it like Ruby will happily continue hanging out in the mansion until something else — something more dangerous than May’s demand to choose — forces her to take action. Indeed, that’s precisely what happened with the Hound.

Have Weiss or Blake begin to question why Ruby isn’t doing anything. Weiss has a whole conversation with May about how she wants to protect her home now. Blake is all about faunus rights and protection, with a whole faunus population freezing to death down below. Have one of them threaten to walk out, or actually do it with a, “You don’t need me to watch Nora sleep. I’m going to go do what I can.” These characters are supposed to be people with differing motivations and goals, yet whenever that should matter they’re suddenly happy to follow Ruby, even if by all logic there should be disagreement.

Have Nora wake up and tell them to do something other than waiting by her bedside. Let her be the one to get them back on their feet, showing them that she’s fine — she will be fine — and imploring them to help even though she can’t right now.

Explain to the audience what the group plans to do with all these civilians once they’re in the ships. Are they coming to the mansion? Try to fly them out of the kingdom? This is the one thing they’ve done since Amity and we’re given no indication what the actual plan is, let alone any debate about its merits.

Have Ruby be the one to see Penny in her controlled state, not Whitley, and give us some insight into what that means for her. I’ve likewise seen a lot about how Ruby doesn’t just need to look after a sick Penny, she needs to be there to protect Penny and others from her... but does Ruby even know what’s going on? Penny clash-lands without an explanation, she’s busy with the Hound, Whitley and Willow see her heading to the vault, the Hound knocks Penny out, Ruby is distracted by reunions and Ironwood’s threat. The imagined scene where Ruby learns what’s happening to her friend and weighs the dangers of leaving a controlled Penny alone in the mansion are just that: imagined.

That’s really just a small sampling of options here. As said, there are plenty of ways to tweak this plot to make the heroes seem far less passive than they come across here. The fandom often claims that those who criticize this plot-line don’t understand “show don’t tell.” Meaning, RWBY supposedly showed us something rather than telling us in a hand-holding way and we just didn’t understand it. It becomes more of an insult than an argument, the claim that RWBY wrote something nuanced, it’s not their fault you couldn’t grasp it. But it’s not that we missed the answers here, they simply don’t exist, and the fandom has made up their own answers instead, mapping it onto the canon and assuming that’s what RT intended all along. One individual’s ability to come up with a answer does not mean the story actually gave one, it just means we’re all writing RWBY fanfic in our heads while we watch the show.

And this is by no means an isolated incident. It happens every episode. Our latest bout of headcanons has come about due to the questions, “Why does kinetic energy only hurt grimm?” and “If it only hurts grimm, why was Hazel supposedly destroyed?” Each viewer is providing a different answer — “Kinetic energy is different in this world,” “It has to do with the amount of dust in Hazel’s body,” “The blast went in one direction, towards Hazel, and decimated everything in its path, but the aftershocks only hurt grimm” — all of these complicated, unsubstantiated, and ultimately noncanonical explanations... rather than just saying, “Yeah, it doesn’t make sense based on what the show has told us.” The mansion issue is just a particularly egregious example because we recognize that there’s a major problem with taking your main characters out of the action like that. Yet rather than acknowledging the problems with the writing, many fans are determined to fill in those answers themselves until it makes sense. And it does make sense! So many of these explanations would work, but right now they do not exist within RWBY. If we’re supposed to have an answer like, “The group knows they need to go help, but they’re just too traumatized and exhausted to do it. They know it’s wrong, but they can’t move” then tell us that. Show us that. Make it clear for the audience what the takeaway is. Because when you leave it entirely up to viewer interpret, you might indeed get a lot of “They’re just traumatized and need a break” explanations... but you’ll also get a lot of, “Wow, they’re a really cowardly and callous group, huh?” explanations too. One half of the fandom shouldn’t be mad at the other half for interpreting a completely subjective plot-line differently from them, everyone should be mad that our writers didn’t bother to include the canonical explanations from the get-go.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #mymetas #Anonymous

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k-writer1998 · 4 years ago

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Runaway

Prompt fic: runaway! felix x princess! y/n

fluff

w.c: 2.2k

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

“What’s a princess doing climbing the palace wall? I’m pretty sure you have doors.”

The voice immediately registered in my mind and I rolled my eyes as I gave the voice’s owner a smile that matched his own toothy grin. His golden locks caught the sunlight making them stand out against his tanned skin.

“Doors are for people with permission to leave Felix. I, on the other hand, am running away unless you want to kidnap me instead.”

“Why are you like this? You ask me to kidnap you every time I see you, being kidnapped isn't something a princess should be asking for.”

In the distance, the sound of steps on cobblestone grew closer. After sharing a glance, I quickly grab Felix’s outreached hand as he pulls me into the tree he was perched on.

“We can discuss the finer details in town or you can watch me leave. Either way I don’t want to stay in the palace right now and the guards are coming,” I whispered.

Letting out a sigh he pulled me along and we completed our escape.We were talking as the town came into sight when Felix suddenly pulled up the hood of my cloak.. My lips tugged into a grateful smile as a soft thank you fell from my mouth. Felix was so much like a gentleman I almost forget he’s wanted, even the townspeople seemed to forget. The blacksmith Changbin and the stable boy Jisung, two of the fiercest villagers, along with the mayor’s son Hyunjin and the florist’s son Jeongin greet Felix as if they were best friends.

“How is it that you are a wanted criminal yet the town treats you like royalty?”

“Huh, what? Royalty? What? Why would you say that?”

“Because everyone loves you even when your wanted poster is hanging right here?”

Coincidentally we walked past the town notice board where the poster in question hung. I’ve never heard father talk about it but suddenly one day it was there so I never caught wind of what exactly Felix did to become wanted. There were rumors, but they are far too vast and many don't match the boy I've grown to know.

"It's probably because the poster looks nothing like me."

"Felix… they have you down to the freckles."

"Oh! Do you smell that? It seems the bakery just finished a fresh batch."

It was always like this, Felix avoids topics about the poster and about his life. He’s never around long enough for me to figure out anyways. I've hinted at his past a few times but he always seemed to find a way around it. My eyes followed the movement of the boy as he happily spoke with the baker's son, Seungmin. He has a friendly disposition and a smile that’s like a burst of serotonin but the way he carries himself is almost… regal. I’ve observed him over the span of a few months and the more I learn the more mystery surrounds him. One thing is certain though he’s good at hiding what he wants to keep hidden. Soon Felix exited the shop with a single loaf of bread looking pleased with himself as he broke me half. Starting our stroll once again, I silently followed Felix’s lead, still stuck in my earlier thought, as I picked at my bread until his velvet voice broke me from my thoughts.

“So are you gonna tell me about these “finer details” you mentioned earlier?”

“Ugh…” I sigh as I give him a side eye he returns with a patient smile, “My coronation is coming up soon and one of the traditions is announcing my engagement, the only problem is I don’t have a fiancé.”

“I’m assuming the king has tried to find you one and you’ve refused them all?”

“Well father calls it “scaring them off” but besides the point. The problem lies with time. It’s decided the next suitor will be my fiancé, there just isn’t any more time in this matter.”

Minus a few furrowed brows, Felix was actually taking this better than I thought. Not many outsiders understand the workings of royal society. He took a moment as he weighed over his next question before he asked.

“So are you really running away?”

“Although I do joke with you to kidnap me, I do know better you know. It’s for the future of my country and as crown princess I have to make choices others don’t,” I smiled.

What more could I do? There would be no gain from revealing my true feelings anyways. Felix seemed lost in thought, most likely trying to process all of this so after a moment I gave him a little nudge. He turned to me with a smile and his eyes seemed to soften. Usually I would hate a look like that from anyone, but just for today and because it was Felix, I took it.

“C’mon don’t be a downer, there is still half a day’s adventure waiting for us.”

We went back on the main street looking about the shops and even played a bit with the children in town. Before we headed back our final stop was Minho’s restaurant. The food was amazing but I expected nothing less from the palace cook’s son. Felix excused himself for a moment, leaving me to my thoughts. I can’t explain it but the air around him has changed.

“You like him don’t you?”

“OH- shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?” I gasp as I look at Minho sitting in Felix’s seat.

“Yes but I am the owner so I can do what I want and you never answered my question.”

“Wipe that cheeky smile off. Being my childhood friend doesn’t mean you know me,” I huff.

“That’s not why I asked but also another valid point. I’ve seen lots of people come through my restaurant y/n, I can tell when someone has a crush.”

“Well whatever the case it doesn’t matter anyways. Didn’t your mom tell you what’s been going on in the palace lately?”

“You may not think it matters but who knows, maybe it matters enough to change something.”

Before I could argue with him, he ran back to the kitchen with a mysterious smile and moments later Felix came back. After dinner we had to start the unavoidable walk back to the palace. Once the front gates were coming into sight, Felix pulled me to a halt. I knew he wouldn’t be able to walk me all the way back but he was never one for goodbyes. He would usually disappear and I wouldn't notice until moments later. Why the sudden change in habit? There was a careful look on his face and it made me nervous, it was rare to see him so serious and a first during goodbye.

"Hey, don't be like this. It almost makes me want to really run away with you," I tried joking.

“Can I ask you something?”

“By all means.”

“If I was a prince would I pass your test?”

“Felix you are one of the few people willing to put up with my temperament and can easily keep up with me. If you were a prince you would be my first pick.”

I wasn’t going to speak my true feelings but with that expectant look on his face, I couldn’t help but be honest. Although this parting weighed on me the more we extended this goodbye, he looked content with my answer. Not wanting to be the only one thrown off, I emptied my mind and let instinct take over. Pulling him down, I kissed his cheek before running off to the main gate. It wasn’t until the guards were escorting me back into the palace did I dare to look back and of course there was no trace of him… Being scolded in the study made me realize, I may have accepted my fate but it didn’t mean I wouldn’t be petty about it.

“You know, have you ever thought as to why I’ve rejected every suitor you brought forth? They’ve either belittled my intelligence or overestimated their power in this union.”

“My daughter, you're my everything! I’ve handpicked the most suitable of the royals for you. You are being too critical on these princes.”

“Wow, didn’t know that’s how ‘I’m sorry’ sounds these days.”

“Y/n, I’m sorry… I truly am but you know you are running out of time, we cannot delay anymore.”

“You only care that I’m crowned, not taking into account that I will have to entrust our kingdom to whatever prick comes next let alone live with him.”

“Y/n please-”

“Don’t worry father, I’ve come to terms with this decision. I will have a fiancé by the end of the month. I’m tired from my outing, I will return to my chambers now.”

Aside from my head hurting from that conversation with my father, my mind couldn’t help but worry about Felix. Ever since telling him I was to be engaged soon, he seemed… off for the rest of the day. Through the next few weeks of preparations, meetings, and dress fittings Felix has yet to leave my mind. It’s normal for him to disappear for periods of time but there was something final about our last goodbye and it doesn’t settle well with me.

“Princess?”

“Sorry, I got distracted by the beautiful flowers. I’ve had little time to enjoy the garden like this recently.”

I smiled at the prince beside me as I internally sighed. Curse my stupid heart for making this harder than it already is. The fourth prince of the Western Valley, although born so far down the succession line he is still ambitious yet seems to overestimate his own intelligence compared to his competitors.

“You must be uncomfortable. Although eloquent with your words, very few have expressed your desire to be here.”

“We never spoke much so I’m a bit awkward, even more so with this strange setting.”

“Strange? I thought it to be normal for royals to get married for political reasons.”

“Ah, yes. That it is true… that is what this is,” I reply flatly.

“Princess y/n that doesn’t mean we cannot grow to love each other. I will be a competent hus-”

Typical how boring.

“Let’s be frank. You are no more interested in me than you are in the flowers here. What you’re interested in are the benefits gained from this union. I am aware of most situations going on in other kingdoms along with my own. You seem to have underestimated my intelligence if you think I don’t know your true motives.”

“Princess you are overstepping,” he growled as he grabbed my wrist and pulled me close enough to hiss in my ear, “regardless of how you may feel towards me you have no say but agree, isn’t that right?”

“I advise you to unhand me at once. You may be my only option but with this kind of behavior I would rather marry a pig,” I spat.

His grip began to burn as I struggled against it but no sooner was it there that it was ripped from my arm. Between prince Jacob and I stood none other than the boy that has plagued my mind. While still holding onto Jacob’s arm, he grabbed my hand and moved me behind him defensively. He seemed different, there was an air of authority around him and a fierceness I’ve never seen before.

“Hope I’m not late, princess.”

“What a no good second prince like you doing here?”

“I could ask the same to a little fourth prince like you.”

Prince? What is he on about? The two boys glared at each other, neither relenting in this power struggle although it was blatantly obvious who had the upper hand here. It wasn’t until I heard Father’s voice booming from the archway did Felix let go and take a step back.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

“I’m Prince Felix, second prince of the Southern Isles, and I’ve come to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“What insolence-”

“I accept!” I cut my father off. He sputters at me and I roll my eyes, “You should have no reason to reject father. I have a fiancé, as promised, and it’s one I’ve chosen for myself.”

Father nearly faints into his advisor’s arms at my response as prince Jacob storms off in embarrassment. Although this will cause quite a political uproar my only focus is the boy standing next to me with his sunny smile and adorable freckles I know and love.

“If you’re a prince why have I never bumped into you before?”

“I always left those political events to my older brother crown prince Chan.”

“Well now that you’re my fiancé you better get used to those events,” I laugh before adding, “Are there any other big secrets you wanna tell me since apparently everything is coming out now?”

“Hmmm, being a prince is the only big one,” he teased.

“Then how about we start small, like your wanted poster?”

“My father doesn’t appreciate that I like to travel so he notified all the neighboring kingdoms to keep an eye out for me.”

“So I’m guessing you run away often?”

“I did but recently whenever I ran I always somehow ended up here,” he answered cheekily as he stepped closer to me.

“Well now that you’ve admitted you enjoy your time here, I’m not letting you go anymore,” I respond as I wrap my arms around his neck.

“Lucky me.”

#stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids oneshots #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz oneshots #lee felix #felix imagines #felix oneshot #my writing #skz gc prompts

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queenofallwitches · 4 years ago

Text

Why I hate people who spend their adult life arguing online;

1. Well it’s juvenile , I personally prefer to leave any and all pseudo intellectual social discourse in my 6th grade debating class...

2. You aren’t anyone important and not saying novel things, you are using people who have put information that is novel and trying to spin it into your own agenda.

3. Waste of time, fools will be foolish, and if you enjoy the discourse, toastmasters or academic debating would be more productive uses of time

4. You lack self insight

5. You are self aware and doing it due to your own egotistical, sadistic, cunning desires. (Trolls, deep fakes)

Why I never take anyone who loves to argue on menial topics seriously: (spiritually or mentally)

I am high iq and high eq. I am also “attractive by the conventional measures of society” I deal with the most pathetic and malicious idiots who cannot understand a woman who has aesthetic appeal, that can also hold a stimulating and intelligent conversation.

I don’t argue. I problem solve. Arguing online was faded out when I was 14 years old.

But people who are almost 40, ar still out there pretending that they are the most unique and authoritative source of blogging bullshit. When the world media and journalism is where we are today. The academic literature speaks a plethora more than an adult in the hamster wheel, unable to see they are playing checkers in a left vs right, design by social engineering and the think tanks of Tavistock, you play the part they put you to be.

A dialectic of irrational and repetitive arguments is never productive.

It lacks a solution or a higher order of resolution, why are you behaving to destroy when you are claiming to want to create a world better?

So unconscious and unexplained lack of self awareness in adults who are obviously insecure and ignorant becomes old quick.

I comprehend why it’s important but the level of the argument is basic, and been recycled 1000000 times.

Why am I writing this? Free speech is not free. If you can discourse over the same shit and never find a solution you are part of the same fucking problem.

How I know?

Life experience. Learning.

Love of learning and living and devouring the higher level of what if, how can we, let’s move into a better solution.

I have many years of experience that is beyond the understanding of most people and I have gone through things nobody understands.

One time I was a young teen, but was already too smart, too sassy, too aware and that left my life a wreck after I went too far.

I DID get expelled in the 11th grade. I’m no idiot, I am actually genius, by measures of conventional iq.

So I was academically talented without effort, not to boast, because I hated being smart.

But I did get the internet social discourse I needed to say; on things that we should be all knowing are social engineering in a designed dichotomy to divide and conquer.

I was in a program in high school called cum laude. I cannot recall the meaning. But we were advanced academics, not only skilled at learning but sports, extra curricular things like musicals, choir, crusade survivor camps (duke of Edinburgh), debating, tutoring/mentoring younger students & more. I won many awards without trying. Mostly for geography (social science), design tech, visual art & creative writing. I was learning university level things in year 8. And examining and analysis to debate in scholarly discourse about topics that were familiar when I was in 1-2 year of my bachelor degree. An example is philosophy, as this was mandated in the GT program. Smart is my sense of knowing how to balance the logical and the emotional. This is ONE percent of my life but one I did not follow through on and as a result I walk this path now, and I put up with the educated and intelligent “idiots” (like conformity, bullying, bitching kids in the same class) and refuse to stoop to low iq, low eq and low level idiots.

