#lils writes

[reki-of-the-valley]

Summer Time (Family) Madness

lmao it's been like 6 months since the last time the last revision. And like 2 and a half years since the end of this fic. But alas. At least I'm still working on the revisions. So here's an updated chapter 6!

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AO3 | Original Chapter 1  | Original Chapter 2 | Original Chapter 3 | Original Chapter 4 | Original Chapter 5 | Original Chapter 6

It wasn’t uncommon to find Langa hidden under the counter at DopeSketch. Normally, it was to avoid having to interact with any of the customers; Reki was just naturally so much better at the whole customer service part of their shared retail job. Now, however, Langa found himself more often than not with a book on his lap as he sat cross-legged on the floor. Now, he spent his shifts groaning about the homework that was assigned on summer break of all times. 

Thankfully though, DopeSketch really wasn’t the busiest shop in town. Langa could get away with his time wasted watching videos instead of reading his novel, or all his lost minutes staring at the same math equation. Barely anyone entered the little shop, and those who did never stuck around for more than a few minutes, browsing the few shelves of skateboarding equipment. So, during the shifts where Langa remained cooped up in the small shop, watching the sun beat down on the smiling people in the streets, he got to do homework. If he had to explain to someone what he was being paid to do, the most honest answer he could muster was that his paycheck covered the cost of someone playing the role of a babysitter for a store that most definitely would not up and run away. Or maybe he was being paid to keep his grades up since he had nothing better to do than work on his assignments.

It was a miracle Oka still gave him shared shifts with Reki. It didn’t take a genius to know that employing two best friends was not the ideal recipe for productivity, but maybe the man knew how lonely it could get in the shop. Maybe that was why he let the boys keep each other company during their long shifts. And that was what they did; even if they silently did their own separate thing, at least they had each other. As long as they were together, everything would be okay. As long as they had one another, the day wouldn’t feel eternal. And sometimes, a calm and silent afternoon was exactly what they needed. 

Langa groaned as he leaned back against the counter, tipping his head back in annoyance. He had tried, he had really tried to get a head start on his summer schoolwork. He had really tried to power through his assigned readings as fast of possible. He had tried to get it over with as soon as possible, but that determination was too good to be true. When it came to actually doing it, it proved itself much harder than anticipated. And Langa hadn’t been proud to admit that his reading skills could almost rival his handwriting. 

“I don’t get it.” His eyes fell shut as another sign fell from his lips. “Why do we need literature? What’s the use of old books no one cares about? Even in English, I sucked at it. I just…” The world reappeared before him, brighter than he remembered it to be just a few seconds ago. “I don’t get it! And I just don’t care!” 

A pen was clicked a few times as Reki hummed to himself. He must have been sketching in the margins of his notebook instead of doing the math problems he had said he would be doing. He had to have been; the pen strokes were far too methodical and repetitive to be that of writing. 

“I don’t know, man. Something about culture and it’s important we know about our past.” A smile broke across Langa’s face as he peeked out from under the counter just as Reki surrounded the last part of his statement with air quotes. “But I can help you if you want. But in exchange,” red hair fell to the side as Reki leaned over to get a better view of Langa, “you gotta explain to me our next English project. ‘Cause like, that man talks way too fast for me to catch a single thing he says. I’m pretty sure I understand those American sitcoms better than him, and I never know what’s happening in those.” 

Langa chuckled as he agreed on their deal. Reki would be helped with some English homework and Langa wouldn’t fail yet another written assignment; this friendship definitely had its perks beyond the whole having a friend thing. And it wasn’t even like Reki was exaggerating about their English teacher; the man really did speak way too fast. It also did not help that he had the heaviest accent Langa had ever come across, occasionally slurring his words and making it hard for even Langa to perfectly understand what was being said. But at least he had the advantage of being completely fluent, even if his grades didn’t always reflect that, which meant he could rely on the instruction sheet rather than the verbal expectations. 

Silence reigned once more in the little shop, both boys having returned to their individual activities. Quiet, methodical pen strokes echoed against the walls; the sound of rustling pages made its place in the song being composed in the little skateboard shop. It was quiet and relaxing, peaceful even. 

Langa had come to appreciate watching Reki work his crafts, be it doodling in the margins of his notebooks or his repetitive shaving of a board. Whether he knew it or not, he made the funniest faces as he concentrated on his work. Sometimes he would furrow his brow, leaning closer to the paper before straightening out to continue adding endless details to his drawing. Other times, he would stick his tongue out as if that was what helped keep focus on his work. And once he completed something he was particularly proud of, his eyes would glow with pride as he held his piece up to the light. That was the face Langa liked the most; it was the face of someone who was proud of themselves, and Reki deserved most of all to be proud of himself. He deserved to be proud of himself, to see himself the way Langa saw him. None of that frustration that would often overcome him as he would huff and rip the page out of his sketchbook or notebook. No more crumpling and tossing of masterpieces he simply could not see. If it were up to Langa, none of that would ever happen again, but for now, he would content himself in collecting Reki’s trashed art. Even if they weren’t up to Reki’s standards, they would always be works of art to Langa. 

Langa loved watching Reki draw. It was quiet and tranquil, a moment where Reki wasn’t bouncing around, talking with his hands, words stumbling over themselves as he went on and on. And as much as Langa loved Reki’s endless energy, he also deeply appreciated the calm moments they would share. But as with everything else, good moments must come to an end, the door chiming as a customer walked in. 

“Welcome to Dope— Oh, hey Emily!”

Langa perked up at the name. Emily? Why was she here of all places? Langa had purposely avoided telling her where he worked in hopes of getting away from her. Dope Sketch had been the only place Langa could go to escape the teasing remarks and those eyes that stared straight into his soul. It was the one place where he felt safe from her badgering questions about his oh-so-obvious crush on Reki. Work had somehow become his little slice of quiet heaven, and now that bubble had burst. Now, she had found him and his hiding spot. 

Reluctantly, Langa pushed himself off the ground only to smash his head against the counter and crash back down. He held the top of his head as she let out a whiney cry of pain. 

“Dude! Langa!” Amber eyes fell onto him, eyes filled with worry and shock. “What’s up with you and hitting your head lately?”

If Langa had known the answer, he would have told Reki. Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe it was all those distractions, distractions disguised as the people hovering around him. Maybe it was Reki and just how absolutely distracting he was, be it while he would sketch, his face will with concentration, or when he would kneel next to Langa, his beautiful eyes still wide and filled with worry.

Between Reki and Langa, there was no doubt that Reki was the more accident-prone one. He was the one constantly sporting bandages for his sprained ankles and wrists. He was the one scraping his knees after wiping out from trying another new trick he had found on the Internet. He was always the one laughing as he fell on his ass, his board flying from under his feet. Reki was so much more the accident-prone one, at least when it came to skating. When it came to their daily lives, Langa was starting to believe he was the clumsy one, if the last two weeks were any indication. He was the one tripping over his untied shoelaces, eating pavement as Reki choked on his laughter. He was the one splitting his eyebrow open on a window frame in the dead of the night. He was the one smashing his head against the counter instead of greeting his cousin.