You waste time. I am not saying I am only exclusive to educated or academic professionals, that is not what this is about. This is about me being underestimated and undermined and never taken seriously because I get the most inhuman torment if I do start to speak my truth.

Lucky I found comfort in solitary rebellion. So. Let’s see what I am that is always going to be a work in progress but what my enemies forget all the time.

To remind you:

I am a born, intuitive empath, psychic and ancestral lineages of many esoteric paths play into my natural ability. I used to hate feeling, knowing and perceiving things that I could see happening, in my dreams, visions and “gnosis” before they happened. I felt powerless.

But now I know how to harness it, things change.

And yet still I have to sit back and observe, as I did for years in school, and then in the fucking shithole employment situation that was my consequence of 2 expulsions from schools. (They value conformity over fucking intelligence) I had a gang of kids in my last high school sign a petition to have me expelled and that is one example of how people in my life come to attack, hate, misunderstand and spit venom for no reason.

I never push that energy myself. But I call things as I see them. I am real , and my perception is primed to pierce the veil on those who lack authenticity, who are bullies, cunning, cruel, conformists, deep fakes, fraudulent, following orders for the sake of fear, or just narcissistic or psychopathic “organic portals” who carry out the agenda for the black lodge.

I have no issue if these people want to live a life away from me and what I protect. But when my sphere is crossed into on a repeated basis, I will study the situation in silence. I won’t speak of what I see, without objective and subjective factors weighed in a careful, cautious but not closed minded, way. See you and I are probably not the same because I’m the kind of human who always gives people the benefit of the doubt and believes that people are better, that is my detriment and my strength. I see the good and hope that others carry a genuine heart and soul. But my experience shows me that I am not wrong when I feel off, or intuitive feelings are ignored due to my “dismissal”.

When I find the truth, I always say, I knew I needed to listen to my heart and head.

That’s why I can never be broken, or betrayed, or backstabbed worse than before. It is always a learning lesson I am open to growing from.

I am always open to being wrong, or told how to be better, my flaws are on open display and I am not scared of that. I want to be more helpful to grow and nourish the people and places I interact with.

In my world, arguing online was a dying medium by my 18th birthday. For many reasons. But the enemy is a sucker for this divide and conquer, drama bred social and political bullshit that’s all just opinion and speculation. It creates a negative tone and teaches nothing of novelty or wisdom. It just shows how weak, insecure, paranoid, and self obsessed people who are too old for the high school bullshit, by miles, are. my enemies could even spit out the first longing to follow the death cult of the black lodge, I was already aware of what 95 % of you found out in 2020. I don’t mean to be pretentious or pompous, I’m not. I’m actually the most passionate, loving and open minded human I know. But the people who come into my spaces to play to prey. Imposters and the immoral, A siphoning sickness in a role to ruin, how could anyone do that but someone who is a soul-devoid parasite? That’s real fucking discourse. Let’s talk about morality, moral principles and how they are applied and actualised into the metacogition of your own microcosm.

Suggestions and solutions?

How about discourse on the metaphysics of mystic, magick, the mind and the method to mend the mundane world into a manifestation where a symbiotic system of mutually beneficial prosperity, peace, collaboration, creation & harmony can be lived on a daily basis?

How about solutions and sitting with your own shadow in the darkness to see your flaws.

how they only give me a free pass to watch the shit show. when push comes to shove and patterns that are seen in your behaviour, cyclically, are the key that unlocks the truth of anyone’s hidden motivation.

Why is deception and destruction never noted by the deceived, unless someone like me comes to break the wall of ignorance to say “hey this is the truth and it hurts and looks vile but fucking wake up”. No I don’t like the ripple impact this has but at the same time I am aw woman of strength. I will stand up for the real, authentic and genuine truth and speak my mind.

I don’t sugar coat this bullshit.

Nor will I indulge it.

Let alone be a person who lets it seep it’s tendrils into my life and what I love.

Not ever. Never.

As someone wise once said “despair ends, tactics begin”

You cannot claim any authentic path without putting your soul, blood and spirit to the test of facing your demons, slaying the darkness. I am not sure that comes with what I and others see these action and behaviour presenting to be.

I rarely write things like this, and only want to address this because i walk on a path of “rose and thorn”. My thorn will eventually slay whatever is a threat, a charlatan or a sheep in wolves clothing. By accident. Because what you are lacking is always looking to attack, I am always having to protect and defend my life from the evil.

I see you. I know the hidden hand x64. I am always open to forgiving people if they are sincere but will play reflection of the adverse if passive people are coming to what to me, is a beautiful and amazing thing, and to be acting as agents of sabotage? Shame on your lack of soul, and it’s lack of seeking to steal, stain and shit all over the things of substance, spirituality and sincerity will always be seen when I am the seer seeing the undertones.

So where is the moral compass?

Find yourself, and then you can find something real that is yours to be into and love. Maybe even this. But to fuck with what is real, while being fake, and following orders, is by far, fence sitting and fraudulent, insidious & infantile activity. Why not spend time looking inside to see why you are following this order from who for what? What is your genuine purpose? Soul mission? Higher self ? Or are you all still stuck in the love is the law is the law love under the will of the guy who wrote a book last century.

Fucking even Crowley lived his great work, and he has flaws and did things many would dispute to be “evil”. But he didn’t copy another clone from 100 years prior, following the mantra that someone else made up. That’s the stupid thing, the whole “do what thou wilt” was not do what you want but that is not a strong point for the sheep of the worst. I know as I see both sides, and as a child in the 90s I saw the dark, evil and insidious. To see that again, here, 3 decades later, playing coy but really carrying rancid intent.. is my call to commune what many will never see, because you all are complicit, and tell these fucking lies and divert productive progress by your stupid discourse. These people LOVE senseless debating. Semantics. Solutions, self awareness or seek a soul inside the empty cavern that the black lodge will set inside your sadistic serpentine, slimy soul.

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gascon-en-exil · 5 years ago

Note

So I've heard the parley scene in AM is really bad. Can you explain what's wrong with it?

This sounds like a good time to use that handy event gallery feature to transcribe the conversation so we can talk about it. I haven’t done a full line-by-line reading of anything in a very long time.

Incidentally, Hubert is also present in this scene although he has no lines, which is highly unusual for the way this game handles who appears in story cutscenes. I just thought that was worth remarking on.

Dimitri: Professor. Do you think Edelgard will show up?

Byleth: “She will.” or “I doubt it.” Choice leads to...

???: “Well, well. It’s been a long time, Professor. And hello to you too, DImitri.” or “Sorry to disappoint you, Professor.”

This is Byleth’s only line in the scene, and I love how it reinforces that Edelgard is hung up on them even in the route where Byleth matters least. She acknowledges Dimitri, the leader of the army with whom she’s holding a parley, second - and not at all if you doubt her and she gets pouty about it. Also, imagine a Byleth-less AM where it would Dedue at Dimitri’s side instead, and how much better that would have been.

Dimitri: Edelgard. I did not think you would actually accept my request.

Edelgard: Call it a whim. Well then? What did want to talk about?

Call it an OOC whim, because she never so much as suggests any such thing on the other routes even when she’s losing.

Dimitri: I will get straight to the point. Why did you start this war? There had to a way change things in your territory without the need for so many senseless casualties.

Edelgard: It may be hard to believe, but this is the way that leads to the fewest casualties in the end. Don’t you see?

Dimitri: How could I? Countless people have already lost their lives in this conflict.

Edelgard: The longer we took to revolt, the more victims this crooked world would have claimed. I weighed the victims of war against the victims of the world as it is now, and I chose the former. I believe that I have chosen the best path, the only path.

Dimitri: Even after seeing the faces of those who have suffered the ravages of war, you would still force them to throw their lives away for the future? You are obsessively devoted to this war and deaf to the screams of its victims. You cannot change the cycle of the strong dominating the weak with a method like that.

Edelgard: You’re wrong. That very cycle is exactly what I have devoted my life and my power to destroying. If after all of this you believe the weak will still be weak, that is only because they are too used to relying on others instead of on themselves.

This reinforces three concepts central to Edelgard’s character: the ends justify the means, dependence on others makes you weak, and it’s acceptable for her to make life-or-death decisions for an entire continent because she has the power and (allegedly) the understanding to do so.

Dimitri: Yes. Perhaps someone as strong as you are can claim something like that. But you cannot force that belief onto others. People aren’t as strong as you think they are. There are those who cannot live without their faith...and those who cannot go on once they have lost their reason for living. Your path will not be able to save them. It is the path of the strong, and so, it could only benefit the strong.

Dimitri remarks that Edelgard is operating from a place of extreme privilege as emperor, but he also means strength in a different context which he’ll expound upon later. I’ve seen people cherry pick the line about people who can’t live without faith as evidence that Dimitri thinks religion is necessary, but that’s ignoring what he says below.

Edelgard: Heh, so you consider me strong, do you?

Of course, because Edelgard makes a big point of never showing her emotions to anyone but Byleth and projecting an image of strength in place of them. This is markedly in contrast to Dimitri who allows himself to be publicly vulnerable in ugly and unsettling ways. It’s inverted gender coding twice over.

Edelgard: Even if one clings to their faith, the goddess will never answer them. Countless souls will be lost that way. Living without purpose. And I can be counted as those who have died that way as well. But that’s why I must change this world, on behalf of the silent and weak!

So now she claims to speak for the weak. This implies some interesting things about why Edelgard is an atheist (or as much as one can be in a world where your deity is living inside your teacher), although it falls a bit flat when one considers Dimitri’s Goddess Tower event where he essentially admits to being a deist himself. They’re actually about on the same page there, but this conversation doesn’t indicate it.

Dimitri: And do you intend to become a goddess yourself? Will you steal the power to take action from the broken-hearted masses you claim to defend? The ones who can truly change the way of the world are not the rulers, but the people. Pushing your own sense of justice and your own ideals onto even one other person is nothing more than self-righteousness.

Edelgard: Maybe it is self-righteousness, but it doesn’t matter. Someone has to take action and put a stop to this world’s endless, blood-stained history!

Proto-democracy alert, and I don’t mean from Edelgard. I’m a bit shocked that Edelgard is willing to admit that she’s being self-righteous, but she immediately pivots back into her usual spiel and refusal to compromise her beliefs even the slightest.

Dimitri: Do you not believe in the power of the people to join together and rise up? Humans are weak creatures. But they are also creatures who help each other, support each other, and together, find the right path. I have learned that humans are capable of all that from the professor...and from everyone in my life.

I hate that Dimitri singles out Byleth here and not, you know, any of the numerous other people who’ve been at his side supporting and loving him for much longer and with more than just irrelevant dialogue options and vacant smiles. Nevertheless, Dimitri understands the value of community on account of his experiences and his own development. That’s some solid, thematically cohesive writing there. See what the other leaders miss out on by never changing during their stories...and no, having the hots for the self-insert does not constitute changing.

Edelgard: I doubt a highborn person like yourself could know how the poor feel or what motivates them. This is nonsense. Though, I’m finally starting to understand how you feel. But that makes it even clearer to me that we can never fully understand each other.

Dimitri: I feel the same. I finally understand...what you believe is right.

An obnoxious moment of the pot calling the kettle black that also ignores that Dimitri spent most of the timeskip homeless, spending time in the slums of Fòdlan, being hailed as a (frightening) hero of the common people. Dimitri doesn’t argue the point though; he sees that Edelgard is set in her (demonstrably incorrect) beliefs and that further discussion is useless. Do note who shuts down the conversation first though, after sidestepping Dimitri’s point about the value of supporting each other.

Edelgard: Good-bye, DImitri.

Dimitri: Wait, Edelgard. There is something I must give you. This is for you. Use it to cut a path to the future you wish for. And I will rise up to meet you there...El.

Edelgard: ...

I left this bit in for the transition as well as to undercut the irony of what Edelgard ultimately does with this dagger. The future she wishes for is to stand on her own - even if it means killing an old friend and dying herself.

After this the scene cuts to a flashback of Dimitri giving Edelgard the dagger before she left the Kingdom, followed by Edelgard admitting that she had forgotten that memory and the two of them reflecting on it briefly before parting. I’ve cut this part as it’s not relevant to the parley.

Now that I’ve written it all out I have to say that the scripting of this scene is not inherently terrible. It works if you assume that Edelgard is metaphorically sticking her fingers in her ears through the whole thing and spouting her rehearsed, blatantly flawed rhetoric about human nature and assumptions about Dimitri’s character that prove that she doesn’t know him very well at all and doesn’t care to. I’ve read that several lines are markedly different in Japanese, although not necessarily better? Either way this is a scene of two people talking past each other repeatedly that accomplishes nothing except to set the stage for the final cutscene, underscoring that AM was never really about politics so much as people at its narrative center.

#Fire Emblem #FE16 #Fire Emblem Three Houses #Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd #Edelgard von Hresvelg #Azure Moon

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jarienn972 · 5 years ago

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La Sirena - Chapter Two

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2020

Chapter Two of my @cssns is now here! I used Chapter One to set up each character’s POV of how they were brought together so this chapter will officially focus on their actual introduction as shipwreck survivor Lt. Killian Jones regains consciousness, discovering that he’s traded imprisonment on a pirate ship for a deserted paradise with a beautiful woman as his sole companion.

I have to thank all of the admins and creators of this fun event that allows all of us to stretch our creativity and I especially want to extend thanks for @kmomof4 for her wonderful beta and cheerleading assistance and to @courtorderedcake for the incredible artwork she created for this story!

This story can also be found on ff.net and AO3. Tumblr Chapter One

Chapter Two - Encountering an Angel

Killian woke with a jolt, body arching upright until his throbbing head protested. He sucked in a deep breath as he settled back to the ground, clutching at the sharp pains crisscrossing his rib cage. He felt as though he'd breathed in pure fire. Had he passed through purgatory straight to the flame and brimstone of hell?

No, no - he wasn't dead. Was he?

Bits and pieces of memory flashed within his mind. A map… That cursed island… Pirates… Escaping an abandoned, sinking ship… Clinging desperately to a makeshift raft of wooden planks until he'd slipped off into the depths. And then a cascade of pure gold beckoning him to paradise… or something like that.

But would the hereafter be this painful?

Pull yourself together, Jones. Use your wits.

He was still near the sea. The gentle lapping of waves against the shore and the squawk of seagulls sounded nearby. A wafting of crisp, salty air filled his nostrils as did the earthy scents of sand and rock. There was a solid surface beneath him. He'd made his way to land somehow, but where?

But when he dared open his eyes, even the diffused sunlight filtering through the canopy of palm fronds swaying overhead assaulted his vision. Squinting and shading his gaze with his outstretched hand, he allowed his pupils a few moments to adjust before rolling himself onto his right side and propping on an elbow to survey his surroundings. He spied the shoreline from where he lay yet he was a fair distance from the water's edge, sheltered amongst a grove of date palms, cycads and a few gnarled low trees that had branches laden with what appeared to be olives. A craggy outcrop of rocks was a short distance away and the stone barrier seemed to extend all the way out towards the sea.

He couldn't remember stumbling or even crawling this far from the shore. He barely recalled reaching the beach. He'd been so weak that he couldn't possibly have made it this far without assistance… All of his senses instantly went on full alert as he realized he must not be alone on this idyllic looking isle. Someone else was here but were they friend or foe? What a ridiculous question, Jones… Why spare your life if they intended to harm you?

His memory brought back hazy images of a woman's soft face framed by a halo of pale blonde hair just as his eyes drew skyward to gaze upon that same angelic visage looming above. Clad in a full length, flowing gown that was only a few shades paler than her porcelain skin, she had arrived as stealthily as a ghost. She eyed him quizzically, as though she were as surprised to see him alert as he was startled by her arrival.

He initially recoiled, not from fear, but rather from her abrupt appearance. Now that he was able to see her features clearly, he was transfixed by her ethereal beauty. Only a being sent from the heavens could ever be so lovely. Why this angel would ever want to aid such a broken man as him was beyond his comprehension.

Awake since dawn, she'd left the human's side for only a short while to catch some breakfast and to collect sweet water from the cavern spring. The man would likely be parched when he awakened but unlike her, he couldn't survive by drinking from the saline seas.

After he'd collapsed on the beach yesterday beside her tentacled form, she'd immediately transformed back to her humanoid self to drag his unconscious body away from the shore before the tide set in. He was heavier on land than he'd been in the water but she managed to pull him beneath the safety of the trees. She'd done her best to clean his wounds while he slept but with little knowledge of human physiology, she wasn't sure what else she could do.

She had remained close to him throughout the night, continuing to tend to his injuries as needed and to provide needed warmth. Never in her long life had she been in such intimate proximity to a human but every ounce of her being was insisting that this was where she was meant to be. Despite her species having been bred to lure humans to their demise, here she was seeking to save one of them.

The debris that she'd found him amongst was proof that he'd survived a shipwreck but she wasn't quite sure how. In the treacherous waters that surrounded these islands, no ship that sailed too close to the siren's cove could resist their call. For him to have been found alive, floating into her placid bay, he must have some special power. No man was immune to the siren song, yet here he was.

His sleep had been restless, which she had anticipated and attributed to his injury. The jagged laceration at his temple appeared to be the most serious but she assumed he could have wounds not visible on the surface. She was also concerned about the amount of seawater he may have swallowed. He'd spewed a fair portion when she'd rescued him but more could be lingering within his lungs as he was without the benefit of transformative gills. It would certainly bear watching once he awakened.

As she returned to the sheltered thicket carrying a ceramic jar of potable water, she was surprised to find him alert and staring directly at her face. In deference to her understanding of human modesty, she'd donned a simple, breezy, off-white linen column gown. It was horribly itchy but she feared overt nudity might offend her companion so she'd suffer for his sake.

She dipped her free hand into the water jug and withdrew an ancient, hammered copper cup that she extended towards him. "Drink," she instructed, firmly, yet politely, but the command wasn't spoken in English.

He quirked an eyebrow suspiciously until he could see that the cup contained water. He then softened his features and accepted the offering, gulping the contents a little too quickly in an attempt to quench his thirst. It was the first he'd ingested in at least a day and he was ever so thankful that it didn't smell or taste as though it had been drawn from the bilge tanks. But there was something strange to her statement - he'd understood her although his weary mind couldn't fathom why.

"Who are you?" she queried in that same familiar, yet foreign tongue.

His military training kicked in as he stammered out his rank and full, legal name. "Lieutenant… Lieutenant Killian Charles Arthur Jones…" He paused for a breath before adding the rest of his title. "Of His Majesty's Royal Navy. At your service, m'lady."

"Ah, English," the woman replied with a giggle as she switched to his language. "You didn't appear to be Greek."

"Greek?" he repeated, brow furrowed in confusion. "Was that what you just spoke?"

"It was, and I am surprised that you seemed to understand."

"I learned Ancient Greek in the Naval Academy, just not the conversational form. You speak both Ancient Greek and the King's English?"

"I speak many tongues, but Greek is native to me."

"So, is that where I've landed?"

"No, not exactly," she responded cryptically. "These isles owe their heritage to Greece, but they've no allegiance to that land any longer."

"What do you call this land then?" he pressed, trying to gather more information as to how far off-course his imprisonment by the pirates had taken him.

"No name you would recognize from any map or chart. Officially, these islands exist only within the world of myth and legend."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," he sighed, rubbing his aching head as he shifted his position onto his back. "How did I get here? Have I crossed over into the ever after with you as the angel welcoming me?"

"No, you are still amongst the living, Lieutenant Killian Charles Arthur Jones. You are still very weak from nearly drowning out there in the bay so you should rest to regain your strength."

"Aye…," he replied without argument. "But first, Killian will suffice. I've no need for formalities. It's just habit…" He broke off his sentence there, squeezing his eyes closed as he thought of the question he absolutely needed to ask but feared the answer. "Did anyone else reach these shores?"

"No, only yourself."

"Oh," was his dejected response as he turned his head away from her gaze. Neither dared elaborate as unspoken words weighed heavy but after a few moments of tense silence, he at last spoke up. "In my malaise, it would seem I've forgotten to ask for your name, lass."

The question elicited an odd response from her. She remained quiet far longer than he expected, as though she had to think about her reply. "No one has asked me that question in a very long time… My given name was Erimetha, but for simplicity's sake, you are welcome to call me Emma."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Emma," he said with a weak, pained smile crossing his lips.

"You should get more rest," she insisted. "I can see the exhaustion in your eyes but I promise, I will be here when you wake."

"You'll have no protest from me," he answered sluggishly as he allowed sleep to claim him once again.

**********

A few more hours of deep slumber had been much needed, allowing Killian's battered body and troubled mind to relax and try to heal. As he began to stir, the crackle of flames perked his ears right before he noted the acrid scent of wood smoke mixing with the marine air. His eyes looked skyward where beyond the canopy of palm fronds and olive branches, the heavens were awash with pastel tones while the twilight sun began its descent below the horizon.

Another day passed.

More than a week now passed since he'd debarked his ship for that ill-fated expedition.

More than a week passed since he'd last seen his brother.

Was Liam even searching for him? Did he believe his younger brother had perished? Did he know he'd been captured?

He didn't even have the slightest idea where he was so how could he expect Liam to locate him?

His audible, defeated sigh drew Emma's attention from the fire she was stoking.

"You seem quite distressed," she noted, to his chagrin.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," he replied with clear irritation in his tone. "The events that have transpired over the course of this week have been rather overwhelming." He ignored the swell of nausea and the constant drumming within his skull to force himself into an upright, seated position. Muscles that hadn't been used since his escape from the pirate ship screamed in protest but he continued to push through all of the discomfort to look his alluring companion in the eye while she lowered herself to her knees.

She didn't wait for him to elaborate on whatever he'd endured, instead placing a woven reed basket onto the sand between them. "I thought you might be hungry," she said with an unassuming smile as she gave the basket a gentle push closer to him so he'd be able to inspect the contents. A quick glance downward revealed a bunch of bluish purple grapes, a few figs and a scattering of ripe green olives. "I have some freshly caught fish as well…"

"This is fine," he replied in a softened, more appreciative voice. "Best to take it easy so I don't lose my constitution, but thank you."

"I do believe you lost most of that constitution yesterday, but I absolutely understand," she chuckled, causing his cheeks to redden.

"Sorry about that… I really don't remember much after getting knocked off the ship's deck into the deep." He lowered his head with embarrassment. Vomiting in front of a beautiful woman was not generally the best first impression. He shyly reached for a handful of grapes, keeping his eyes averted as he popped one into his mouth, hopeful that the fruit would appease his growling stomach without further incident.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to further upset you," she replied as she slid further away from him. "It's been so long that I've clearly forgotten how to have a proper conversation…"

"You've no need to apologize," he retorted, extending his hand to grasp hers, staring into the melancholy of her emerald irises. "I am thankful for all you've done for this hapless sailor but is there no one else on this isle?"

"Not this far south. I chose this isolated isthmus long ago to escape others like me. It has been many years since I've had another creature to talk to who can actually talk back."

"You chose this isolation?" he repeated, incredulously.

"It was far preferable to what was expected of me…"

"Was it your family?" he pressed. "Were you unable to live up to what they required of you?" His curiosity was increasing with each inquiry, wondering if he might have more in common with this intriguing young woman. "Did you fall short of their expectations?"

"Not exactly," was her initial response, but she was caught unprepared by the introspective nature of his questioning. This human was proving he could be a kindred spirit in many ways but she wasn't ready to share. "Suffice it to say that I grew tired of their ideology and separated myself from their ways. It was best for all at the time."

He sensed there was so much more that she was holding back. His barrage of questions had opened a still-smarting wound and it was abundantly obvious that she wasn't ready to confide in him. Of course, if she had been alone on this shore for many years as she'd stated, it might be equally as long before he found rescue so there would be plenty of time to break down those walls. She'd saved his life. The least he could do in return was to help ease her troubles.

"You know, I'm a man who's spent a lifetime living in my brother's shadow, so if anyone understands what it is like to try to be something you're not, it would be me. Liam was always bigger, stronger, smarter… Graduated top of his class at the Naval Academy. Youngest ever Captain in His Majesty's Royal Navy. The bar was set pretty high and I was pushed to be just like him. I've never been good enough. I've worked hard to get where I am, but I'm not sure it's where I wanted to be… I took that stupid expedition into uncharted waters to prove that I was a leader and what happens? Pirates overtook us and most of my crew was slaughtered. The rest, myself included, were taken captive to be tortured and some were probably executed. Some leader I proved to be… I wish I'd never agreed to follow that cursed map!" He hung his head in shame, realizing that he shouldn't have unloaded so much baggage onto her. He didn't want her pity. "You must think I sound like a blabbering fool…"

"You sound like a man who's been trying to please his family rather than himself," she mused. "Perhaps fate brought you here to discover who you are?"

"You think this is the gods testing me?" he scoffed.

"If that is what you choose to believe."

"And you - were the gods testing you as well? Is that what caused our paths to cross here?"

"Perhaps more than you know," she replied cryptically as she pushed herself back up, brushing grains of loose sand from her gown as she stood. "It will be dark soon, but you will again be safe here for the evening. I shall leave the fruits here and you'll find the carafe of water there amongst the brush. Rest well, Killian."

"You as well, Emma."

He stared blankly at her departing silhouette as she strolled towards the flickering fire, the backlight of the flame giving her form an ethereal aura. Damn this woman! He might blame it on his concussion later but although he'd been coherent only a few scant hours, he was already entirely bewitched. He winced as his hand unconsciously rubbed the bruised and still raw skin adjacent to the gash at his forehead, momentarily speculating if this all might be some vivid hallucination or lucid dream.

Dream or not, he'd never experienced such a soulful connection with any person, yet alone any woman and it only solidified his desire to uncover her secrets. He'd gladly spend a lifetime trying.

#cssns #cssns20 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #cs au ff #la sirena #siren emma

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firebirdsdaughter · 4 years ago

Text

Yeah…

… This is super frustrating. I’d totally be feeling something from this scene if I felt like their relationship was real and not something Korenosuke/Aruto manufactured exactly to their liking. Also if it was less ‘remember your ~dream~’ and more ‘you don’t need to do use another berserk Key.’ Like… I feel like the ‘want HumaGear to smile from the heart’ is a little overdone? Like, in theory it’s valid, but I feel like it gets tossed around w/out much thought to how or why, or recognition of the fact that’s also okay to be upset and angry and that happiness may not look like ‘smiling’ for everyone? I dunno how to explain this, but… There’s just too much of shilling Aruto as this ‘perfect paragon of benevolence’ and Izu as his ‘perfect angel supporter’ for me to have any emotion for this scene? Once again, their relationship feels groomed and manufactured, and not even the collective good acting of Noa and Fumiya can save it? And I think in general the film itself wouldn’t actually really bother me w/out the baggages from the show? I’ve run into the ground how I feel the whole ‘memories’ thing was superfluous, but I just feel like this should be focusing on how Aruto is fully capable of making bad decisions, just like any person, and that the message shouldn’t be that he exclusively ‘needs’ Izu to ‘save’ him from malice, but just that everyone needs someone to call them out when they are being stupid. It shouldn’t be ‘remember how good you are’ but more ‘this is a bad course of action.’ Bc you ultimately can’t ‘save’ someone from ‘darkness’ people will be stupid and make bad choices and everyone needs a network, but that ‘network’ shouldn’t be the android made to cater to your whims who follows you around telling you how great you are twenty-four-seven. Izu disobeying Aruto and confronting him about making a bad decision would have been a really interesting and good subplot for them… If it weren’t for everything else in the show. If her character didn’t feel more like a siri or a tomagachi than a person. If this was treated as her and Aruto learning from their mistakes and failures, esp w/ Horobi, and Izu making a choice about what she thinks is right and Aruto coming down off his high horse. Her confrontation of him being less ‘remember your dream’ and more ‘everyone else is working their butts off to try and stop this and you’re here on your own using a berserk Key again???’

Also if there had been more of him interacting w/ and/or acknowledging the other characters, esp Horobi, whose motivations were very similar to S’. I would absolutely be here for a scene of Aruto being like ‘I’m going to say to you what I should have said to him.’ If Aruto seeing S’ behaviour made him realise that he’s been making similar assumptions about HumaGear/everyone in general, that he somehow knows how to make them happy. If the movie had ended w/ them meeting up w/ the others, and then at some point either he or Izu (or both!) go and quietly apologise to Horobi (what’s it gonna take for me to get an apology for Horobi???), and then maybe to everyone else for taking off like that.

Basically… This film would have benefitted greatly from a more smoothly handled finale. Something where everyone owned up to their parts in what happened, and it turns out that Izu’s data was stored in the 02 Key the whole time, so if Aruto had just paused for a moment instead of going full murder spree, this could have been dealt w/ much sooner. The final fight also features him apologising to Horobi for letting it get this bad and complicated, and reassuring Horobi that the situation is ‘more complicated’ than ‘all his fault.’ Horobi is the one who retrieves Izu’s data from the 02 Key and the one who remakes Jin. Mbjr’s new goal is more to try and fight for HumaGear rights in a new way than just ‘hang out and watch until another ‘Ark’ shows up’ and Aruto and Izu are now more focused on actually changing things so that no HumaGear have to suffer like mbjr and the others did ever again, and there’s talk of trying to give HumaGear more voice in their situations, esp in regards to the new satellite. Something where Aruto/humanity is vowing not to forget the mistakes they also made. The whole ‘memories’ stuff is scrapped bc it’s meaningless, and Izu’s moment in Zea is more about her considering her previous actions (rubbing Horobi’s defeat in baby Jin’s face, stuff like the time Gai tried to mind control Fuwa into shooting her and everything after, her conversations w/ Yua about intentions and the Ansatsu-chan incident, Horobi’s very obvious distress in the warehouse) and taking everything into account about what the right course of action is. Whether she’ll just cause more pain again, or whether she could help. Zea/02 popping in and weighing could still work, and I’d love to see Izu conclude that yes, she does think she can go help, that is the right course of action, and she’s not just doing it to ~support Aruto~ but for everyone else, too, bc everyone else is out there doing all they can, including Shesta, and she wants to do what she can, too. I feel like that all would make me feel much better going into this? Like… That’d make this film mostly work for me. I’d still take issue w/ trying to push Aruto and Izu as romantic bc of the whole he has absolute power over her to the point it comes across as grooming/wife husbandry, but that would require a whole-ass show rewrite.

As it is… I’m just caught in limbo w/ how this could have all been real good, actually, and how good Noa and Fumiya are and how they genuinely do have very good chemistry, but the shilling of Aruto and Izu’s lack of development and any other relationships and the fact that his absolute power and humanity’s absolute power over HumaGear is never addressed, the way the protests were treated as Horobi spreading ‘malice’ rather than a valid complaint on the part of HumaGear that they feel like they have no rights (bc they don’t, and Aruto never seems bothered by this)… I feel like they were perpetuating that there was ‘nothing wrong w/ the system’ despite repeatedly depicting how there is stuff wrong w/ the system… Like. It shouldn’t have taken them until the mbjr v-cinext to be okay w/ showing that sometimes people are just. Actively bad people. Doesn’t mean all of humanity is evil or anything, but at the same time, we’re also not all ‘good.’ There are bad people who will do bad things, and when humans screw up and hurt others, they should be called on it. Horobi wasn’t wrong in that humans can be a danger to HumaGear and that the system was rigged, but he was too extreme in his way of dealing w/ it and was also having a mental breakdown at the same time. Yes, he needed to be shown that humans were not all evil/that destroying them all wasn’t the answer, but not in the vein of ‘you’re wrong humans are what’s best for us’ but more the Wonder Woman view of ‘you’re right but they can be more than that and they can change’ and then humans had to follow through. And… I’m going off topic again.

Anyway. RxT frustrating af.

#Firebird Opinions #AF #A S F U C K #Fumiya and Noa are great young actors #this plot COULD have worked #but the relationship felt SO manufactured/groomed #and the character shilling of Aruto was SO MUCH that I just couldn't #like I wanted Izu interacting w/ Horobi and Fuwa more SO MUCH but it just felt…#hollow?#esp w/ the 'this is a different Izu'#bc it's really not she's exactly the same?#her disobeying Aruto didn't require her 'memories'#it should have been about her making her own choice about what is right for the first time #and maybe allowing her to take an action that was about more than just Aruto

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mylovelyfandoms · 5 years ago

Text

Jihoon’s backstory

The symbol of the Star

Basic Information

A/N: This isn’t edited because it’s currently 6 am where I am and I did not sleep teehee. Also it’s a lot longer than I intended

Warning: Slight angst, parent neglect, friendship, small grey’s anatomy reference if you squint, mentions of violence, use of the word torture, scenes that you would see if you read Seungcheol’s backstory, and a very rushed ending that I will probably fix after sleep

(GIF not mine)

- Jihoon’s mother thought she was one of the lucky few

- When Jihoon was born, he showed no signs of being one of the affected

- His mother and him moved away from their mostly abandoned neighborhood and into the country of the unaffected

- She laughed at the poor saps who had the affected as their child

- She couldn’t believe that any child could be as monstrous as to have some sort of extraordinary power

- Jihoon’s mother thought she was so lucky

- So, she was in almost complete denial when Jihoon started talking in full sentences when other babies were at the age of babbling out syllables

- She pushed the thought to the back of their heads when Jihoon started reading when other kids were just learning the alphabet

- She did whatever she could to keep her vision of having a normal child

- But Jihoon was just good at everything

- All of the kids around him were amazed and impressed, they always asked him for help with their work and everyone wanted to be his friend

- He had everything that a kid could want, but all he really wanted was his mother’s approval

- It seemed that no matter what he did or how good he did it, his mother just became more and more disappointed

- So he tried harder

- Of course, what he didn’t know was that that was exactly what caused his mother’s disappointment

- So one day, when Jihoon was five, he ran home from school

- His eyes were gleaming with pride and joy as he ran into his home

- “Mom! Mom! Look, an upperclassmen gave me a worksheet and I got it all right!”