“Is he… Is he alright?”

Emily’s head poked from above the counter, her hair a curtain for the nook under the counter. She must have climbed onto the counter to see what mishap was happening away from her prying eyes. And given the frown that pulled at the corners of her mouth, she mustn’t have been proud of clumsy Langa.

A flood of memories washed through Langa at the sight. It wasn’t the first time she had looked down at him like this. Somewhere, somewhere long lost to the fog of memory, this exact situation had happened. But somewhere in those memories, there had also been smiles. A flash of a faceless childish grin. A flash of a girl hanging above his head. A flash of blond hair blocking the sun. Some distant chatter. A storybook. A treehouse. Grass. Laughter. Summer.

Reki pulled Langa from the floor, pulling him out of his impromptus trip down memory lane. He looped his arm around Langa’s waist, holding him tightly as if he were afraid that Langa would drop back down to the ground as soon as he would let go of him. Or maybe Reki feared that Langa had concussed himself; thankfully, that had yet to happen. A miracle, really. 

Langa let himself be guided towards the stool Reki had been using earlier. He let his body crash against the wood as soon as he felt it brush against his thighs. If Reki was asking him to sit, then Langa could not refuse. He could never refuse Reki, no matter what it was he was asking. He had learned that the hard way, and there was no way he was going through those torturous days without Reki ever again. No way, especially not when Reki was this close, squeezing his way between Langa’s knees, his rough yet soft fingers holding onto Langa’s burning cheeks. Especially not when he was letting Langa hold on to his waist as he steadied himself onto the stool. Because obviously he needed something to steady himself; otherwise, he would have risked falling again. And he couldn’t fall again. Or was it too late for that? 

Reki was so close. So fucking close. Langa could practically count the freckles scattered across his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his ears… He could almost count every short lash of Reki’s. And he was talking so softly to Langa. His voice was just so mesmerizing, so magical. 

“How’s your vision? Do things look blurry?”

“Not more than usual.” A frown pulled at the corners of Reki’s mouth; so much for cracking a joke to lighten the mood. “My vision is fine if that’s what you’re asking. I see just fine. It was an accident; didn’t think I was that far under the counter.” 

 “And your head? Does it hurt? Do you feel dizzy? Do you feel like—!”

Now, had this been some teen summer romance blockbuster, then maybe Langa would have quieted Reki with a spontaneous kiss. And maybe that would have been the beginning of the best summer of Langa’s life. But Langa was no movie protagonist and, while he was gutsy, he wasn’t that impulsive. So instead, he simply tightened his grip on Reki’s waist, interrupting the boy’s panicked questions. 

“I’m fine, Reki. I barely bumped my head against the counter. I’ve dealt with far worse in the past and I’ve survived every one of those blows.” 

“You smashed your head against my window frame the other day! I don’t know dude, but that’s kinda worrying! You could be concussed or something! Like, it’s not normal or good for you to constantly be hitting your head! You’re,” Reki’s voice dropped, his eyes finding Langa’s, “you’re not lying to me, are you?”

Reki had never made it easier to smile. “I’m fine, I swear. And I’m not lying to you, I promise.”

Reki huffed as Langa held up his pinkie finger. A light chuckle fell from his lips as his hold on Langa fell away before returning, his own finger curled around Langa’s. A promise had been formed and sealed, a promise that could no longer be broken, at least according to the rules of pinkie promises. But that touch didn’t linger, Reki finally backing away from between Langa’s legs. 

“I’m getting you some water and you better not have moved when I get back, you hear me?” 

Langa scoffed but still gave Reki a curt nod. There was no point in arguing with Reki; if he had to tape Langa down to the chair to keep him from getting up and wandering around, then he wouldn’t hesitate to do so. So Langa knew better than to try to argue. He simply watched the boy dash to the backroom where their bags were stashed. 

It never took much for Langa to look absolutely smitten. All he needed was a door swinging shut behind Reki, leaving Langa hidden from judgement. All it took was that adorably serious expression on Reki’s face as he ran off. All it required was for Reki to be, well, Reki. Everything about Reki was enough to leave Langa floating, because Reki was adorable. Seriously, absolutely adorable. 

“He sure it touchy with you.” 

Langa jumped at the sound of the voice, having forgotten about the girl standing by him. She had since gotten off the counter, but still, she leaned over it, eyes also glued to the door. The English almost sounded strange, like a foreign dialect taking over a safe space. Emily’s presence felt wrong, as if she had no business being here, next to him. Her presence left Langa annoyed once more, the feeling tugging on his insides. Work had always been one of the places where it truly was just him and Reki. Sure, sometimes Manager Oka would pop in, but most of the time, it was just Reki and Langa. Most of the time, it was a space for just them, somewhere where no one could burst their little bubble.

Dope Sketch was one of the few places where Langa didn’t feel self-conscious every time he snuck a glance at Reki. It was the only place where he knew he wouldn’t be caught by anyone. It was the only place where he felt he could be so unapologetically himself, knee-deep in his feelings without the fear that someone would bring it up, tease him about, or worst of all, call him out on his dumb crush. Here, at work, it was a land that belongs to only Reki and Langa. 

“He’s just treating me the same way he treats his sisters when they get hurt.” Langa’s tone was sharp and dry, leaving little room for a retort from the queen of annoying. “Probably just his brotherly instincts kicking in or whatever. It comes naturally to him to be caring, y’know?” 

“Uh-huh, sure.” Emily clicked her tongue as she climbed back onto the counter to sit cross-legged on top of it. “You keep telling yourself that, Lover Boy.” 

Langa had gotten his fair share of nicknames over the course of his life. He had gotten used to being called a variety of names by the people surrounding him. Reki often teased him by calling him Prince Langa, a name which made no sense to Langa given that he was the furthest thing from a prince. His mother still called him her little man or her baby, which, the more Langa thought about it, were hilarious things to be called. And Emily had gotten into the habit of calling him whatever passed through that thick skull of hers, though she did tend to favor the twig insult. There had been so many names that had shaped Langa, but Lover Boy had never been one of them. Lover Boy was… it wasn’t Langa. It was a name for someone with confidence, someone who was a smooth talker, things that were definitely not Langa when it came to people. Those were things that left Langa’s inside squirming with discomfort. It was a name he wanted to run from, and the best way to do that was by completely changing the subject before Emily could ever bring it up again. 

“Hey, Emmy? Did we have a treehouse as kids?” 

Emily scrunched her nose as she turned towards Langa. Her brow was pinched, looking strangely at her cousin. “Yeah? Grandpa built it when I was 10, but had to take it down that same summer for some unknown reason, don’t you remember?” 

Langa shook his head with a shrug. 

“We spent nearly the entire summer in that tree. But why bring that up now? That’s so random.” 

Langa shrugged once more. He wanted to change subjects and had had a flashback right after hitting his head. It was random, but that was the thing with foggy memories: they reappeared at the strangest of moments. 

“Seeing you looking down on me reminded me of that summer, but I wasn’t sure if it was a real memory or just my brain making things up. It’s just… It’s all a little haze, like every summer memory overlaps. I can’t really tell what happened and when, except the really big events that often got us in shit. Like that one time everyone thought I broke my arm after I fell from a tree? The first time we were allowed to go to the park alone and got home like an hour after the set time? Or that time we accidentally splashed paint on Grandma’s carpet?” 

“Oh man! She was so pissed at us! The stain is still there, you know? Almost faded, but you can still see it if you know where to look. And like, I was so sure she was going to rip our heads off that day.” 

“Yeah, she was not happy about that one. But the treehouse…” Langa leaned back on the stool, careful to not tip over and crash once again. “The memory feels fake. It’s like I had made it up to give myself some resemblance of a real childhood.”

“But you did have a real childhood, Langa. Sure, it was maybe a little unconventional with all your snowboarding training and competitions, maybe a bit of a gifted kid childhood, but you did still have a childhood. Your parents still took you out to the park when you were a kid and weren’t such an antisocial mess.” Emily stuck her tongue out at Langa’s pointed glare, grinning at the low blow. “But for real though, you had a pretty normal childhood otherwise. Like your parents used to push you on the swings for hours on end when you were a baby. Apparently, you like those things so damn much that the only time you would cry was when someone took you out of your swing.”

Langa slumped down on his stool, ducking his head in embarrassment. The swings were one of those vague baby memories he still had. He had forgotten the whole of it, but he did remember the wind in his face and how much liked it. Still likes it, actually. That had maybe played a big part in why he had gotten into snowboarding in the first place. Maybe that was why he still loved skateboarding so much. All Langa wanted was to be able to fly.

“We spent summer after summer together, playing in the basement and outside and all around the grandparents’ house. And you even throw the biggest temper tantrum ever in the supermarket because your mom didn’t get you the cookies you wanted.” 

“I did not do that.”

Emily snorted at Langa’s defensiveness. “Uh, yes you did. Auntie Nanako even has the pictures to prove it and she showed them tome. Something about despite not being pleased with her yelling child, she needed physical proof of you being a total brat out in public so that if ever you have kids and want to kill them for screaming in a public place, then she’d show you that you were no better despite being the quietest, shyest kid ever. Something about every kid throwing a temper tantrum at the most inconvenient of times. And then you’d just have to deal with it and understand your kid’s point of view of some shit like that?” 

Langa bit the insides of his cheeks, not quite wanting to believe the story. His mother had always insisted that he had been an exceptionally easy child, though a little worryingly emotionless. He would rarely argue or cry, so the possibility that he had been an absolute monster in the middle of a supermarket because of a box of cookies, it felt wrong. It felt impossible. Out of character. Fabricated, especially since Langa didn’t like cookies that much. 

“But it’s not because you weren’t part of the popular group at school or that you didn’t hang out with the other kids at the park after class that you lack a childhood. Childhood is… It’s a lot of things. Like trying to teach you how to do ballet. Or watching movies during lunchtime. Or playing video games in a basement.” 

“I think you mean repeatedly hitting me with a Wii remote because I somehow managed to beat your high score on Just Dance.”

“You weren’t even trying!” 

Langa chuckled at the girl’s outburst. “Just have to learn the mechanics of the game to win. You don’t actually have to be good at dancing. Or dance at all.” 

“You…”

Emily huffed, but it wasn’t long before her frown broke into a grin. Laughter spilled from her lips as Langa swatted her hand away, dodging her attempt at a hair ruffle. Because even if they were going down memory lane, Langa sure as hell was not letting her treat him like he was 5 years old again. 

“I know you feel like you’re a big weirdo and you didn’t have a childhood since your past doesn’t look like some American Walmart Thanksgiving commercial, but I can guarantee you had one. And a damn good one, for that matter! And you also definitely made mine a whole lot more memorable and fun. Like, I don’t know what I would have done without my little baby cousin to play with all summer long. Most probably would have turned out a whole lot worse than I have had you not been there to entertain me and keep me in check.”

Despite Emily’s teasing tone, it was her sentimentality that really stood out to Langa. And he never knew what to do with that. He didn’t know how to respond to the girl who always seemed so energetic, always so ready for the future. She wasn’t one to reminisce, tripping over memories from the past. Or at least, that was how Langa had always perceived her; that wasn’t the Emily he knew. To him, she was someone who lived to tease and annoy him, wholeheartedly. She wasn’t one to smile as softly as she was now, a light mist covering her eyes as the ancient years rolled by like a silent film. Those brown eyes, they were made to shine from mischief and scheming, not from the threat of tears. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Langa felt something in his chest. His heart? Was it beating? If it was, it sure wasn’t the same heartbeat as when he was around Reki. It also wasn’t the same heartbeat that would race as he would slide through the world on a board. No, this time, it was going slower, feeling calmer. It beat with such a different feeling that Langa could not name it. It wasn’t excitement; it wasn’t anticipation. Was it perhaps nostalgia? Safety? Was it remembering what it was like to be a little kid, scrapping his knee as they played soccer against the garage door? Was it finding his first best friend, the person who had once been so important to him? It wasn’t anything like being with Reki, exciting and energetic and new, but still, it was nice. It felt like forgetting the distance that had estranged him from the girl who had been his only friend for so many years.

“Em,” Langa felt himself choke up, but he had to say something. He couldn’t remain silent. He couldn’t let the moment die. He couldn’t leave things unsaid, things he’d later have to bury deep within himself because it would be too late. He couldn’t let this moment pass, let the words fester until there would be no one to say them to anymore. “You also—!”

“Sorry it took so long! I just couldn’t find my water bottle anywhere, but I finally found it!”

Reki’s head poked out from behind the door as he held the bottle in the air. Almost like magic, all signs of tears vanished from Emily’s face. She perked up, a grin lighting up her face. And with such a grin came the dawning realization that all hell was about to break loose, the girl leaning dangerously close to Reki. 

“You should feed it to him.” 

Never had Langa felt so mortified in his life. He didn’t even dare look at Reki; his eyes remained on Emily who was now giggling hysterically to herself as she kicked her feet in the air like a child. For the first time since landing in Japan, she didn’t stumble on her Japanese words. They came as naturally as if they had been English. There had been no hesitancy whatsoever, which only made it worse for Langa and his stupidly burning cheeks. No need for a mirror to guess the color of his face; the blossoming heat was the only indicator he needed. 

“You feeling sick, man? If you need anything else, you’d tell me, right? If you’re not feeling well, you can go home. I’ll tell Oka what happened, don’t worry about it! I promise he’ll understand and I’m totally capable to working alone! You don’t have to worry about me at all!” 