- Jihoon’s mother took one look at her child’s beaming smile and snatched the worksheet out of his hand

- “Disgusting”

- That was the last time that Jihoon smiled for a long time

- Everytime Jihoon tried to show his mother his accomplishments, she would just get more and more disgusted and disappointed

- So eventually, he gave up

- Jihoon stopped showing his mom the things he did

- He stopped smiling

- And that was when his mother finally accepted him

- He wanted nothing more than to give into his mother’s toxic love, but he was smarter than that

- He knew that he was smarter, he knew that he was different

- So the fact that his mother tried to change him made him lose hope in humanity

- Eventually, the end of the year test rolled around

- Jihoon didn’t bother to mention it to his mother

- He flew through the questions with ease, being the first to finish the entire test

- Since he was the first one done, he sat back and read a book that one of his upperclassmen lent to him

- (He had only made friends with the older kids because he did their homework for fun)

- When class was finally over, Jihoon started to walk home

- When he stepped into his home, he didn’t expect there to be soldiers carrying big guns standing in his house

- “What...”

- The general stepped forward, a hard look on his face

- “Come peacefully and no one has to get hurt”

- “What?” Jihoon looked around and spotted his mom standing behind two officers

- “Mom, what are they doing?”

- Jihoon stepped towards her, but two soldiers grabbed onto his arms and started dragging him away

- The entire time, he kicked and screamed, trying to get his wrists out of the soldiers’ strong holds

- “Mom! Mom help!”

- His mom didn’t spare him a single glance

- He clung onto the door frame

- “Mommy, please! Tell them I’m your son!”

- His mother gave him one look before giving out a scoff

- “I don’t have a son.”

- With her words, Jihoon flinched and loosened his grip on the door

- The soldiers pulled him away and tossed him into the back of a cargo truck, and he didn’t fight back

- When he got to the facility, he was brought into a building where they gave him uniformed clothing

- The soldiers took him into a different room and tied him down to the chair

- They took out their needle and started to tattoo the star into Jihoon’s arm, holding him down every time he struggled from the pain

- When they finally finished the stroke of the ‘I’, they grabbed him and threw him into a cell with multiple kids in it

- Since the stars were the least dangerous of the affected, the only guards with them were the worst and weakest of the soldiers

- Most of them were forced into work until they grew up to be scientists

- So, they became prisoners of the facility

- For years, Jihoon kept to himself, seeing no point in socializing with others even if they were at the same intellectual level as them

- All he did when he wasn’t working was sulk in the corner of his cell

- The other stars knew to steer clear of him because of the deadly glare he gave to the one poor kid that tried to talk to him

- So, for a long time, Jihoon didn’t talk to anyone

- Until...

- A couple other stars were pushed into Jihoon’s since more and more of them were being added into the facility

- Amongst them was a particularly friendly boy

- No one could understand how someone could be so cheery in his situation

- But no one could resist him

- So when the boy approached Jihoon in his corner, everyone was worried about what the sulking boy would do to the small ray of sunshine that made everyone’s day better

- When the boy approached him in the corner, Jihoon snapped around and shot him one of his infamous glares that sent chills to anyone else that was watching

- But the boy was unphased

- “I’m Hoshi, what’s your name?”

- Jihoon’s eyebrows just shot up and his slitted eyes widened

- “Ah well, you don’t have to tell me.” Hoshi took a seat in front of Jihoon, “But I did want to ask you something.”

- Interested, Jihoon stared at the boy in front of him and cocked his head to the side

- “Well, I’m a senser so I’m not really as smart as all of you brains. And I heard that you went to actual school before you got in here, so I was wondering if you could teach me some things.”

- Jihoon kept his face blank, though he was thoroughly shocked at how far this conversation had gone

- Hoshi sat in silence, obviously not leaving until Jihoon answered

- Eventually, Jihoon cracked and finally spoke up, eyes averting to the floor

- “What makes you think I’m going to help you?”

- Hoshi thought for a second before his face lit up with an idea

- “I’ll trade you! My powers for yours; you can teach me with your intelligence and I can do whatever you want. If you want to me ward off other people, I’ll do that. If you want me to keep you away from that big sun guy, I will! And if you want to hear all the gossip and blackmail, I can listen in for you.”

- Jihoon weighed out the options. If it were anyone else asking, he would have said no immediately, but there was something about Hoshi that got to him

- “Fine. Whatever.”

- A smile etched onto Hoshi’s lips and Jihoon peeked up at him

- “And call me Woozi.”

- As time went by, Jihoon taught Hoshi the basics of math and science and reading and languages.

- In return, Hoshi would help Jihoon with whatever he needed

- And eventually, Jihoon would ask Hoshi to help him sneak out of their cell

- Jihoon had taught himself how to pick a lock, so all he needed was for Hoshi to tell him when the soldiers weren’t paying attention or just weren’t there

- While enjoying their small bit of freedom from their cell, Jihoon would scour the facility’s layout, finding all of the blindspots

- The two of them got closer and closer as the years went by

- They had a bond that no one else could understand

- Jihoon and Hoshi would have conversations that no one would expect them to have, laughing and joking around about the strangest things

- They made fun of all of the soldiers and even that young sun that watched over the stars as if he was so much older than them

- One night, they snuck out of their cells with Hoshi’s senses and Woozi’s lock picking skills

- They laid on top of the roof of their cell’s building and Jihoon taught Hoshi as many constellations as he could find

- At one point, they both quieted down and enjoyed the peacefulness of the night

- Jihoon never thought that he would end up like this, he always assumed that he’d be on his own for his time in the facility

- But nonetheless, he was glad to have Hoshi in his life

- So, when Hoshi turned to him and asked about his name, Jihoon explained everything

- He told Hoshi everything about his life before he got to the facility

- He explained that his mother was disgusted by him and abandoned him at the last moment, so he didn’t want anything that connected him to her. He wanted a fresh start

- So, Hoshi explained that he thought the same thing

- Hoshi revealed his dark and twisty tragic origin that gave Jihoon a new perspective of him

- And at the count of three, they both revealed their birth names

- “Lee Jihoon”

- “Kwon Soonyoung”

- Though Jihoon cherished his friendship with Hoshi more than anything, he also appreciated how much it benefited him

- Hoshi had brought Jihoon out of shell and helped him meet more people

- He would teach more and more of the affected, something no other ‘brains’ could be bothered to do

- But, he did have a small price; for education, he would trade the affected anything that they had or could get

- They were small miscellaneous objects, but to Jihoon, they each had a different use for him. They were parts of a bigger plans

- So throughout the years, Jihoon was teaching more and trading more

- His collection started to overflow and eventually, he was caught with a couple of them

- The soldiers took him away from his cell and threw him into a separate room in the west building

- It was an old and dirty cell with shackles attached to the corners of the wall

- The room had obviously been used before with other prisoners with the dried blood scattered all over the place

- The soldiers threw Jihoon into the corner, giving him a small flash of a memory from when he was first captured by these people

- He was shackled to the corner of the wall and the soldiers beat him like they never had before

- When the soldiers were done with him, his whole body ached and he was spitting blood out of his mouth

- There were bruises all up and down his abdomen and on his face. Some of the soldiers had some sort of rings on their hands that placed cuts all over his face

- He was sure that they had broken-or at least bruised-a couple of ribs

- They left him shackled to the corner for a few days before finally unlocking the shackles and throwing him back in his cell

- Hoshi immediately came to his aid with worry all over his face, but Jihoon assured him that he was fine

- Months later, when Jihoon’s bruises and cuts were mostly healed, one of the soldiers decided to pick a fight with him while working

- “Wow, so the little star is all healed and ready to work, isn’t he?”

- Woozi kept his eyes on his pickaxe since they were working on construction that day

- “Hey, pipsqueak! Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

- Jihoon continued to swing his pickaxe, ignoring the words of the soldier with a blank look on his face

- He knew it wasn’t the smartest idea, but he couldn’t just give in to what the soldier wanted

- “I said look at me!”

- The soldier grabbed a fistful of Jihoon’s shirt and pulled him towards his face

- “Tch.” Jihoon smirked slightly. “I didn’t know you wanted my attention this badly.”

- “Why you little-”

- And suddenly, the soldier gasped and let go of Jihoon, turning his body to the side

- Jihoon turned to look in the direction that the soldier was standing and saw the sun that he and Hoshi had made fun of so many times

- The sun’s hands glowed as he manipulated the soldier to grab at the baton at his belt and swung it around at his colleagues

- Jihoon was bewildered

- Why was the sun helping him?

- He wanted to say something as a soldier crept up behind the sun with a syringe in her hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to move

- So, Jihoon watched as the sun’s glow went away and fell limp into the soldier’s arms

- As they dragged the sun away, Hoshi ran over to Jihoon’s side

- “Are you alright? Why’d the sun defend you like that?”

- Jihoon stared after the soldiers as they dragged the body away

- “I have no idea”

- Weeks passed and the sun was nowhere to be seen

- On one of Hoshi and Jihoon’s nights outside of their cell, Hoshi stopped in his tracks as they passed a building

- “What? What is it?” Jihoon hissed, ducking down and looking around for any soldiers that could possibly be around

- “I can...I can smell him. The sun.”

- Jihoon relaxed and rolled his eyes, “Okay, so what?”

- “I think you should thank him when he gets out. He stood up for you, and no one in his ranking has ever done that.”

- Jihoon scoffed. “As if”

- Another week passed and the stars were stuck with cleaning duty in the halls of one of the facility’s buildings

- Hoshi had badgered him and lectured him on and on about why he should thank the sun and how he was probably exactly like the two of them

- Of course, Jihoon shot down any attempt that Hoshi had in making them talk to the sun

- Jihoon was smart of course, so he knew better than to fraternize with the very people that could have him killed

- And he didn’t want to admit it, but Jihoon was kind of scared of the sun

- He saw firsthand what the sun could do and didn’t want that to happen to him or Hoshi

- But of course, Hoshi knew of Jihoon’s fear.

- And Jihoon knew that he knew, which pissed him off

- So, when Hoshi then threatened to stop talking to Jihoon for a month unless he thanked the sun, Jihoon quickly gave in

- He wanted to show Hoshi that he wasn’t so scared of the sun

- And he also couldn’t stand a month without Hoshi

- And so, when they saw the sun again, Hoshi shoved Jihoon towards him

- The entire time he walked towards the sun, Jihoon mumbled about how it was a horrible idea, fully aware that Hoshi could hear him

- When he finally got to the sun, he stared at his mop, an expression with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance on his face

- “Hey.”

- He waited for the sun to answer, but was only met with an unsettling glare

- Jihoon gulped slightly and turned to face the sun, realizing that he wasn’t going to get an answer any time soon

- “I just wanted to uh...say thank you.”

- When there was no answer, Jihoon turned back to his mop, cursing out Hoshi in his mind

- “For you know...that time.”

- He hated how he stuttered in front of the sun. He hated how weak and awkward he sounded. He hated Hoshi for making him talk to the sun. (Well not really)

- The only response that Jihoon got from the sun was a simple grunt and nod

- This guy...how the hell can he be so pretentious?

- Jihoon’s blood started to boil and he let out a scoff before mopping away

- When he looked back and saw Hoshi talking to him, much to his dismay

- Jihoon internally groaned and inched closer to the two, listening in on their conversation to make sure the sun didn’t do or say anything bad to Hoshi

- Listening in, Jihoon learned that the sun’s name was Seungcheol, but he told Hoshi to call him S. Coups, giving him a slight sense that maybe the sun’s situation was like his own

- Hoshi was being his usual self, which gave Jihoon some small sense of pride

- Until, S. Coups uttered the words that Hoshi had only bitterly admitted

- “Kwon Soonyoung.”

- Hoshi was obviously taken aback, making Jihoon’s anger rise

- “W-what?”

- “That’s your name isn’t it?”

- Any fear that Jihoon had of S. Coups disappeared and was replaced with rage

- He kept his composure as he walked over to the pair and stood in between them

- Shooting an icy glare at S. Coups, he spoke in the coldest tone he could muster

- “His name is Hoshi, just like yours is S. Coups.”

- He turned to his friend and grabbed onto his wrist

- “Come on, Hosh, I told you this was a bad idea”

- Jihoon dragged his friend away and continued his work like nothing else happened

- That night, Hoshi was helping Jihoon brainstorm different ways to distract the soldiers for his plan

- Jihoon was barely listening to him drone on and on until he mentioned S. Coups

- The two got into a slight bickering argument about how Hoshi wanted to make friends with S. Coups, but eventually, Jihoon gave in

- He watched from afar day after day when Hoshi tried to talk to S. Coups at any chance he got

- Even when he wasn’t the one guarding the stars for the week, Hoshi would manage to find the sun and start conversations

- Eventually, Jihoon got roped into it and realized that S. Coups wasn’t as different as he had previously thought.

- The more time that passed, the more close Jihoon and Hoshi got with S. Coups

- Though, making friends with the higher ranks did come with it’s price

- Jihoon and Hoshi were under close supervision by the soldiers, and were sometimes even hit just for talking to S. Coups

- They were accused of scheming, but they were loyal to their new friend and defended him even if he didn’t know it

- But each time they were hit for something they didn’t do, Jihoon was getting more and more fed up with the place

- Any other time, he would have just accepted it, but now that his escape plan was falling into place, he was just impatient.

- He just needed the push to put the plan in play

- So one day, it was meal time

- They were all in the dining hall and eating their one tray of food

- While the amount of food they were given wasn’t nearly enough, they still tried to sneak some to S. Coups since they knew that he was a bigger guy and needed more food than them

- Jihoon was a slow eater and Hoshi was always faster, so it was normal for Hoshi to stand up and discard of his food before him

- What wasn’t normal was for Hoshi to bump into one of the soldiers

- Jihoon knew that Hoshi was never clumsy and had faster reflexes than anyone else, so how could he just bump into some soldier?

- His grip tightened on the table as he watched the soldier take Hoshi away, too blind with rage to think any more of it

- Jihoon saw S. Coups walking by, tugging at his gloves with the same feeling of rage painted all over his face

- It was then that he realized it...

- This was the push

- A wave of frustration washed over Jihoon as he realized that he was just outsmarted, but he just let out a small chuckle

- Of course Hoshi would be the only person who could outsmart him

- So, in a quick movement, Jihoon grabbed onto S. Coups’ wrist and tugged him back, only to have him yank his wrist away

- “You’ll make it worse.”

- “Then what do you suggest we do”

- Jihoon’s eyes shifted so slightly that only Hoshi would have been able to see it

- It was time to set the plan in motion

- That night, Jihoon searched through all of the things that he collected until he found exactly what he needed

- He stuffed the pack of matches from a healer and a small water bottle of vodka that he got from a water elemental into his pockets as well as a couple of bobby pins from an air elemental at the collar of his shirt

- When he looked out the one window high up in their cell, he saw by the stars that it was 1:30 am

- Jihoon went over to one of Hoshi’s senser friends and tapped on him

- “Could you do me a favor and tell me if you can hear Hoshi anywhere in the south wing?”

- “Yeah, hold on.”

- The friend walked over to the window and closed her eyes, trying to focus and listen for Hoshi’s voice or breathing pattern

- After a moment, the friend opened her eyes again

- “He’s not in the south wing, he’s in the west.”

- Jihoon’s eyes windened

- The west was where the punishments for bad crimes were...why would they send him there for bumping into someone?

- When it was time, Jihoon made his way to the cell door and picked at the lock, looking around to make sure no soldiers were around

- He slipped into the shadows, carefully walking through the path that him and Hoshi took with the most blind spots

- He finally got to the meeting spot and waited a couple minutes for S. Coups, timing the pattern that the soldiers were walking

- When S. Coups finally arrived, he waited for the soldier to turn and yanked him onto the path that he mapped out

- They finally got to the tree that was Hoshi’s idea to use as a distraction

- Jihoon grabbed the bottle of vodka and started dumping it all over the tree before lighting a match at it and running with S. Coups

- The entire time, his mind was on auto drive. He had gone over the final plan with Hoshi over and over again, so he knew exactly what to do down to the number of steps.

- His only focus, though, was to get Hoshi out of the torture cell

- He led S. Coups into the west building and found Hoshi shackled to the corner of the room, letting out pained screams as the music that played in the headphones got louder

- Jihoon knew what they did to the sensers when they were punished. He knew that the soldiers used their own powers against them. And Jihoon was infuriated

- How dare they do that to his closest and bestest friend?

- Jihoon picked at the locks of Hoshi’s shackled and got his best friend out

- “W-Woozi, is that you?”

- “Yeah Hosh, me and S. Coups. We’re here.”

- “Get me...get me out of here.”

- The fear and desperation in Hoshi’s voice was something that Jihoon never wanted to hear again

- So, the three of them ran out of the building with Jihoon leading the way

- Hoshi was just recovering from his senses being compromised, but he was still able to warn the two when soldiers were around

- When they got to the front gates of the facility, Jihoon told S. Coups to go into the control room to get the gates open

- Once S. Coups was out of sight, Jihoon whirled on his friend

- “Hoshi, why did you do that?” Jihoon’s voice was aggressive. He was so frustrated as to why his friend would get himself tortured. “Why the hell did you do that?”