Emily may not have hesitated, but bless her word for word translation passing over Reki’s head. And bless his not asking what she meant; explaining would have been far too awkward. Otherwise, there would have been more hesitancy in Langa’s grabbing of the water bottle before chugging down half of its contents. 

“I’m fine, Reki. Really. You have to stop worrying so much about me. And Emmy’s just being a bitch who thinks I can’t do anything on my own.” 

“Not my fault you were a mega crybaby back when you were a kid.” The shrug was just for show, but the twinkle in her eye was the real jab. “Took you forever to figure out chopsticks, I was convinced the grandmother was going to have to feed you until the day you die.” 

“Wait, but if I remember correctly, weren’t you the family’s crybaby? Because I’m pretty sure I saw you sobbed uncontrollably that time your pink spoon was dirty and you were forced to eat with a purple one.”

“I—!"

“I can’t imagine either one of you crying.” Reki’s voice cut through the argument, both turning towards the boy. He was glancing away, refusing to meet either of their gazes. “You guys are both just so… not like me.” 

The forced, bitter laughter that fell from Reki’s mouth broke Langa’s heart. Crying had always been a sensitive topic for Reki. He had never liked how easily his emotions could get the best of him. He hated how easily tears formed at the corners of his eyes. Just the idea of crying left him insecure, feeling like less than those around him. And Langa, well, he hated how Reki felt obligated to bottle up his feelings, not wanting to let others see his sadness or distress out of fear of being seen as less.

Langa remembered the first time he had seen Reki cry. It had been a hard time for both of them. It had been hard on Reki who had been holding back his tears until the dam broke free, a flood of tears pouring from his usually bright amber eyes. All his sadness, all his stress, all his insecurities had been let out, a ticking timebomb that exploded at the worst possible moment. And it had been hard on Langa who hadn’t known what to do. He didn’t know how to comfort Reki. He didn’t know what to say to him either. He didn’t know how to deal with everything that was happening so quickly, all around him. 

Since then, Langa made sure to remind Reki that crying wasn’t a bad thing. There was no reason for him to be ashamed of the tears. They weren’t a weakness. They weren’t a character flaw. It didn’t matter what other said or did or how they looked at him. None of it mattered; all that mattered was that Reki knew that crying was natural. All that mattered was that he didn’t find himself hating himself more for letting it all out. 

“Someone willing to let others see them cry is the bravest and strongest kind of person out there,” Langa had once said when Reki looked like he was holding back tears. “Not only are they honest with themselves, but they’re also not afraid to let others know how they’re feeling. There’s no point in hiding when you’re hurt.” 

It wasn’t every day Langa knew what to say, but in that moment, he remembered his mother’s words. They had been said to him when he was at his lowest, but still, he hadn’t taken them to heart. Still, he hadn’t let himself cry. But thankfully, Reki had listened. Thankfully, Reki had let it all out, weeping into Langa’s shoulder, hiccupping muffled words into a soaked t-shirt until he passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Reki didn’t need to be like Langa. He didn’t have to put up some emotionless person. He didn’t need to be ice cold like Langa. He didn’t need to look like he was ready to fight whoever got in his way or brush off everything anyone said. He didn’t need tears to be foreign to him. 

Reki, he was allowed to be emotional. He was allowed to be messy with his feelings. He was allowed to care about everyone around him and he was allowed to feel something about what as being said about him. He was allowed to cry his frustrations out if that was what helped him because Langa would be there. Langa would always be there. He would always be a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold if Reki so wanted. 

Emily’s fingers curled around Reki’s forearm, leaning in closer than strictly necessary. “Don’t cry! I was kidding, you know! Langa is more than capable of taking care of himself! See? He can drink all on his own!” Her fingers dug into Reki’s skin, nearly breaking it as she gestured frantically at Langa with her other hand. “See? He’s a big boy! Totally capable of using his weird lanky body all on his own!”

Had it not been for the far more natural and pretty laughter that bubbled out of Reki, Langa would have hit his cousin upside the head. Or thrown the water bottle at her. Really, anything to shut her up. But Reki was rubbing at his nose, a grin slowly making its way across his face once more. There he was, smiling and bright, just the way Langa like it. Because while Reki was allowed to cry, it didn’t mean Langa liked it. If he could have it his way, he would have kept Reki happy for the rest of eternity. If he could keep Reki laughing, then there was nothing Langa wasn’t willing to do for that. There was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do to see that pretty smile blossom across Reki’s face. 

“So,” Reki straightened himself out as he fell back into his more cheerful and professional voice, “can I help you with anything? Looking for anything in particular?” 

Emily slid down from the counter, her eyes scanning the environment as she hummed. It was obvious she hadn’t come here for anything at all; all she knew of skateboarding was that they had wheels and Langa could go fast on his board. Other than that, she had never shown interest in the sport. 

“Not really?” Langa rolled his eyes at the girl’s words. “I mean, I was looking for something, but that was mostly company from you guys. I’m just so bored at the apartment with Auntie Nanako at work and Langa’s not there either and there’s just so much tv and doomscrolling a girl can do in a day.  So yeah, I was just bored and wanted to check out where you two spend your days.” 

Reki leaned against the counter, his eyes following Emily’s gaze and fingers. “That sucks. Can’t you visit around or something?” 

“Not fluent enough and definitely can’t read anything. I’d be lost in a matter of seconds.” 

Her fingers swept over rough boards and smooth helmets. The colors reflected against her skin, staining her momentarily as she moved across the little shop. She seemed so out of place here, surrounded by loud t-shirts and colors. but at the same time, Emily seemed at ease. She browsed as if she were in any other shop, her eyes flickering between the many pieces on display. There were no questions or disgust in her eyes; there was an understanding that this was just another sports shop.

“Well, you know how to skate?” 

Emily turned back to the boy and shook her head. So much was obvious; she didn’t have the scars that Langa had or the fearlessness. She was dainty and princess-like, the exact opposite of what a skateboarder should be. Or maybe she did have what it took to be a skateboarder. Maybe Langa was just afraid of the sudden direction of this conversation.

“I tried to do a bit of figure skating back in the day, but I highly doubt that’s the skating you’re referring to. I always had to be careful to keep my bones intact since, you know, dancing and all that.”

“I can teach you if you’d like. I promise I won’t let you get hurt. You got my hand to hold for as long as you need and want.”

Reki’s smile was… Emily’s laughter… Everything started to fade out. Everything but the ringing in Langa’s ears. Everything but the tightness in his chest. Everything but the twist in his gut. Everything but the choking sensation building up at the base of his throat. 

Everything was fading. Everything was buzzing. Everything was going to hell.

Oh no.

[linilou-von-hevring]

Lakefront

Read it here on ao3!

“Whatcha doing there?”

It takes a moment for Byleth to look up from the lake. Ripples break her reflection as she pulls her soaked cloak onto her lap. Red stains the fabric, stains that bleed onto the girl’s hands and knees. And she almost seems frazzled as her eyes find Claude’s; or at least, she seems as frazzled as an emotionless Ashen Demon can be.