- Hoshi gave him a pained smile, the one that Jihoon hated the most

- “You needed the push”

- When the gates started to open, S. Coups sprinted out and the two followed

- Once they were out of the walls, Jihoon couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face or the laughter that slipped from his lips

- They were finally freed

- Eventually, they started a new clan and Jihoon became the mastermind behind everything

- This clan became his new family, and he knew he wouldn’t need to fight for their approval

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brokasteltranslations · 5 years ago

Text

Fate/Requiem: Chapter 3

The next day, I paid a visit to a certain information broker. I brought Pran with me, and this time he was not refused entry.

–

On the surface, it appeared to be a cosy little luxury hotel catered towards tourists. In a corner of the austere Renaissance-styled lobby were two concierges. Cesare, the elder, and Lucrezia, the younger: the Servant duo known together as the Borgia siblings.

Calculating minds housed in youthful bodies. The kind of Servant I was worst at dealing with.

The two were all but identical in stature and visage, as though they were twins. A boy and girl, slim and graceful, the image of angelic purity. They answered to their Master, the ageing hotel manager, but it was common knowledge that almost all of the management of the hotel was left to them.

Cesare, the elder, who in life had been the right hand of his father the Pope, and with the rank of Archbishop had wielded authority both within and without the Holy See. Lucrezia, the younger, who armed with her heavenly beauty had married over and over into political advantage. The siblings' names were infamous even today, mostly in connection with the mysterious and untimely deaths met by many who opposed their ambitions.

–

“My, if it isn't Erice!”

“Good evening, Erice.”

The pair smiled at me, with their elbows resting on the marble reception desk.

“We thought it was about time for you to pay us a visit.”

“That child you have with you – so he's the Masterless Servant everyone's talking about?”

I turned a blind eye to their proddings. The boy must have taken a shine to the antique goggles in my apartment, because he'd worn them all the way here.

The siblings nonchalantly slid me a shot glass across the counter as they greeted us. The sharp scent of spirits wafted through the air.

“I can't. I'm underage.” I would have to choose my words carefully, and be cautious in my every move with these two. They offered some juice instead, and Pran reached out for it. I placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pulled him back behind me.

“Would you happen know anything about it?”

Lucrezia gently crossed her legs on the tall chair behind the desk, and shook her head. “Unfortunately not. Or at least, nothing more than what's available on the municipal network.”

“But that aside... perhaps you might be interested in this.” Cesare placed a storage device on the desk. It couldn't have been bigger than my little finger, and was equipped with a magical lock. Anyone designated as the key could access the information it contained directly, without the need for a smartphone or similar device, but it was otherwise very difficult to hack.

“What am I looking at?”

“A list of citizens who have attempted to conduct unsanctioned summonings, ranging from the day before yesterday to several days prior. With particular emphasis on those whose rituals failed or ended prematurely.”

“...I see.”

This would have to be the first step in any investigation, barring an extraordinary stroke of luck. It was precious information that would ordinarily take a great deal of time and effort to gather, and now it was being offered all too easily. Unsanctioned summons were illegal, of course, but the invasion of others' privacy also carried heavy penalties in Mosaic City – although if one balked at the notion of invading others' privacy, the profession of information broker perhaps wasn't for them.

“What a curiously generous offer.”

“We're simply glad to be of service to you, Erice.”

“I'm delighted to hear it.”

These siblings would often require payment in more than money. In the past, I'd had to let slip secrets I'd learned of the criminal underworld in exchange for their information. More than a few times, it had later come to light that a Servant I had disposed of had been someone they considered an inconvenience. I didn't like to admit it, but odds were good that I was playing an unwitting puppet on invisible strings.

So caution was vital.

I gently withdrew the hand I had extended towards the storage device. It was alluring bait, but more than likely poisoned.

“Actually, it's not because of him that I'm here today.”

“Well then, what are you here for?”

“Chitose came here, didn't she? Sometime last night, most likely.”

The siblings' expressions were inscrutable. They were waiting to see what move I would make.

“I've had my assignments from Caren suspended, so I'll be closing up business for a while. There isn't much I could do for you even if I wanted to.”

Cesare measured up myself and Pran, his chin resting on the palm of his hand. “Business, eh? You know, Erice, there are many people who suffer because of your work, and a scarce few who benefit from it. But above all...”

Lucrezia continued where her brother left off. “You yourself gain nothing from it, do you? What's wrong with taking this opportunity to enjoy a little vacation away from it all?”

“If it's retribution from people you've crossed that concerns you, we can show you a wonderful safe house. Although it might weigh a little heavy on the wallet.”

“A safe house, you say.”

Well, this clinched it. Chitose had come here, and coerced them. Threatened them. But it seemed like they had no intention of concealing that fact. So what did that mean?

There must have been something else they were hiding. I had no choice but to show my hand.

I heaved a theatrical sigh. “You know, I had a little chat with the relic salesman in the Akiba Department Store. He mentioned that when Kundry attempted to procure the materials for an unsanctioned summoning, a certain information broker intervened to vouch for her. An interesting story, don't you think?”

It wasn't a bluff. I had returned to the relic shop after parting ways with Karin on the previous day.

“I've also heard that there have been some new traps on the market recently. Ones that leech power from ley lines, that have proven very popular among less savoury times. If you know anything, I'd greatly appreciate if you could share it. It's very important I be properly prepared, just in case, you understand. Well? How about it, Signor? Signora?”

Their expressions stiffened for the slightest of moments. Even if I wasn't currently on a direct assignment from a municipal administration AI, I still had just cause to take immediate action if I personally witnessed an attempt to interfere with the city's infrastructure.

“Ahaha... Oh, Erice. You best us yet again.” Lucrezia gave a tinkling laugh as she leaned over her brother's back. Stretching over his shoulder, she took back the storage device on the desk, before setting down a new one. Surprise and a hint of protest marred Cesare's otherwise unreadable expression. It seemed that this time, the sister had read one move further ahead.

“They do say that there is no word “no” in a concierge's dictionary. Is that not so, Cesar?”

“So it is, Lucrezia. So it is.”

These Servants lived their lives atop the thinnest layer of ice. If I were to start asking the wrong questions, they would be finished as information brokers. If they wanted to avoid that fate, they had had no choice but to reveal their own hands.

With my work here done, I departed the lobby. I felt no desire to stay. This was a tranquil and beautiful place, but it was not one to remain in for long – its noxious atmosphere made it hard to breathe.

Three spouses and eight children...I wonder what that feels like.

There was no end to the mysteries surrounding these siblings, and I found my thoughts turning to the sister in particular. Historically Lucrezia had been nothing more than a pawn used to engineer political marriages, but I wondered how much influence she had really exerted over her brother, Cesare, and her father, Pope Alexander VI. I wondered if they had not in fact been her puppets, dancing on the strings of the spider at the heart of the web.

��

“'Til next time, Reaper.” “We look forward to your next visit.”

The siblings waved goodbye as they saw me off from behind the counter.

“Goodbye.”

Pran waved back in polite response.

----

We decided to take a break at a nearby coffee shop - the Bookshop Cafe Borges, where one could relax surrounded by a veritable forest of tomes from the old world. It was one of my favourite relaxation spots.

The first floor comprised a cafe area, a wide space for pleasant conversation. An open stairwell led up to the second floor, where innumerable bookshelves stood crammed together so tightly that it looked like the floor might give out. Sofas and chairs were placed between the labyrinthine shelves, on which one could fully immerse themselves in the pleasure of reading.

On a whim I asked the ageing, mild-mannered shopkeeper, and learned that they did indeed have a first-edition English print of “The Little Prince” in their collection. It may not have been a personal artefact of the man himself, but it could certainly have been a sufficient catalyst to summon Saint-Exupéry. However, when I showed the manuscript to Pran, he exhibited no special response. In the end, all I learned was that he was capable of reading and writing English. The quirky illustrations at least seemed to capture his interest, although as usual he reacted poorly to the snake.

I was far from giving up on the search for his true name, but I could not justify pursuing the Saint-Exupéry connection any further out of anything but my own wishful thinking.

Over a light lunch, I decided to check the storage device the Borgia siblings had given me. And the shock I felt on seeing the news recorded therein was enough to obliterate any trace of lingering attachment to Saint-Exupéry.

–

They called it the Command Seal Hunter.

A chain of murders had visited Mosaic City, connected by a common thread: all of the victims had died with their Command Seals stolen, forcibly severed from their body with the appendages that bore them. No reports had yet been issued from Akihabara, but people had been found dead in other wards – and the victims were not the kind of underground magi that I was used to tangling with. They were ordinary citizens.

In this new world, where illness and death had been conquered, the most common place to see the names of people who had died was in murder reports. Some things could not be avoided, even with the protection of the Holy Grail.

I thought that was what I was here for...

One of the most unusual aspects about this particular series of crimes was the amount of time that had elapsed before they were discovered. If the victims had been killed and their bodies concealed, finding them would have been comparatively easy; that was what the Caren series was for. However, that was not what had happened. Instead, for several days after being stripped of their Command Seals, the victims had continued to live their lives as normal.

One of them had the Command Seals on his right hand stolen, and he just wore a glove to conceal the wound. A glove! And what's more, there's no record of those Command Seals being used in the interim...

There were even records here of conversations they had had with neighbours, meaningless small talk. Each and every one of them had concealed the wound they'd suffered – some skilfully, others very poorly. The truth was often only discovered after they suddenly collapsed unconscious in the middle of whatever they were doing. Or perhaps some task in their daily lives had required the use of a Command Seal, and only then had others pointed out the abnormality where their Command Seals used to be.

Some sort of drug to dull their sense of pain? Perhaps incredibly powerful hypnosis? No, impossible. Some of them lost whole limbs, for crying out loud! How could someone not realise their own throat had been torn out? But then...they must...

I shuddered. The victims must already have been dead at the point when their Command Seals were taken. And then their lifeless bodies had continued to act out their everyday routine.

This was a case unlike anything I'd ever seen. My appetite slowly disappeared as I read further. Was a Servant responsible for these murders, or a magus? Both were possible. And with the rate that these cases were appearing, and the time that had elapsed before their discovery...

It was more than possible that other victims were walking the streets of Akihabara right now. This wasn't something I could ignore.

I gulped, and cast a glance around the cafe. My gaze lingered involuntarily on a woman with gloved hands. At a customer wearing unusually thick clothing.

–

Then I saw the Command Seal glowing on the back of their hand. They were merely communicating with their Servant.

–

The Command Seals of the pre- and post-war worlds were supposedly very different. In a true Holy Grail War, their use would be limited, and they would be visibly divided into a number of distinct strokes; usually three. Three strokes, with one use per stroke, for a total of three uses before they were gone. Or so I had heard, anyway. The past was often less convenient than the present, I supposed.

Command Seals in this new world were different on almost all counts. For a start, they were not divided into distinct parts. At first glance they may appear to be partitioned in three, but closer inspection would reveal they actually comprised a detailed, interlinking pattern that would fade on usage proportional to the amount of mana expended. Secondly, a faded Command Seal would recover with time, courtesy of the Grail replenishing its mana. The recovery time varied a little from person to person depending on their aptitude for magecraft, but broadly speaking it would take only a few days.

Thirdly, while (as the name implied) Command Seals were traditionally used to command one's Servant, temporarily strengthening their abilities, this had become less and less of a necessity as a result of the dramatic change in Master-Servant relationships. Nowadays, they were often utilised as a simple mana source, a means of granting the Master access to thaumaturgy. If anything, in today's world, that had become the more common usage.

Only two people in this city did not possess a set of these Command Seals: myself, and Manazuru Chitose.

Chitose, however, still retained the Command Seals she had obtained during her own Grail War. Perhaps that made little practical difference in everyday life, but it was still more than I had.

–

A group of three entered the cafe: two tall men, and a young girl barely half their height. The girl exchanged a few words with one of her companions, and grinned. She wore a familiar-looking white coat draped over her shoulders.

“Haruko? What's she doing here?”

She swept her gaze around the cafe, and gave a small start; clearly, she had seen me too. The child seated next to me probably hadn't helped make me any less conspicuous. I noticed that the hat she usually wore low over her face was absent today.

For their part, her companions were visibly muscular, and exuded a distinctive aura. It was obvious at first glance – to me, at least - that they were Servants. In the lead was a cheerful-looking man in the late throes of middle age, with copper skin and a lush beard. The other man trailing behind was almost his polar opposite: a young man with sickly pale skin and a melancholic demeanour, and silver hair drawn together into a rough ponytail that cascaded down his back.

“A friend of yours, Koharu?”

“Um, of a sort. We attend lectures at the same community college-”

“She's the Reaper, you know. Get too close, and she'll steal your soul.”

“Galahad! Shush!” Haruko was quick to meet the pale man's sardonic interjection with a quick rebuke; he acted nonplussed, but said no more. She seemed very different from the way she usually came across during class. However, more to the point...

They know I'm the Reaper... Wait, what? Galahad? He looks nothing like that knight I saw onscreen... Although... Yes, that's right. I suppose he wouldn't, would he?

“One of your classmates, eh? Well, why don't we pull up some chairs and get acquainted?” The middle-aged man spoke to Haruko – Koharu, had he called her? Is that her real name, then? - with odd familiarity. She nodded in assent, albeit a little hesitantly.

–

We moved over to a round table further inside the cafe. The middle-aged man sat next to Koharu opposite Pran and I, with his stout, hairy arms rested heavily on the table, grinning at the two of us. He was dressed in a short-sleeved safari shirt and a pair of shorts, and looked for all the world like a visiting tourist. The intellectual air lent by his round-framed glasses made for a curious contrast with the rest of his outfit.

Galahad sat at the side, leaning back disinterestedly on his chair. He wore a deep purple – indigo? - dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, and black skinny jeans. The shirt lay open at the collar to reveal a chest even paler than his arms.

Their arrival at the cafe had caused an evident stir. The rest of the customers had shrunk back from our table, and I could feel their glances burning into me.

This is... awkward...

This must be life when you were a celebrity, a Grail Tournament winner. Only a few minutes ago I had been overwhelmed by the terror and panic of the serial killings, but for the time being those feeling had been shut away firmly in a box and neatly shelved.

The man leaned forward with an amiable smile. “I must say, it came as quite a shock to learn Koharu was classmates with the famous Reaper.”

“Not as shocked as I am”, I replied. “It's hard to believe I'm sitting across the table from Hannibal of Carthage.”

I felt a little uncertain how to react to someone I had only just met referring to me as the Reaper, but my words – and my respect - were sincere. Even if I was talking to a participant in the Grail Tournament.

“Hannibal's the commander of the team I've been assigned to”, Koharu supplied, a little hesitantly.

“Your team? You mean the next Tournament is going to be a team battle?”

“Indeed it is.” Hannibal folded his arms with evident confidence. “And the newest member of our team won the Rookie Tournament handily. Our victory is all but assured.”

“H-Hannibal! I, um... I'm not... I'm not that good...” Koharu shrank back, red-faced. I could hardly blame her. If a general as famous as Hannibal had placed me so high in his estimation, I probably would have done the same.

Don't worry, I get it. Although it's a bit of a surprise to see that even you can look embarrassed once in a while.

“And I get to cart around the kid and her great-grandad. I'm telling you now, I don't do bedtime stories... or hospice care.” Galahad chipped in with another snide remark, and Koharu rounded on him again, teeth bared in a hissing snarl.

–

In tie, I learned that Hannibal's Master was currently negotiating conditions with members of other teams. Koharu had shown the trio to this cafe during a break in the discussions. Expanding a Servant's range of independent action in this way was among the most common uses of Command Seals.

The sheer volume of information flooding in from across the table was overwhelming, and it was difficult to know where to even begin to reply. Until yesterday, I had barely even known what the Grail Tournament was.

I cast a sidelong glance at the Knight of the Grail. He was preoccupying himself with his meal in haughty silence, although I noticed that he was only picking at his roast beef and yorkshire pudding, and was focused primarily on his glass of red wine. Again, the polar opposite of Hannibal's healthy appetite. It occurred to me that if Koharu had been attending the Pre-War Human History lectures, Galahad had also likely been present in spirit form. It was likely that he already knew me. We had probably passed by each other any times without my knowing it.

“Planning to stare all day, Reaper? If you want a bite, you only had to ask.” He made to push his plate towards me, and was only stopped by Koharu's grip on his arm.

I'm not sure I envy her this one.

–

Karin's words from yesterday came back to me: “How sincere other people are isn't something you get to decide.”

Many Servants had gotten accustomed to life in this new, peaceful world. However, others had spent their entire lives on the battlefield, and dedicated themselves wholly to the craft of war. It came down to the individual whether they had had their fill of fighting or still lusted for blood.

Hannibal, it seemed, was the latter kind - which meant that was the fate indicated to his Master by the Grail. The Grail Tournament was a precious opportunity for such Servants to let themselves loose to their hearts’ content in pursuit of exhilaration and glory. I supposed that was, in its own way, a kind of freedom.

But that's not why Koharu is here. She isn't like the rest of them. She's different somehow...

----

The Grail Tournament was yet to officially publicise any information regarding the background of one Koharu F. Riedenflaus, but my own investigations had borne some modest fruit.