“I’m trying to get these stains out before it’s too late.”

“Why not just use another one instead? If you want, we can get you a new one as soon as we’re back in the capital.”

Claude must have been blessed by the goddess, or perhaps it’s just a stroke of luck. Regardless, it’s nice not being chased away as he takes a seat next to Byleth on the grass. The summer air is almost choking, dry heat pounding down onto the heads that have the misfortune of being exposed, but by the water, it’s a little more bearable. It’s a little fresher, the cool breeze brushing Claude’s cheeks. Or maybe it’s the sparkle in those green eyes that makes it worth being outside under the blazing sun.

“Jeralt said the same thing.”

He waits for more to come, but the wait is in vain. Byleth simply goes back to scrubbing her cloak, her green eyes glistening like the still lake under the sun. She seems determined to get her cloak back into its original state, but the blood is stubborn, clinging to the fabric. It clings like the memories of the last battle, one that had been far more brutal than the rest. It clings like the pit that forms at the bottom of Claude’s stomach; he couldn’t ignore the casualties that had come with his lack of preparation. He can’t ignore the wave of nausea that hits him, the smell of bloodshed leaving him sick all over again.

“You were good in the last battle.” Claude’s eyes leave the bloody garment only to fall back onto Byleth. She doesn’t look away from her work, but he knows she’s addressing him. He knows the words are for him, an attempt at comfort; he knows she had seen him detach himself from his celebrating troops to be sick on his own. “You did what you had to do to win, even if it wasn’t the victory you had wanted.” Green eyes find each other; they’re dusted with sunlight, a flicker of warmth he’s never seen in Byleth. “You’re a good leader. You’re a smart one.”

The blush that heats his face catches him by surprise. Claude’s heard it a million times before, heard the whispers and the praises for how smart he is, how cunning he is, how he plans for everything, but none of those compliments had left him swelling with pride. Every pat on the back he had gotten had felt like a stepping stone leading him to his next scheme, approval for him to keep going, but coming from Byleth, it feels different. From Byleth, he believes it; Claude doesn’t feel the need to be humble or deny his intelligence. With Byleth, he doesn’t need to put up this perfect political leader persona he has perfected for everyone else; Claude can just be himself, this kid that’s just trying his best to survive a worthless war.

“You’re pretty smart yourself, you know. And you’re crazy strong, taking those guys out like it was nothing to you.” Maybe the wink and bumping of shoulders was unnecessary, but Byleth doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t back away or leave; she simply shakes her head as she continues scrubbing her cloak. “I mean it, though. You’re an incredible mercenary. And I kinda wish we had met sooner, been on the same team from the start. Kinda wish I had gotten to know you sooner.”

Byleth hums, a sound Claude has grown accustomed to hearing. He still hasn’t figured out the meaning of the sound, but he knows it’s better than silence. He knows that if she’s humming, it means she’s not chasing him away. If she’s humming, it means he gets to stay by her side, even if just for a moment longer.

It’s peaceful by the lake. Everything is still besides the weak ripples of water Byleth produces from plunging her cloak into the water. Everything is calm; birds chirp from the treetops and Claude even spots a pair of ducks diving for fish. Everything is so serene; if it weren’t for the camps set up a little further away, if it weren’t for the bloodshed that stains the soles of their shoes, if it weren’t for the dark circles that stain Claude’s face, it would have been impossible to know they were plunged in the midst of a war. If it weren’t for the weight on his heart, everything would have almost felt normal.

“Here.” Byleth furrows her brows as Claude pulls her cloak out of her hands. “Let help.”

“I’ve never seen a king be so adamant about doing laundry before.”

Laughter bubbles out of Claude as he plunges the fabric into the water. He’s never had to wash anything on his own before, he’s always had someone do it for him, but it’s never too late to learn. And maybe he’s not as methodical as Byleth had been, maybe his fingers are not yet familiar with the weight of wet cottons or the proper way of scrubbing stains out, but it’s not so terrible. It’s almost pleasant, the little mundane tasks Claude never got to do, having been raised in silks and perfumes. He almost feels normal, just a little more like everyone else. Maybe once this wretched war settles down, he’ll take up doing more chores instead of delegating them. Or maybe he’ll content himself with this one time, enjoying the freshness of the water against his skin.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” He doesn’t wait for an answer; Claude knows waiting is useless. “Friends help each other out.”

It’s so easy to smile around Byleth. Around Byleth, there’s an ease to every one of Claude’s grins, an ease he hadn’t known possible for him. Every smile he’s sported before, be it for his friends or for his troops, they’ve always weighed him down. They’ve always been an obligation to Claude, a duty he owes his people, especially during wartimes. Smiling has always been a tool for Claude, a way to instill confidence in the people he faces, but here, with Byleth, it almost feels like none of that matters. He doesn’t need to convince her of his abilities as a leader. He doesn’t need to convince her of anything, really. With Byleth, it almost feels like everything will simply be alright.

“You’re kind.” Byleth purses her lips as she tilts her head at Claude, her eyes running over his body before settling on his face. “You’re a lot kinder than most nobles I’ve come across.”

The statement begs for questions. It’s right there, an invitation for Claude to pry, but he doesn’t dare. Every question that forms at the tip of his tongue is swallowed back; he knows better than to try to break Byleth open. If she wants to tell him about her days before being hired by Leicester, if she wants to tell him about all her wandering, all the people she has met before him, then she will. She will tell him on her own terms. She’ll open up, little by little, whenever she feels like it. And as much as Claude hates waiting, his impatience and curiosity getting the better of him most of the time, he knows when to back down. He knows he has to content himself with the bits of information that are slowly handed to him.

A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he pushes himself up from the grass. Byleth’s eyes flicker between the boy standing before her and the cloak he’s left laying at his feet, left to soak in more stains than what Claude had gotten out. Her eyes flicker, but she doesn’t move. She makes no move to take back what is rightfully hers, nor does she follow Claude’s lead. She simply sits there, her expression unreadable as always.

Maybe Claude should have let her be. Maybe he should have sat back down and gone back to the little task he had imposed upon himself. Maybe he should have been thinking more rationally, but whatever brains he’s known for has since been left at the conference table. Here, under the blazing sun, under that green gaze, he’s letting his heart lead. Here, now, he’s following where fate leads him.

“I don’t know if kind is the best way to describe me, but,” he holds his hand out to Byleth, a hand she contemplates for a moment, “I promise you I’ll never be like any of the nobles of this place. Not Lorenz, not Hilda, not any of them. I’m just not one of them, no matter how hard I try. So please,” finally, fingers curl around the hand that touches his, “think of me as your friend instead of your leader, your king. Please?”

Pretty eyes roll back as Claude pulls Byleth to her feet. It’s the first time he’s ever seen her this relaxed; it’s the first time he doesn’t panic at their proximity, afraid she might take his life. It’s the first time he feels they’re equals; it’s the first time they feel like just people rather than soldiers striving to survive a war.