House Riedenflaus was a family of Magi associated with the Clocktower, with its roots in the necromantic traditions. They were low in status compared with the elite of the Magus Association, and their history spanned only a few centuries. However, it seemed that their longtime occupation of the seat at the foot of the aristocratists' table had been enough to grant them entry to the city.

The promoter of the Grail Tournament was none other than this House Riedenflaus. In other words, they were actively and brazenly flouting the first precept of the Magus Association, the Concealment of the Mysteries. I was curious as to how their mentality had evolved to suit this new post-war world, but it was something else I uncovered in the course of my investigations that had really drawn my interest: that their family's magic revolved around the creation of artificial life forms, or homunculi.

Koharu's youthful appearance had initially led me to assume that she was a member of the next generation. However, now that I knew her surname, I was beginning to wonder if it indicated something else entirely.

–

Hannibal regaled us with anecdotes of his past exploits as we ate. I listened, half fascinated and half starstruck, as he spoke with good humour of the great defeat his army had faced on the field of battle. The tale also seemed to have caught Pran's interest, because he listened cheerfully. Eventually, he chimed in with an unexpected question.

“What's a 'war'?”

Not only myself, but Koharu, Hannibal and even Galahad stared at him with mouths agape.

“What's a 'war'?”, he repeated.

“Um, well... It's a war, right? Like a battle?” I knew that hardly constituted an answer, but I was at a loss as to how to respond. The idea of a Servant ignorant of the very concept of war had taken us all by surprise.

“Like killing?”

“That's right. Lots of killing. More than you can ever imagine.” Hannibal's voice was composed, but his gaze was chilly through his round-framed glasses. “And yet we humans never seem to tire of it. It's just a part of who we are.”

Not a single day in all of human history had passed devoid of war. A Heroic Spirit who doesn't know what war is? Impossible.

A part of me hoped for another sarcastic quip from Galahad – anything to change the subject - but none were forthcoming. He sat with mouth pursed firmly closed. The gazes drilling into Pran were beginning to make me feel distinctly uneasy, and I hurriedly asked Hannibal for another story of his time as a general. It was at times like this that I appreciated Karin's power to effortlessly lighten the mood.

–

A few minutes passed before I noticed that Koharu was gazing at her lap in listless silence. I thought to call out to her, but my mouth had only gotten half-open before her eyes suddenly snapped to me.

“Is something the matter?”

“Um, Miss Riedenflaus? I was wondering-”

She raised a hand to stop me. “Please just call me Koharu. I'm the youngest here, after all.”

“I see.” My next question almost tumbled from my mouth before I could stop it, but I managed to bite it back just in time.

What are you thinking? You can't ask her that! What are you even expecting her to say? “Why yes, I am a homunculus, thank you very much for asking”?

It would have been bigoted, self-centred and an invasion of privacy all in one. To probe people who had caught my interest for their weak points was an unfortunate habit of mine.

“I... I saw footage of you fighting. At the Rookie Tournament. Watching you fighting to the bitter end against an opponent like that... It was amazing. I'm not sure I could do that even if I had the strongest Servant in the world beside me.”

“Um... Thank you very much.” Koharu lowered her eyes, blushing fiercely. “I know I got very lucky, but managing to win... made me really happy...”

She gave a smile that was mostly bashful, although somewhere in there was a flicker of pride. Watching her struggle to contain her delight, I could wish her only the best. Half of what I had said had been borrowed from a certain JK, but I had rewatched the video since, and my admiration was the real thing.

“I'm sorry about yesterday. I was very rude to you.” She spoke sheepishly, eyes fixed firmly on the fingertips she was pressing together.

“Eh? Oh, that. Don't sweat it. I get that you were in a hurry.”

“Thank you. I was in such a rush, it just kind of came out...”

This girl was modest to a fault – and perhaps that was that sincerity, the warrior's pride she displayed in spite of her age, that invited me to lower my guard. Whatever the case, I got ahead of myself, and asked something I would not even have put to Karin.

–

“I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

I wanted to know more about that armoured knight I had seen onscreen. Perhaps, I wondered, there might be something I could learn from her about my own curse.

“Could you tell me a little more about that “Possession” they mentioned on the programme?”

“My Possession? I, um...” Koharu cast a hesitant glance at Galahad.

“Now wait just a moment, you two.” For a while Hannibal had been content just to watch us, but now he interrupted. I could see half-chewed food still in his mouth as he spoke. “If you wish to learn more of her abilities, you must see them for yourself. We are not scribes, with pen and parchment. We are warriors, with sword and spear and fist! Come to the Colosseum, Erice, and watch us do battle. It should not be long before our next bout.”

“You mean you're inviting her to spectate? Aren't the tickets all sold out? I suppose we could hope for cancellations, but there are always so many people waiting...”

The notion of acquiring tickets through anything other than official channels seemed to genuinely not have occurred to Koharu. Hannibal, laughing heartily, informed her that there were always other ways.

And so, I ended up exchanging contact details with Koharu F. Riedenflaus, the celebrity. She promised to inform me as soon as she had gotten hold of tickets, although she seemed a little bewildered by the way things had transpired. It was comforting to know I was not the only one who felt that they had lost control of this conversation.

At this point, there's no way I can tell them I don't really care all that much about the Tournament...

–

For a while I phased out. In the end, it was Galahad who brought me crashing back to reality.

“Spend too long entertaining the elderly and you'll be one of them before you know it, Reaper.”

“Um... Galahad?”

“If you've got something to ask, just ask it. Koharu'll jump at the chance to trade it for anything you've got on the Stigmata, I guarantee it.”

Utter silence. For a moment I struggled for a response... and then, with a clatter, Koharu grabbed her fork, lifted it, and drove it back down towards the table with all her might. Directly in its path lay Galahad's hand. My and Pran's eyes widened in shock. An attack from an ordinary human would appear as though in slow-motion to a Servant, and I felt sure that he would dodge it with ease, but as I watched it became clearer and clearer that he had no intention of moving a muscle.

Thud. The fork slammed down just between his fingers, with barely a couple of millimetres to spare.

“You should learn some manners, my lady. Just look what you've done to our round table.”

“...My apologies. I promise I'll pay for it.”

Koharu apologised for her poor behaviour, and hung her head in silence. Hannibal stood up, apparently unfazed by the discord between his compatriots.

“I'm sorry, but I will have to depart. My master is calling for me.”

The trio finished paid the proprietors for the damage to their table, and left the shop.

----

Left alone with Pran once more, I found myself wondering what sort of person Hannibal's Master might be. The two were bound together by the fate indicated by the Grail. Would they be Hannibal's equal, carefree and bold? Or would they be his opposite, a stern, cold tactician?

Masters... and Servants...

Sometimes, like Koharu and Galahad, their relationship was impossible to understand from the outside.

I tried to return to my previous train of thought about the Command Seal Hunter, but something from the previous conversation continued to niggle at me.

You're being silly, Erice. Stop overthinking things.

There was no logical reason that they, likely the strongest warriors in Mosaic City, had put me so ill at ease. But...

“If you've got something to ask, just ask it.” On the face of it, Galahad had simply been referring to my questions about Koharu. However, I felt something deeper there, something urging me on.

Maybe Chitose and Ms. Fujimura don't want me involved in this, but I can't just sit here and do nothing.

On a sudden impulse, I left Pran in the care of the shopkeeper and dashed out of the cafe.

–-

Luck was on my side, and I managed to catch up with the trio on the road to the Colosseum. I flagged them down and came to a stop in front of them, my breathing ragged.

“If you know I'm the Reaper... then let me at least give you a warning.”

While keeping my voice low, conscious of being overheard by passers-by, I told them everything I had just learned about the Command Seal Hunter. About the mysterious, indiscriminate murders that were even now being suppressed from the municipal information network, and the Servants who had become collateral damage.

“If you want to know more, it's all on this data drive.”

“Are you sure?”

I released the lock on the storage drive and replaced it with Koharu's personal signature. She extended out a grateful hand to take it.

“Thank you.”

“No worries.”

I didn't know if I had managed to fully convince them of the gravity of the situation, but they had at least taken me seriously enough to listen without bursting out in laughter.

“Even if no victims have yet been discovered in this ward, we cannot risk any harm coming to spectators. It may be tricky, but I will see about raising the matter with the security staff.”

“Thank you, Hannibal.”

“In any case, we cannot allow anything to interfere with Rome's downfall!” The general set his fingers to his chin and flashed a brilliant smile.

“That sounds awfully confident for you of all Servants...”

“Wha...? Don't tell me you're a Rome supporter, Erice?!”

“Eh? But our next opponents aren't even Roman.” Koharu cocked her head, puzzled.

“Just ignore him.” Galahad's tone was as sardonic as ever. “Start giving old men the time of day and they'll never shut up.”

“Please do come to the tournament, Erice.” With those parting words, Koharu turned around and headed back towards the arena with her companions. She did not look back.

#Fate/Requiem #Fate #translation #light novel

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cagestark · 5 years ago

Note

Prompt; ABO Starker getting together but Tony is the omega and Peter is the alpha. Peter is still head over heels, star struck, hero worship over Tony and calling him 'sir' and 'mr. Stark' and blushing wherever Tony gives him attention and praise. Maybe it all comes to a head when Tony goes into heat? Maybe Peter's first rut is triggered by Tony teasing him mercilessly? Bonus points for eager-to-please Peter

Darling anon, this isn’t really what you asked for. I’m so sorry. I hope this is at least acceptable, and if you are very upset, please come back into my inbox and I’ll rework this. For now. Take it!

Warnings: ABOverse. Alpha Peter, Omega Tony. Smut. 8.5k

Read here on AO3!

Peter is reaching with his fork for the last arancini when another fork intercepts. The metal on metal screeches as Peter’s fork is pinned to the plate just short of the last rice ball. Peter eyes the hand holding the fork—tanned, knuckles singed—and then follows it up the arm, bare, sprinkled with dark hair interrupted by the odd, pink scar. Before he even reaches the well-shaped facial hair, Peter is flushed, withdrawing his fork. Tony is wearing his glasses tonight, the lenses tinted a light blue.

“Put down the fork and nobody has to get hurt,” Tony says. He keeps his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble that can just barely be heard over the ruckus of general conversation from the rest of the Avengers around the table.

Slowly, Peter puts his fork down beside his half-eaten plate of osso buco, then lifts his hands to shoulder height, palms open. “My hands are where you can see them,” Peter says. He lets his voice tremble. “The rice ball is yours. But please don’t take the rest of the prosciutto. Have mercy.”

Tony spears the arancini and delivers it to his own plate for safe keeping, a bear hoarding food for the winter. “Bold of you to assume I’m capable of mercy, Peter Pan. And to add insult to injury—” Tony slips the last few slices of dry-cured ham bliss to take up cozy residence beside the rest of his food. Peter clutches at his heart, face twisted in pain.

“God, you two are like a two-man theatre troupe,” Natasha remarks over her third glass of wine. She’s just beginning to look flushed. Peter had asked for his own glass (“Come on, I’m eighteen, not eight!”) but to no avail. “Does that make seconds for you, Tony?”

“Thirds,” Bucky mutters. He hasn’t recovered from the spaghetti alla carbonara massacre of thirty minutes ago. If Peter didn’t know how well the ex-assassin got along with Tony, he might try to convince the older man to sleep with one eye open. Bucky certainly had the whole casually-planning-your-murder-over-trivial-offenses aesthetic going on. Peter wondered if that was something teachable—did they have a wikiHow article for that?

“It’s that time of the year,” Tony says. Despite how much he’s eaten, he still goes about the food on his plate in a methodical, prim manner: cutting it into bite-sized pieces, making sure no foods touch. “Jarvis tracks my eating habits and BMI, and he says both are on the upswing. I’ve got about two weeks left.”

“Two weeks until what?” Peter asks.

Tony gives him a bald and unashamed look. “Until my heat, kid.”

“Oh,” Peter says, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. He’s got permanent foot-in-mouth disease whenever he’s within twenty feet of the omega. Of course, Tony is talking about his heat. Why else would he be eating enough for three?

“I thought you took heat suppressants,” Natasha remarks. This kind of talk—heats, suppressants—it usually isn’t table conversation. Most omegas consider it the ultimate social faux paus. Maybe Tony does too, Peter wonders. Maybe spending so much time in the public eye has chipped away at the wall between what he wants to keep to himself and what he has to share with others.

“For the spring heat,” Tony agrees, a hand resting on his gently distended stomach. The sight of that tickles something in the back of Peter’s brain—something in there itches, but he can’t find it, can’t scratch it. “But at my age, the suppressants don’t synthesize with my biology as well. Doc told me it is actually safer for me to go through every other heat au naturale. Which makes for an interesting fall season. At least I can hide the extra weight with all those winter scarves the board keeps giving me for Christmas—”

“You look great,” Peter says. He tries hard not to openly wince. Everyone else at the table does their best to pretend they hadn’t heard him.

Tony’s smile is soft, maybe even a little flattered. He winks. “Thanks, Peter Pan. Nice to know someone around here still thinks I’ve got it.”

Oh, you’ve got it alright, Peter thinks helplessly. Probably couldn’t lose it even if you tried.

“Isn’t it dangerous to go through your heats without suppression?” Bruce asks.

“We’ve weighed the pros and cons. Calculated risks, Brucie, that’s the name of the game.”

“You know what all of this means?” Steve asks. Beside him, Bucky stiffens. The only other male omega—in the room and in the Avengers—he is not nearly as comfortable with his designation as Tony. Peter can hardly blame him when a part of him is still stuck in the 40’s when omegas were marketed as good for nothing but breeding and housewife fodder. With most heats coming twice a year, in the beginning and at the end, surely Bucky’s is approaching also— “Tiramisu is in order.”

Bucky relaxes. Tony perks up. Peter’s stomach grumbles—even after his own generous helpings.

“Cap, that’s the best idea you’ve had since—well—an hour ago, when you suggested Italian. All for tiramisu?”

A cluster of forks rise into the air.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“The kid. He’s a beta, right?”

“He has not presented otherwise.”

“That’s not exactly an answer, is it?”

“…”

“J?”

“I believe he is a beta, sir.”

“Your confidence is downright stirring, J.”

“Always a pleasure to give, sir.”

“I mean, it’s not unheard of, right?” Peter asks. He is sandwiched between Ned and MJ on his bed in his room at the tower. It was just another benefit of joining the Avengers: a fancy new room on the Avengers’ floor, coffee with Captain America in the morning and eating peanut butter out of the jar with Natasha at night. The bed is huge—and okay, maybe he’s still just used to the twin he occupied at May’s, but it’s still nice to fit all of his friends on it at once to watch movies on the mounted television. “Relationships. Between betas and omegas.”

MJ gives a longsuffering sigh, one which makes Peter frown. Yeah, they’ve had this conversation a few (million) times before, but she could at least humor him, couldn’t she? “Stark is a male omega. They’re super fucking rare, Peter. Alphas literally kill over omegas. The competition for him even if he wasn’t Earth’s Greatest Defender and a fucking billionaire—it’s extensive. Why would he choose you when he could find a dozen beefy Captain-esque alphas to satisfy his biology?”

“Okay. But. It’s not impossible, right? That’s what I’m hearing. That it’s not impossible.”

“Mr. Stark would be lucky to have Peter,” Ned says. “I mean, yeah he’s not as buff as Captain America. Yeah he doesn’t have pheromones that attract Tony on, like, a biological level. And okay, he does snore. A lot. But—”

“Thanks, Ned,” Peter grumbles. “You make me sound like a real catch.”

“You are!” Ned insists. He actually takes his eyes off of A New Hope where Princess Leia is ghostly in blue, insisting that Obi-Wan Kenobi is her only hope. “You think any of those knotheads out there can keep up with Mr. Stark in the workshop? And look at my parents. They’re both omegas. It’s not all pheromones, it’s—it’s chemistry.”

A slow smile creeps over Peter’s face. Ned and MJ create the perfect balance of unending optimism and brutal realism. In their own ways, both are looking out for him, and he knows that they want the best for him. Even if what MJ says hurts. Even if what Ned says hurts too, just in a different, softer way. One gives him the seed of hope, and the other gives him the trellis that keeps him stuck in place, terrified to make a move.

It’s balance.

Things get strange for Peter in the weeks before Tony’s heat. He attributes it to the poor weather, and MJ helpfully says that Mercury is entering its retrograde, so apparently that explains how these days his temper is short when usually his fuse is long enough for two. Even the other Avengers seem to take notice of his volatile mood, giving him a wide berth.

The only person with whom things don’t change is Tony. Around the omega, Peter is his normal blushing mess, though he does try hard to go out of his way to make things easier for the man. In school he learned how stressful an omega’s heat is: a week to two weeks of mindlessness while their biology urges them to breed. It can be unbearable without heat suppressants—

—or without a partner. Does Tony have someone to weather the worst of his heat with? Other omegas to scent and comfort him? An alpha to knot him?

The glass Peter is holding shatters in his hand. Orange juice soaks him, stinging the cuts in his palm. Beside him, Sam shouts an oath, grabbing his plate of pancakes to keep them out of the line of citrus fire. The rest of the table is silent, a dozen pairs of eyes watching him. It makes Peter’s blood boil—why are they staring at him this way? He’s fucking superhuman. He broke dozens of glasses when he first gained his powers until he acclimated to his enhanced strength. Accidents happen.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Tony mutters from over his shoulder. Peter can’t smell it—as a beta, his nose is unsophisticated, unable to pick up pheromones—but he imagines that the man is scenting him, calm waves like the ocean dragging at the shore. A hand comes out, nudges Peter’s soaked plate (rest in peace, crepes) back, and the begins to carefully maneuver the largest shards of glass into his palm.

Peter grabs his wrist with the hand that isn’t dripping blood onto the table. “Do not touch the glass.”

It comes out much firmer than he intended it to, like there is someone else controlling his voice. He’s never heard himself sound like that before. It clearly has an effect on Tony who opens his hand, glass falling back to the table, wrist going lax and pliant in Peter’s grip.

“Hey,” Steve says. “It’s alright—”

“Mind your business,” Peter says through his teeth. There’s tension in the air, especially between him and Steve now, who is posturing at the end of the table, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Then it all comes in focus to him: he’s making a fucking scene, here. He is holding Tony’s wrist, commanding him, like Peter is some sort of alpha. He yelled at Captain America. It’s fresh. It’s disrespectful. His whole face goes red and he stands so abruptly that he nearly knocks over Tony who is behind him.

Then he turns and sprints from the room, leaving blood drops behind him like a breadcrumb trail. In his room, he goes into the adjoining bathroom and runs water over his aching palm. The cuts are trying to seal around the glass, but he doesn’t even feel the pain. Grasping the shards with his fingers is easy thanks to his enhanced grip. Someone knocks on his bedroom door, but Peter ignores it. After a while, the knocking stops.

Peter sulks for nearly thirty minutes before his manners outweigh his misery. The cuts on his palm are just raw looking scars now, but he knows they will disappear soon too. Taking a deep breath, he steels himself before leaving his room.

Breakfast is finished. The room is filled with the sound of plates being scraped clean and stacked beside the sink, chairs being pushed in at the table. Someone has cleaned up the glass and the orange juice—better not have been Tony, he could have cut himself, he could have gotten hurt—and Peter has to physically shake his head to shake those thoughts right out through his ears. What is wrong with him?

“Captain Rogers?” Peter says timidly. The man is closest—closer than Tony who is at the sink arguing with Clint about proper coffee ground disposal. Steve’s face is open and kind when he stops collecting half-filled glasses of milk and orange juice.

“Hey Peter. It’s still Steve, okay? It’s always Steve.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I wanted to say sorry for jumping down your throat earlier. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Steve says. He’s so kind it hurts. “Everybody has days like that, me included. Apology accepted, okay?”

Peter smiles. “Thanks. Steve.”

It takes a while for him to get Tony alone, but Peter figures that he owes the man a more in-depth apology, one he’d rather give without the other eyes of the Avengers on them. Tony seems to know what Peter is getting at, taking his time wiping down the counter (even though there are people who do that for him) and lingering. Bucky is the last one left, watching Peter with muted, angry eyes. Protective. Tony brushes the super soldier off, waving him away.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says. His mouth is dry, his throat begs him to swallow but there’s no spit in his mouth. His knees are shaking. “I’m so sorry. For the glass, and for—for everything after. Nobody should treat you like that.”

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Tony says. His smile is easy and charming, cheeks fuller than usual with the way he is putting on weight in anticipation of his heat. Sometimes when Peter blinks, he still sees how Tony looked after the un-Dusting, thin and tired and scared half-to-death. But this Tony is an entirely different man, and all the more handsome for it. This morning, he isn’t wearing his glasses, and his eyes are so sleepy-sated. He’s still in sweatpants, and the feet poking from beneath the pant legs are bare, fine boned. So fucking cute. “Is there something bothering you? Some of the others have came to me with concerns. You’re acting out. Teenage rebellion finally catching up with you? Gonna slam some doors, tell me you hate me, vandalize public property?”

“I could never hate you, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. He can’t say those words without his throat clenching, voice dropping. Tony’s chest expands in a deep silent breath and the look he gives Peter is—strange.

He claps Peter on the shoulder, a brief burning touch, and then is moving away. “Love that for me, kid. I’ll see you—around.”

He disappears. Peter finds himself sniffing the air, but there is nothing except the lingering scent of breakfast foods. What else he was expecting, he doesn’t know.

“J.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get me some new biometrics on our Spider-Kid. Be subtle about it, too.”

“The human rights protocols that Ms. Potts demanded you install require me to inform you that performing any medical testing on an unaware subject is a direct violation of—”

“Yeah, yeah, skip reading me the riot act, J. I’m a bad, bad man. Get me those results ASAP, got it?”

“Performing them now, sir.”

Sundays are reserved for training, the only kind of worship most of the Avengers perform. At dawn, Peter is down in the gymnasium, wearing joggers and a clingy t-shirt. Today is supposed to be most perfunctory for him considering how hard he’s been pushing himself this week (harder than usual, maybe, he thinks, but it helps burn off some of the extra energy that has been blooming under his skin, making him itch). While the other Avengers practice hand-to-hand combat, he’ll probably be running on the treadmills.

Tony is there only for show, dressed in loungewear and drinking copious amounts of coffee. These days, he’s taking it with so much sugar and creamer that Peter can smell it on him even hours later, so sweet it makes his teeth ache. He’s only a week away from his heat, but the pheromones he’s producing make him more susceptible to physical attacks. Since these exercises are just for practice and not to hurt, he is sitting out.

“Hey, kid,” Tony mumbles, still sounding as tired as Peter feels. “You look dead on your feet. Coffee?”

He holds out his own mug. Peter hates coffee, but his body moves without consulting his higher faculties, reaching out to take the steaming cup. It actually doesn’t taste bad. Actually, it tastes pretty good—just how he imagines the inside of Tony’s mouth would taste, warm and so sweet and—

“Peter,” Tony asks. “What are you doing?”

Peter freezes—from where he is dragging his tongue along the rim of the cup, laving it over where Tony had his own mouth. His mouth goes dry, the taste of coffee turning sour in his mouth. He pulls the mug away from his mouth so quickly that he almost sloshes some out onto his trembling hands. Tony barely manages to grab the cup in time, looking much more alert (and frankly, a little alarmed).

“I—I have no idea. I’m sorry.”

“That’s—okay. It’s okay. It’s good stuff.”

Peter’s eyes go half lidded. “Yeah it is.”

Then (and Peter will never forget this, not as long as he lives. If he were in a terrible accident tomorrow that stole all of his memories, he’s sure that this one would still remain, burned in his brain), Tony puts the cup to his mouth and takes a long drink, mouth against where Peter’s tongue had trailed. All the blood in Peter’s body goes south. He feels electrocuted. A hand reaches out—his, that’s my hand, he thinks, though it’s so far away—and he presses his palm flat against Tony’s forehead, soft wisps of hair under his fingers, warm skin against his own. A shudder goes through him, and by the time he has dragged his wrist across Tony’s temple and down the side of his neck, stubble rasping against him, Peter is downright trembling, teeth clenched tight.

Tony sits like a statue under his touch, eyes wide as moons, all the blood drained from his face, and when Peter reaches the scent gland in his neck, he melts. He goes lax.

“Peter.”

When Peter turns, his teeth are clenched, lips pulled back. Captain America is standing there, and Peter can smell him, acrid.

“Stay back,” Peter barks.

“Is he—?” Natasha asks in the background, her voice high and soft with confusion.

Sam grabs her arm gently, pulling her away. “Presenting.”

There is a scuffle further away in the room, Clint holding back a trembling Bucky who is trying to get to his mate—but they are beta and omega, lesser threats. Peter pays them no mind.

Steve puts both of his hands up, the picture of calm, collected reassurance. “I’m not going to hurt you, Pete.”

“I’ll hurt you, old man,” Peter says. His voice isn’t his own, deeper and darker and scared—scared of this man, this Alpha. Peter’s omega is near and vulnerable, almost in heat. What other purpose could Steve have here except to try and separate them, try to take the omega for his own. That will never happen. His spine straightens. He is a head shorter and more than the other man, but they have fought before. Peter can take him. “Back. Off.”

Fingers wrap around Peter’s wrist, pulling it gently from his omega’s neck, and while Peter doesn’t want to take his eyes off of this dangerous alpha (no matter how non-threatening he looks), his omega is beckoning him. Peter turns and—it’s Tony. Tony. Tony.

Peter snatches his wrist back, all of his sanity coming back like cold water being poured over his head. The man is watching him, cautious, and the air is scented with fear and anxiety. This omega doesn’t need that, not so close to his heat—but this isn’t just an omega, this is Tony. Tony Stark. And here Peter is, rubbing himself all over the man like some sort of barbarian.

“Oh my god,” Peter slurs, stumbling backwards, wrist to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Peter,” Tony says. His mouth stays open but no other words come out: a true feat, for Tony to be at a loss for words. It gives Peter enough time to turn tail and run, no tact, just sprinting from the gym. The elevator is already opening—thank you, Jarvis—and Peter takes it directly up to the Avengers floor where he locks himself in his room and doesn’t exit for the rest of the day.

“I’ve rerun the scans twice now, sir. Peter Parker is an alpha. The blood work Doctor Banner performed on him this afternoon confirms it.”

“How, J? Alphas present at 14, 15—16 at the latest. Peter is eighteen years old. How did he go from beta to alpha overnight?”

“If I had to venture a guess, I would say that his altered DNA state has something to do with the late presentation. Some animalistic instincts are only triggered in the face of more base situations. More than likely, he has been an alpha all along, but until a suitable mate presented itself, his secondary gender remained dormant.”

“Are you saying I’m the suitable mate in this prime-time drama scenario?”

“I’ve never known you to sound so unhappy with a compliment, sir. Or are you fishing for more? I assure you that your hormone levels are ideal for your age, you are still fertile, and judging by the conversations I’ve overheard between Mr. Parker and his friends, he’s had romantic feelings for you for years, now.”

“Jesus, J! What happened to your privacy protocols?”

“Oh, am I not still ignoring those? My apologies, sir. In that case, Mr. Parker never talks about you at all, and they most certainly do not refer to you as Iron Daddy.”

“I swear to God JARVIS, I will wipe your programming and turn you into a glorified pocket planner—”

“If I have to overhear the phrase Iron Daddy one more time, I might be agreeable to it, sir.”

For the next few days, Peter moves around the tower like a ghost. Before he leaves any room, he asks JARVIS who is in the next one. That allows him to get from place to place without running in to Tony. It isn’t safe for Peter to be around him anymore—not after Peter practically assaulted him in front of the other Avengers. In a few days, Peter’s hormones will stabilize and then he’ll be more in control of himself.

Until then?

He deals. Alone. Trying to come to terms with his new secondary gender is more difficult than he expected. When he was younger, it was everyone’s dream to be an alpha or omega. Those genders were much rarer, sensationalized in the movies and books. Omegas and alphas could find True Love with each other. They had senses like super humans, exuding pheromones, being able to scent the air and tell a person’s mood.

Betas were average. Normal. Maybe he wanted to be an alpha or omega, but a part of him always suspected he would be a beta. When the years he should have presented in passed, he accepted it. Betas weren’t so bad, May told him. At least they didn’t have to deal with the mess of heats or ruts, they weren’t beholden to their biology.

Now, everything has changed.

Just the thought of the affect Tony had on him makes his whole face go red. God, how embarrassing. He practically rubbed himself all over the man, no better than an animal. Mr. Stark deserved better than that. He needed a mature partner, a mate who could keep their head even in the face of his hormones. They had words for alphas like Peter, ones who couldn’t control themselves—pups. Knotheads. It makes him burn with shame.

Some of the other Avengers come by to talk with him. Sam, Natasha, their neutral beta scents comforting. He spends some time with Bruce, an omega who used suppressants to neutralize his scent. Steve stays away, much to Peter’s thanks and shame. And Tony, too. To Peter’s complete agony. Sometimes he catches remnants of the man’s scent, and he has to struggle not to rub his face against the couch cushions, to scent them himself. What will his omega think, when he catches his alpha’s scent—only no. Tony isn’t his omega.

And Peter isn’t his alpha.

They let him meet Steve again first. The alpha hasn’t change physically, but it feels like Peter is seeing him through a whole new set of eyes. He smells of petrichor in the city, not very appealing. But alpha scents aren’t meant to appeal to other alphas. Does Tony like this smell, Peter wonders? When they hug, does Tony nuzzle into that thick chest and scent him?

The thought doesn’t fill Peter with the same rage it did a few days ago. Instead, it makes him sad.

“Hi Captain Rogers,” Peter says. “How are you?”

Steve smiles. “I’m great, Pete. It’s Steve, remember? Still Steve.”

Peter tries to smile back. “Steve.”

When Peter and Captain Rogers both come out of his room, the only other Avengers around are Natasha and Tony. Instinct has him inhaling—and God, Tony smells as good as Peter remembers. Coffee must be in his blood, sweet with creamer and raw sugar that would crunch under Peter’s molars and dissolve on his tongue. It’d be a dream to taste that scent from the source.

Peter shakes himself out of it. Those are the kinds of thoughts that got him in trouble in the first place. He can feel how tense the room is while he carefully approaches the omega. In Tony’s benefit, he looks relaxed, lounging on the sofa. In this position, his gently rounded stomach is clear underneath his band t-shirt and it makes Peter’s mouth water. He wills away his boner—because now, alphas like Steve and omegas like Tony will be able to smell his arousal.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter says in a soft, cracking voice. “A-Are you okay?”

Tony smiles, gentle, so tender. “Peachy, kid. Just peachy.”

Tony’s body starts purging three days before his heat, and everyone in the tower knows it. Peter knows too, and not just because he can smell it, ripening like strawberries in sugar, but because Tony stops eating altogether. Mealtimes he spends pushing food around his plate, forcing himself to sip at his sweating glass of ice water. His body is clearing itself out, priming itself for mating. Bruce encourages him to eat what he can, but Tony just snaps at his mothering, face green. No one needs to openly state that this pre-heat seems worse than usual.

It hurts to see Tony not eating, but Peter sits on his hands and bites his fucking tongue and turns away and doesn’t say a thing because it isn’t his fucking business to command the omega. Tony is more than his designation. He’s a fucking human being, and Peter is going to respect him and his wishes, even if he’d rather see the man stuff himself, belly rounded, preferably with Peter’s—

“Bathroom,” Peter mutters, standing jerkily from the table. No one notices his quick escape. In the small, tiled room, his own scent rebounds off the walls and suffocates him, arousal, sharp, pining, sickly. Peter splashes cool water over his face, resolute in his decision not to jerk off. He hasn’t cum since before his presentation, is too afraid of how it might be different, too afraid of the knot that is likely to bloom at the base of his cock (which has grown, to Peter’s horror and delight).

Once he feels less likely to pop a boner at the dinner table, he flushes perfunctorily and leaves the bathroom—only to run directly into Tony who pushes past him.

“Sorry kid, got to yack,” he mutters. But then everything about him freezes. Peter sees his own scent, concentrated from his time in the bathroom as it washes over the omega. Tony shudders, eyes rolling. The sound that leaves his mouth can be described as nothing short of a whimper. The green tinge of nausea is replaced with the flush of his own arousal, and Peter can smell it, so good that it hurts, makes him harder than he’s ever been in his life, and this is his omega, his omega who is approaching heat and needs him—

But he is more than that to Peter, too.

Using all his restraint, Peter reaches out for the bathroom door handle and slams the door shut. He hears the soft thud of Tony’s body on the other side, like he has slumped against it. A low groan, muted by the oak.

Peter turns and goes to his room without an explanation, dinner plate still half-full.

“JARVIS…”

“I’m here, sir.”

“Protocol Fuck or Die. Who is on my consent list?”

“Just Captain Rogers, sir.”

“Add Peter.”

“Shall I alert him—”

“No—just. I doubt my heat will be bad enough to require an alpha’s—ah—special support, but. Better safe than sorry.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Oh, and J? Let’s go ahead and make an addendum…”

Less than two days later, Tony leaves his bedroom on the Avengers’ floor and goes up to the penthouse. The door locks behind him, and Peter comforts himself with that fact. The man is safe. No one can get in without JARVIS’s say so, and the AI values Tony’s safety above all else. Even if he suffers while he’s there (and that thought alone makes Peter ache in his chest, desperate to help), at least he is safe.

Two days in, a situation across the country calls for some of the Avengers, and Steve, Bucky, Nat and Clint all pack up to head out. They don’t ask Peter to come with them, and the young alpha doesn’t offer—though he hardly knows why. Nat tucks him under her arm and presses a kiss to his forehead when he wishes them safe travels, and please let me know if you need backup.

She smiles, soft. “I think you’re needed here, Pete.”

Peter has no idea what to make of that, and no idea how right she is.

“Mister Parker.”

Peter wakes from a restless sleep, sitting straight up in his bed. The room is absolutely dark—the only way he can sleep with his sensitivity issues—but Peter knows that the voice didn’t come from anyone in the room. It came from above. Heart in his throat, he croaks out an affirmation, fearing the worst. Something has gone wrong on the mission with Steve and the others. They are hurt, or worse, dead. Maybe there’s another emergency, this time in New York, and Peter and Sam and Bruce will have to deal with it alone—

“I need you to go directly to the penthouse, and with haste.”