Byleth’s hand quickly falls away from Claude’s, but not as quickly as her eyes. They fall onto the horizon, onto the sun that’s still high, still plummeting down onto their heads. They shimmer like the lake reflecting the leaves in the trees, they’re captivating as always, always filled with a mystery that draws Claude in, but they’re not alone in holding his gaze. He can’t help but trace the lines of reddening skin, skin he knows is normally so pale. He can’t help but want to touch the splotches of burns that have started to sprinkle Byleth’s skin. And maybe that’s why she always has something to cover herself; maybe she, unlike Claude, burns under the scorching summer sun. Maybe Byleth, unlike Claude, didn’t spend her entire childhood playing under blazing rays.

“Not to pry or anything, but,” green finds green once more, “when’s the last time you just had fun?”

“Fun?”

Claude almost laughs at the way Byleth tilts her head, her eyebrows furrowed. It’s almost as if she’d never heard the word; it’s almost as if it had no meaning to her.

“Let loose, had fun. Didn’t think about the shitty state of the world. Just thought of yourself for a moment, been a little impulsive maybe. Not been all serious all the time.” Claude shrugs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Y’know, just had fun.”

Byleth furrows her brows once more, concentration staining her delicate features. She’s searching for a time she had done something other than work; by the looks of it, maybe the answer to Claude’s question is “never.” Had the Ashen Demon ever had a moment where she just got to have fun? Or had she been born a fighter, born with a sword weighing down her little hands? Did a mercenary, no matter how young, ever have the opportunity to just kick back and have fun in their life?

Claude doesn’t wait for an answer. If Byleth has never had the chance to let loose before, then it’s become Claude’s personal mission to change that here and now. Now matter how dire their circumstances, they’re allowed a moment of indulgence. No matter how deadly the outside world is, they’re entitled to a moment of peace, a moment of their own. No matter what, they’re allowed to take back a moment of their idle childhood and make the world their own. They’re allowed to reclaim the childhood they lost to war.

Green eyes fall back onto Claude, eyes that follow the lines of his body as he spins on his heel, his arms thrown back behind his head. He knows Byleth can’t look away; ever since she’s been hired to be a part of the Leicester army, her eyes have rarely left him. She’s followed his every movement as if it had become her personal mission to ensure his safety. She’s never been far; she’s always known his exact whereabouts. And it makes sense: the death of her employer would mean the end of her income. It makes sense that she has to ensure her own survival; money is just as vital to life as not being cut down by a sword, not that Byleth would ever be careless enough to be ambushed. It makes sense that her eyes are drawn towards Claude, but this time, she’s not looking at him as if he were this fragile little thing that needed protecting. This time, she’s looking at him, all of him, all of Claude. This time, she doesn’t seem as guarded as she watches him. Perfect.

The sound that breaks from Claude’s lips is far pitchier than he had expected from himself. It’s far from that deep battle cry, that powerful voice he uses as he sends his troops forwards. This scream is one far more natural, a yelp one would expect from a child rather than from a man leading an army. This shriek as he trips back towards the water is one that pulls Byleth’s complete attention to him, her eyes suddenly huge as she reaches out to grab him. And she’s right where Claude wants her; his fingers curl around the hand extended towards him and yank the girl forward, both bodies plunging into the lake.

Cool water surrounds them as Claude pulls Byleth into his chest. It’s almost as if time slows as they sink into the lake, glistening freshness enveloping them like a blanket. Down here, the blazing hot sun can’t reach them. Down here, the world seems to disappear. At least, until Byleth is pushing Claude away and rising to the surface. Or maybe the world vanishes even more as he watches her glide against the water. Everything goes away, everything but Byleth’s elegance as she pierces through the surface, her fanned out hair now clinging to her cheeks. Nothing matters when Byleth’s looking that pretty as she catches her breath, coughing out the water she’s accidentally swallowed. Everything is Byleth, Byleth who has never seemed more human than in this moment.

Laughter bubbles out of Claude as he joins her at the surface. It’s uncontrolled, rolling out in snorts and choked breaths, but it’s by far the most genuine laugh he’s let out in a long time. It’s a laugh he’s forgotten himself capable of, but as Byleth glares at him, her soaked hair a mess, how is he supposed to not laugh? How can he help the fits of laughter as he sees her face twist upon realizing she fell for another of his dirty little tricks? How can he not laugh or sport a grin so wide it hurts his cheeks? It’s not every day he gets to trick the Ashen Demon, the girl who’s always so on guard, so ready to read through every one of his schemes. Claude’s not as predictable as she had made it seem; Byleth hadn’t planned for this outcome.

More laughter spills as a wave slaps Claude across the face. He can’t see the face Byleth is pulling, too busy rubbing the water out of his eyes, but he can imagine it. He can perfectly picture her half-hearted frown, that near pout that perfectly encapsulates her disappointment in herself for falling for something so obvious. She should have known better than to be fooled by Claude’s scream. She should have known that he isn’t one to trip over his own two feet. She should have known that he was as steady as any archer needs to be in order to survive. She should have known so much, expected so much, and yet she had been fooled by his cunning. She had expected the best of him, which had been her biggest mistake.

“You tricked me.”

“Told you I wasn’t kind.”

Another grin breaks across Claude’s face as water washes over him, a wave he gladly returns. He won’t be the only one engulfed by the cool water sent his way; Byleth disappears into the lake, though only for a split second. It’s only a second before she’s bobbing back up, having pushed herself back to the surface. It’s only a second before she’s back on the offensive, blinding Claude through the means of splashes and sunlight.

He shouldn’t have expected any less from the Ashen Demon. Why wouldn’t she be just as competitive as she is fearless? It’s anything but a surprise that she wants nothing more than to win the battles she’s engaged in, even if those battles are silly little games played out in the middle of a lake. She’ll force Claude to surrender if she must, just as she had once tried on the battlefield. She’ll do anything to hear his gasping breaths declaring her the victor. She’ll force him into a corner, trap him just as he had once trapped her, but such a feat doesn’t come as easily as she might have hoped. If she’s stubborn enough to fight until the very end, then Claude is three times stubborner than her. He has to lead her to her demise. He has to lead her to surrender rather than to victory.

“Is that really the best you can do?” War-hardened eyes narrow onto him as he grins, trying his best to not sound winded despite the exhaustion starting to weigh him down. “Guess the rumors about how strong the unbeatable, the unshakable Ashen Demon is are all wrong. Because I swear I’ve fought stronger practice dummies.” Claude shakes his head as he let out another laugh. “And here I was expecting a bit of a challenge. Guess you’re just too predictable.”