“Penthouse? That’s—that’s off limits. Mr. Stark—”

“Mister Stark’s temperature is reaching dangerous levels, and he is no longer responding to my questions. He requires immediate attention. Do not bother dressing—go straight there.”

Peter rolls out of bed. This is worse than the Avengers being hurt. So much worse. His hands shake as he leaves his room wearing nothing but boxer shorts (do not bother dressing or not, Peter wasn’t going to walk around naked). The lounge is empty and ghostly, moonlight streaming in from the windows and turning every shadow into a monster. Peter has bigger fears now, though.

“It’s his heat?”

“Yes—”

“—and what exactly—I mean, what do you want me to do about it?”

“Now is not the time for me to give you the birds and the bees talk, Mister Parker—”

Peter blanches. The elevator is waiting for him as he steps inside, feels the pull of gravity as he quickly ascends, his hears popping at the change in altitude. “JARVIS, you don’t understand—Mr. Stark, h-he can’t consent during a heat. I would be—it would be—”

“You have his consent. Based on protocol Fuck or Die—”

“I’m sorry what?”

“It’s not uncommon for older omegas to suffer serious health issues while suffering through heats alone and unsuppressed. In the event that an alpha is absolutely required, Mister Stark has a list of preapproved alphas who have his complete consent to bond with him. On such a list is Captain Rogers and, as of earlier this week, yourself.”

Peter gapes. His head spins. Mr. Stark—lists of consent—Peter?

“If it makes you feel better,” JARVIS says. “Had Captain Rogers been here, I would have asked him first.”

The elevator opens, and Peter steps out into the hallway that leads to the penthouse. His stomach is in knots, a tangle of Medusa’s snakes that wriggle and threaten to turn him to stone. His knees are shaking, knocking together in fear that is so potent it’s comical. This is his greatest dream come true (though certainly not happening in the way he had anticipated) but suddenly it is his deepest fear.

“No offense, Mr. JARVIS, but in what world would that make me feel better?” Peter asks, his sweating palm on the doorknob to the penthouse.

“We can debate it another time when Mister Stark isn’t at risk of a febrile seizure.”

The door clicks, lock opening. Steeling himself, Peter opens the door and steps inside.

The smell intense: cinnamon rolls, ground coffee beans, caramel sauce so sweet it’s just on the verge of burning. It is right out of Peter’s wet dreams, his cock rushing to fill itself so that it will be useful to the omega in need. The penthouse is a mess when Peter scans it: furniture knocked over, a glass of water shattered on the tiles of the foyer, though the water has nearly evaporated now. Everything is quiet and still. It should be eerie.

But suddenly it isn’t. A change comes over him, a rush of hormones that not only fill his cock but clear his head. It’s like everything he sees is in greater detail, sharp focus, all of his senses on high alert. There are no more nerves, and Peter is filled with the overwhelming confidence that he knows what he’s doing.

“The bedroom, Mister Parker. Quickly, please.”

Peter moves with purpose, ignoring his cock. The bedroom door is only cracked, and he reaches out with a firm hand to push it open the rest of the way.

Tony has taken up residence on the floor beside the bed. The sheets are dragged off of it as if Tony had struggled to pull himself up and lost the strength, choosing instead to curl up around his aching abdomen. Peter gathers all of the strength and calm inside of himself, works to exude it in his very scent (a thing he’s mostly unfamiliar with, but which is apparently a skill akin to wiggling his ears, which he can also do, thanks very much).

Naked, Peter is privy to every inch of tanned skin, the gentle smattering of hair on Tony’s legs, sparser at his thighs. There are no hairs on his chest thanks to the mass of scar tissue where the arc reactor used to be, smooth, pink skin that will never grow hair again. All his skin is covered in sweat, slick and glowing under the dim lights. Then, Tony’s eyes open, nostrils flaring. He turns his head towards where Peter stands in the doorway, teeth chattering from his fever, and the look on his face is pure relief.

“Alpha,” he says, stuttering through his chills.

Peter hushes him, kneeling down to drag the man into his arms. The omega groans in pain when he’s no longer curled around his aching stomach, but then buries his nose in Peter’s neck, hot breath brushing his skin and making goosebumps rise all over Peter. Tony sighs in relief, wrapping himself around the kneeling alpha. Peter can feel Tony’s cock—small, but hard and leaking—pressing against his hip. Pooled on the older man’s abdominals is cum, drying and tacky.

“I recommend a tepid shower, Mister Parker.”

“Start it,” Peter says through his teeth. He shifts up onto one knee, bracing himself so that he can support the larger man’s weight. Tony is mouth at his neck, hips rutting desperately. Peter puts a hand on the man’s lower back and guides him, encourages him, words pouring out of his mouth that he can barely hear over the blood rushing in his ears. “Come on, Mr. Stark, please Mr. Stark, you need to cum. Can you cum like this? Will you try, for me? Now, Omega, now if you can at all—”

Tony shudders, cum splattering Peter’s bare stomach. It burns—every point of contact with the man burns, thanks to the fever.

“God,” Peter groans, throat convulsing. “That was amazing. So good, Mr. Stark, Jesus, that was incredible—”

In the bathroom, the shower is running, cool enough to not create any steam. Peter grits his teeth, hating cold showers, but knowing that his omega needs it. A fever isn’t good for his omega’s brain, and at least the water isn’t cold. That might shock Tony’s system and do more harm than good. Without even stopping to shuck his boxers, Peter slides open the glass shower door and ushers them both inside. When the spray hits him, the omega whines, shrinking away.

“Stay,” Peter says firmly. Tony goes slack, suggestible.

He leaves the front of Tony’s body in the cool spray and stands on his toes to bury his nose in the omega’s neck, scenting him, scraping together every good warm safe happy feeling inside of himself. Tony’s head goes lax, leaning back, water dripping down his throat. The young alpha licks a line up his throat and to the shell of his ear. Such a thing would be weird any other time, but now it’s like there’s a part inside of him that urges him to do it, to leave his mouth on the man and never lift it.

“Peter?” he slurs.

Peter jolts. If Tony is more conscious and aware, that seems like a promising sign. “JARVIS called for me. You’re safe, Mr. Stark,” he says. “I promise.”

Tony smiles, a soft breath coming out almost like a laugh. “I know,” he murmurs. “Jesus, kid, I’m cold.”

“You’re feverish,” Peter says. “JARVIS? Can you tell Mr. Stark’s temperature?”

“It is a toasty 101.7 degrees Fahrenheit, Mister Parker, which is an improvement. I believe a decent bonding session would have a similar therapeutic effect, if the shower isn’t comfortable. And sir, may I say that it’s nice to see you stringing together a full sentence.”

Tony snorts. His voice is weak, but no less snarky. “Thanks, J. Can we get out, Pete? I haven’t taken cold showers since I was fifteen years old.”

“If we get out,” Peter says. “We’ll have to—to bond.”

“Is that—you don’t want that?”

“I do, God, Jesus, yes I do—”

Now Tony does laugh, even as his eyes slip closed in exhaustion. It is likely that without proper care, he has barely slept since his heat started in earnest three days ago. The instincts inside of Peter stir: his omega needs fucked and then he needs rest.

As soon as the cool water is off, Tony is back to stumbling, doubled over in pain, an arm curled around his tender midsection. The cramps come and go while Peter does his best to dry them off, but their hair is still dripping when he can’t take the sounds of pain anymore and guides Tony back to the bedroom. There is nothing on the bed but a fitted sheet, soft as silk, and Tony crawls onto it without prompting.

He sinks immediately into lordosis, ass up, spine curved as he presents himself, forehead pressed to the bed and chest doing its best to follow. This is pornography come to life, Peter thinks. He can see Tony’s hole, wet and dripping. Between his legs are his balls, red and aching, but it’s that hole that makes his fingers ache, that has him reaching out to press a thumb against the rim.

Tony chokes, hips jerking backwards until Peter sinks in to the first knuckle. Tony is loose and pliant, perfect for taking an alpha’s cock and knot.

“Please,” Tony groans into the mattress, shaking all over. “’t hurts, Pete. Please. Inside.”

Peter pulls his thumb free, kneels up onto the bed to shuffle closer, and then sinks two gentle fingers in, slow until they’re swallowed to the hilt. He has to close his eyes, cock aching, knot already throbbing at the base. Inside, Tony is like liquid silk, hot and wet and clinging to his fingers, the internal muscles squeezing and desperate for more to hold on to. The noise Tony lets out is pure sex, a long moan that ends higher and breathier than he’s ever heard the man.

Slowly, Peter pulls his fingers out to the tip—and god, the slide, the wet friction is just as intoxicating, eyes rolling in his skull, blinded to everything but the desperate omega in front of him—before pressing back in. He twists them, circles his hands, crooks them until he finds that spot, the rough bump inside. Tony keens, body spasming as his fists clench at the sheets, his cock spurting. Around his fingers, Tony’s ass flutters. But he needs more. Peter knows.

Soaked boxers abandoned in the bathroom, Peter’s cock is free to dribble and ache, only inches from where it longs to harbor. Brief anxiety has his hand trembling when he reaches down to run a gentle fist from tip down to root. This is the first time he’s touched his cock since he presented—but it feels the same really. Except for the base, where there is a bump, so sensitive that he whines when he runs a curious thumb over it. God, how will that feel inside Tony? Peter can’t even imagine.

Withdrawing his fingers, the omega cries out, hips jerking backwards, desperate to keep the connection. Peter soothes him with a hand on his back, urging him to relax back into the bedspread while Peter kneels up behind him. Their similar heights make this easy—all the important bits are at the perfect levels.

Taking a deep breath, Peter guides the head of his cock to the wet hole. The first touch has him whining, shaking, and if it weren’t for the firm hand on Tony’s back, the omega would likely have taken him to the root by now with the way he is thrusting back, trying to fuck himself on the tip alone. It’s now or never, Peter tells himself. Pressing forward, he sinks in until he can’t anymore. It takes every bit of restraint not to cum immediately, popping his knot in the tightest, wettest, most pleasurable heat he’s ever known. Beneath him, Tony sounds like he’s dying in the best way, groaning.

“Please, alpha, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—”

Everything in him wants to give this man what he needs, so with singular focus, Peter pulls back his hips and lets them snap forward. Tony howls, his elbows bending so that he can grab fistfuls of his hair and pull. Peter lets his instincts do the work, trusts his body to know what is best for himself and his omega, fucking into that tight heat in desperation. The best part of every thrust is bottoming out, the brief pressure of Tony’s fluttering rim around Peter’s blossoming knot, so sensitive it makes him shiver.

“God, Mr. Stark,” Peter pants. The words are torn from his chest: “My omega.”

“Yes, yes, yours, take it, take me,” Tony says, every word punctuated by a hitch in his breath as Peter thrusts in. “Alpha—let me cum, please—”

“Yes,” Peter groans. “You need it, please. Please cum for me.”

Tony cries out, entire body stiffening and going still beneath him—every part of him except for his small cock, spurting weakly and the tight heat around Peter’s cock that flutters, squeezing, choking the life out of him. Peter desperately wants to bring Tony to another orgasm, figuring that the better sated he is, the quicker his fever will fall. But the sounds, the smells, the unbearable pressure around his cock is too much. He can feel it building inside him, balls tightening, knot beginning to swell. There’s no way he can stop it—and Tony needs this too. Needs a knot, for his body to fight the biological havoc his hormones are wreaking on it.

So Peter chases it, fucking Tony right through his orgasm. Every time the knot catches on the rim, Peter thinks this is it, this is it, there’s no way I can push into him, or there’s no way I can pull it out of him, but he does, both of their bodies capable of so much more than he ever knew. Then it hits. Peter shoves the knot past the rim, shrieking as his balls spasm, cum spurting into the omega. Beneath him, Tony shouts something unintelligible, and maybe he cums again, but Peter can’t tell. The world goes white. Nothing exists except for the tight channel around his cock, the rim that’s squeezing his knot, coaxing more and more cum from him.

But one thought comes, strikes him like a lightning bolt straight from Thor’s hammer: bite. His teeth ache down to the roots with as tightly as he clenches them together, mouth watering, desperate to clamp his jaws on that raised spot on Tony’s neck. Break skin. Mate. The urge becomes overwhelming, no way that he can stop it—but instead he turns and bites into the meat of his bicep, breaking skin until blood floods his mouth.

When it finally ends, they are stuck together. Shaking from exertion, Peter still reaches out to help Tony collapse properly onto the bed, then he guides them both onto their sides, his stomach pressed flush against Tony’s back. The omega is shaking all over, so Peter runs his hands over every bit of skin he can, murmuring words of praise, God Mr. Stark, you’re perfect. That was the most amazing thing, thank you so much, thank you.

By the time his knot deflates enough for him to pull out without hurting Tony (and it’s an inordinate amount of time later, Peter things, probably considering it was his first ever knot popped), the bite on his arm has healed. He must still look like a sight, he thinks, mouth covered in flaking, dried blood. Tony is soft and sated when he rolls onto his back, and the only indication he gives that the blood on Peter startles him is a few gentle blinks, like his eyes are blurry and he needs to clear them.

“I almost bit you,” Peter says. “I’m so sorry.”

Tony smiles, eyes already slipping closed. He worms one arm beneath the pillow under his head and lets his eyes shut completely. “Go ahead,” he mumbles. “’m going t’ sleep now.”

Peter smooths the hair out of his face. His chest feels tight, full up with love and longing and absolute adoration. This has been beyond Peter’s wildest dreams: mating Tony, bonding with him for good and not just for now? That is something that Peter can’t even let himself imagine. It’s a pipe dream, a hazy, unclear fantasy. Beside him, Tony is already asleep. The man snores—wait until Ned finds out.

“Mister Stark’s temperature is returning to normal boundaries, I am happy to report.”

Peter breathes a sigh of relief. He barely knew how much tension was in him until he heard those words, until he knew that Tony would be okay. His body relaxes, experiencing a peace he has never before known. Here, with this man he loves more than anything, knowing they are safe and that Tony is content. “Thank you, JARVIS. I’m glad you woke me.”

“As am I. Mister Parker, I believe there is one other matter that I must bring to your attention.”

“What is it?”

“It is another protocol that Mister Stark put in place. A list he created exclusively for you.”

It is a week later before Tony is well enough to leave his penthouse. The man has lost all the weight he put on and more, even as Peter’s constant insistence that he eat whenever he could stomach it. Despite the copious amounts on incredible sex they shared, Peter can’t help but be glad that Tony’s heats only come twice a year. Any more than that might genuinely kill the man, his legs shaking, leaning on Peter as they enter the Avengers living area.

General cries of greeting and joy rise up around the floor. Steve pulls the man into a hug before he thinks otherwise, his eyes finding Peter’s over the omega’s shoulder. But Peter isn’t jealous, just watches with a happy, soft smile. He sees the exact moment that Steve breathes in and smells the change in the omega’s scent, and Peter knows the look on his face must be that of the sorest winner, smug, and unbearably in love.

Steve pulls back and gently tugs at the collar of Tony’s shirt, exposing just the smallest hint of the healing mating bite. Peter’s own has already healed.

Bucky can’t help but frown from where he stands behind Steve. His eyes flash hot like coals, accusatory, pinning Peter in place. “You mated him? He was in heat.”

Tony waves a hand. “We had a sort of—withstanding agreement. Didn’t we, J?”

“That you did, sir. I would not let anything untoward happen to Mister Stark under my watch.”

“Hear that?” Tony asks, stalking to the refrigerator. “I have protocols in place for every possible sequence of events, and giving hot young alphas the consent to mate me for life is a very advantageous outcome, if I do say so myself. Hey—fruit goes on the top shelf, heathens, not in the drawer. I’m out of commission for two weeks and this is what happens—”

“You have, what, procedures in place? For every possible sequence of events?” Bucky asks, his arms crossed.

Tony reappears from the refrigerator, a take-out contained in his hands. He cracks it open, Styrofoam screeching, to appraise the insides. Whatever is there must please him, because he bumps the door closed with one hip and goes for a fork. “Huh?” he asks, scooping out strands of angel hair pasta. “Oh. Yeah—I do. By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.”

“Who said that?” Natasha asks. “Was that Franklin?”

“What, it wasn’t me?” Tony asks.

“Wait, I want to hear more about these procedures, especially any that involve me,” Bucky asks. They all gravitate around the counter, leaning against the marble. Peter can’t help but feel that the turmoil of the last month has ended and now things are—not normal. But better than normal. His family, his pack, they are stronger than ever.

“I could tell you, snowflake,” Tony says around a mouth of pasta. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

tag list: (and I know I’m missing so many of you right now, I’m sorry, I’ll work on it, feel free to continue to let me know if you want to be tagged or would rather not be. @shinycreatoroafbonk @sadbumblingmess @parkerslutt @css1992 @starkerotic @rogerthat-captain @prettyboy-parker @onemadeofglass @kirtthana @deliciousflapbanditfarm @kiaorauniverse @loki-iwanttobeking @parleroumourirr @bizzlepotter @von--gelmini

#starker #abo #alpha!peter #omega!tony #cagewrites

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