Something flashes in Byleth’s eyes. It’s a glint Claude’s only seen a handful of times, a twinkle he had once feared when he opposed the Ashen Demon on the battlefield. It’s a shine that had once shaken him to his core, leaving him sleepless from the paralyzing fear of her power. But here, under the blazing summer sun, fear is left to the shadows; now, as heat flushes Byleth’s cheeks, he knows the shimmer can only mean he’s in for a good time. Who would have guessed that all it took was a little taunt for Byleth to take the bait? Who would have thought that a little taunt would be enough for her to rise to the challenge, ready to display her true strength to Claude, though this time without the worry of his life being taken? He’d finally get an up-close glimpse of the tactics of the fabled Ashen Demon but without the anxiety that had accompanied him the last time he had challenged her on a battlefield.

Byleth’s a lot faster now, disappearing underwater before reappearing behind him. She’s a lot more silent, a lot more unpredictable. The splashes she had once directed at Claude, the waves that had washed over him, they’ve become more precise, as if magic is controlling the bursts that catch him off guard. And every ambush has Claude’s mind racing, trying desperately to predict and counter Byleth’s next move. Every attack pushes him further from his goal; maybe this is the time he finally loses to her.

Another yelp breaks from his lips as he’s dragged down into the lake. Arms wrap around his neck as water engulfs him. The sun seems to be growing farther away as Claude reaches out to the surface. The light seems to disappear as he tries his best to wiggle out of his opponent’s iron grip. Everything seems to fade away when he finally breaks free, finally able to push himself to the surface, which seems so far away.

Everything seems to vanish. Maybe the water had gotten to his head, hazing his mind. Maybe he had sunk too deep. Maybe he had been deprived of oxygen for too long, even if he knows he’s stayed underwater far longer in the past. But what other explanation can there be for his gasps as he reaches the surface, gasps that sound like he hasn’t had a chance to breathe for hours? Why else would his eyes feel so wide, the sunlight blinding him completely? Why else would he think he met his siren at the bottom of the lake?

Everything had happened so fast, from the plunge to the resurfacing. Everything had happened in the blink of an eye, fragments Claude is only now starting to put together as he catches his breath. Everything had felt unreal; maybe none of it happened, or maybe everything really did happen.

Byleth’s arms had been iron-tight around Claude’s neck as she pulled him down into the water with her. She had been a lot stronger than he had anticipated, immobilizing him in a way he hadn’t known possible. She had been a lot swifter as well, her arms falling away from him before she circled him. And she had been stunning in that moment, despite the blur of water. Byleth had appeared before him like one of the paintings that had adorned the walls of the Riegan estate, those paintings of worship he had once spent hours observing, those gorgeous painting which depicted beauty incarnate. Right there, she had seemed almost divine under the filtered sunlight.

Byleth had been the only thing Claude could see despite his burning and blurring eyesight. Byleth, she had been so breathtaking with her hair suspended around her as if forming a halo around her face. Byleth, how could something so deadly be so pretty?

Maybe it’s the loss of oxygen playing tricks on Claude’s hazy mind. Maybe the burning lake water had been the reason he had squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe everything that supposedly happened is nothing more than the replay of a fantasy Claude has dreamt up. Maybe he’s making everything up, convincing himself that his desires are reciprocated. Maybe he’s nothing more than a dreamer; but then again, everything had felt too real to be a figment of his imagination.

He couldn’t have conjured up the feeling of hands on his cheeks. He couldn’t have made up the way he had been pulled closer. He couldn’t have imagined the light touch of lips to his. It couldn’t be a fantasy playing over in his mind; he knows the feeling of Byleth haunting his dreams, always three steps too far for him to catch her. Claude knows the difference between dreams and reality; he knows he didn’t imagine grabbing Byleth’s arm as he tried his best to press a kiss back to her lips. He knows he’s not that delusional; he can’t be that delusional. If this had all been delusion, why had Byleth broken away from him, leaving him with nothing but his gasps, air bubbles rushing from his mouth to the surface?

Everything had happened so fast; everything had felt so real, yet so uncertain as Claude raises a finger to his lips. Who would believe him if he told them the story of what had just happened? No one would; no one had witnessed the scene, not even the sun. And as Claude remains alone at the center of the lake, drenched and heaving, he knows he’d have been called a liar. Byleth is nowhere near him; she didn’t resurface alongside him, coughing out water as she had earlier. No, she’s far from him, already sitting on the shore and ringing out water from her hair. If it weren’t for the fact that she, too, was soaked down to her core, Claude might have even believed he had made up the plunge they had taken together.

But he didn’t make anything up. His sleepless nights had not caught up to him, leaving him with fabricated memories. The sun had not been too much for him. He’s not going crazy from some cold that washed over him from the bit of time he spent in the lake. It’s impossible, even if he knows nature is more unpredictable than he’ll ever be. It’s impossible for the sun to have pounded such delusions into his head, even if he’s been warned that it has the power to daze and confuse those who stayed under it for too long. Claude knows he hasn’t gone crazy. Not yet, at least. He hasn’t yet lost all his senses to the one sitting there, all pretty under the harsh sunlight.

Byleth’s eyes rise towards Claude, but they quickly dart away as she kicks the water her feet are soaking in. And something pulls on Claude’s heartstrings as he watches her fidget with her hair. He’s never seen her like this; he’s only known her to be the fearless Ashen Demon, the girl who had glared daggers at him, the girl who had narrowed her twinkling eyes onto him. He’s never seen Byleth look shy, glancing away as he draws closers to her. He’s never seen a blush stain her cheeks. And she looks so beautiful like that, the color creeping into her face, leaving her looking bashful. She looks beautiful and human; maybe she’s not as untouchable and mysterious as Claude had thought.

“I shouldn’t have…”

Byleth purses her lips. Her eyes flicker all around before falling back to her hands now resting against her lap. The thoughts are racing through her mind; Claude can see them bounce all around. He can easily imagine her trying to grab onto a few of them, trying her best to find the right words, but nothing comes of it. She remains silent, biting the insides of her cheeks.

Claude can’t fault her for her silence. He knows what it’s like trying to explain a decision that has no explanation. He knows what it’s like to act impulsively, act rashly. He knows what it’s like to do something only to realize too later there were other ways. He knows the feeling all too well.

“But you did.”

Green eyes flicker towards Claude as he pushes himself out of the water. He’s heavy from the lake-soaked cottons clinging to his skin, and he feels gross, sinking into the now flooded muddy grass, but neither say anything about it. Neither seem ready to acknowledge what has happened. They don’t mention the plunge they took, nor do they mention the moment they shared. At least, they don’t mention it outright; putting it into words, addressing it, that would make it too real. They know it happened, but talking about it, it’s scarier than the battles they lead. The only thing more terrifying that talking is the prospect of losing the moment to foggy memories.

“I don’t know what I was thinking.” A pause. The longest pause Claude has ever had to endure. “I wasn’t thinking. It was impulsive.”

“Do you often go around disarming your opponents with kisses?”

Something swells inside of Claude as Byleth shakes her head. The smallest sliver of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she lets her head hang forward. The tiniest hint of a laugh drips from her lips as she straightens out, leaving Claude to fall for her smile. It’s the first time he’s ever seen one on her, and it lights up her face. It leaves her glowing, leaves her with a radiance he has never witnessed before.

“No. Only you.”

Claude’s heart flips as slender fingers find his against the grass. They curl over each other, locking together as a perfect fit. It’s almost as if they had been fated for this moment, this exchange of shy smiles and glances. It’s as if Claude had been destined to fall for that smile, that smile that is all for him, caused by him. That smile he had only dreamt of witnessing, what ever had he done to be deserving of such beauty?

“I think—” Byleth purses her lips once more before shaking her head and turning to Claude. She sucks in a breath, her exhale a little shakier than usual. “I’d like to do it again. Without catching you off guard. Not impulsively, but on purpose this time.”

It’s so easy to smile around Byleth. Nothing’s ever been easier than the grin that tugs at the corners of Claude’s mouth. Nothing’s ever felt better than the butterflies that erupt in his stomach as he brushes a strand of hair out of Byleth’s eyes before closing the distance between them. Nothing has ever felt as good as the smile pressed to his, a smile he never even dared dream of tasting. Nothing can compare to this. Absolutely nothing.

Claude knows no one will believe him if he spills the secret behind his pounding heart. He knows no one would believe that the Ashen Demon had smiled at him or that Byleth had let him thread his fingers through her damp hair. He knows he’d be called a liar or a dreamer if he dared insinuate that he has gotten a taste of those soft lips. He knows it all sounds too good to be true, but even so, he knows he didn’t make it up.

No one will believe Claude’s tales, no one but the sun that has borne witness to the tender hearts learning to beat for one another. No one would know if this moment, no one but the ducks that cheer as laughter fills the little space separating the two. No one has witnessed Claude’s compliance as he’s pulled closer once more, no one but the birds that sing of love. No one could imagine the beauty that has bloom under the summer sun, no one but the trees that had swayed as another kiss seals the promise of care and devotion.

[wzrd-wheezes]

your skin against mine,

fingers grazing graciously over parts of my body that i wouldn’t let anyone see before you,

still, i hold my breath when your hands run over my stomach,

tensed thighs as you embrace parts of me i’ve hidden my whole life.

above me, your arms cage either side of my face,

between kisses on my neck, sweet nothings are whispered,

and i wonder how many times we have to do this until i believe them.

-LH

[lils-of-the-valley]

Mind and Heart

AO3

The room is silent, almost deadly from its quiet. Three bodies are the only source of heat in the old conference room; the cold of winter is harsh on the walls of the old crumbling monastery. Three bodies heat the room, one on each side of the wooden table, and one to the side, refusing to choose either leader. They’re supposed to be working together, not against each other.

“You’ve grown soft, Claude. So soft that your friends have died. Died from your recklessness and your sentimentality.”

Claude snaps at the woman, his sharp warning reminding her of his place in her, no, their fleet. She needs him, they both know that, but that won’t stop her. It might be their fight, they might rely on each other, but she’s the one with the education, the knowledge, the upbringing. They’re both leaders, but Edelgard is the one who grew up with that expectation; Claude’s leadership is but a happy accident.

“You’re a warrior who’s meant to lead his troupes. Lead them to victory, not to their demise. I taught you to lead with your mind, not your heart, and yet here we are, blood on our hands. Blood that had no business being spilled.”

She’s cold. She’s calculating. She doesn’t want her troupes to die, but not because of the bond she has with her soldiers. She needs them, but she hasn’t brought herself to love them. At least, not the way Claude has. Claude leads with humanity; Edelgard leads with knowledge. They both knew this would end in war between them at some point, but it had worked. They’ve been fighting side-by-side for years now. Their differences caused conflicts in this very conference room, but everything had always been resolved. Every dispute has led to better ideas. Or at least, their differences had never led to significant losses. Not until now.

“You think I wanted this? You think I wanted this bloodshed? You think I wanted to lose my second in command?”

Claude’s fingers dig into the rich wood of the table. Bare nails carve their presence into it, evidence of his frustration that will last forever, evidence that will find itself in the history books that will be written when this war will finally be over.

“Unlike you, I can’t just brush off the feelings when someone dies. Unlike you, I have to not only deal with the pain myself, but I have to cheer the troupes up. Because I’m not the only one who lost someone dear to them. But then again,” his fingers relax, revealing the fresh indentation of the wood, and he cocks his head to the side with a bitter smirk, “what was I expecting from the emperor of the Adrestian Empire? The selfish and prideful and vain emperor. All that matters are your numbers and your advancement.”

Edelgard watches him from a distance, her eyes never leaving his face, not even once. It’s the way she’s been raised to rule: never let your guard down; always show that you’re on top. She doesn’t let anyone see how she’s feeling; her emotions are concealed behind the face of a strong emperor. She almost glows in the dim room, glows against the horrors of war.

But across from her, Claude is tired. He’s frustrated. He’s the opposite of the Adrestian emperor, the leader of the Alliance that wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s a great schemer, everyone knows that, but he’s not the best at putting his feelings aside when it comes to lost lives and war. The dark circles are proof of his sleepless nights spent thinking of ways to avoid death, both for himself and for his troupes. He doesn’t stand as tall as the woman in front of him. If anything, he looks like he’s about to crumble, crumble from sheer exhaustion and exasperation.

“Do you think it does nothing to me when—”

“Hilda is dead!”

Something from that cry strikes Edelgard, but just for a moment. She recomposes herself rather quickly, both hands folded themselves. She speaks once more with that clear and crisp voice of hers, a voice that has left chills in her audiences.

“Claude, this is your sentimentality speaking once more. Please compose yourself. Captain Goneril will be remembered as someone exceptional and you will learn to lead with more of an iron fist next time. You’re still my general and I need you to start being rational. This war won’t be won by matters of the heart, Claude.”

“Captain Goneril…” Claude snorts. He looks even worse than at the beginning of the conversation. He looks like he sees ghosts circling the emperor’s head. “You can’t even say her name, just her rank. But please, please my dearest Emperor,” venom coats the title, the strongest of the Alliance’s leader’s poisons, “tell me, what good is a title given by you if I’m slowly driven to madness from all my sleepless nights? Tell me, what good does a title holds when my friends die in your little game of chess? What good is a damned title when it changes nothing in the way we’re all dropping like flies on the battlefield?”

His words grew louder and harsher, more frantic than ever. Claude was right; he was growing madder as the months of war stretched on and his own nights of sleep became less and less frequent. There was too much going on in that head of his. He had told his friends so much. He had confided in his professor. But with the never-ending war, there was nothing more that he could do except push forth and hope for the end.

Or let himself be consumed by his own delusions and madness.

“That’s right,” another snort, some sort of choked laughter, “you have nothing to say to that, do you? Because you know I’m right. This whole thing is insane and you know that your way of leading isn’t right. You’re too far from your armies; you lead them like they’re pawns on a board. You don’t care for the losses; you just care for an end. Your end.”

“Claude,  please—”

“I saw you as a friend, Edelgard. I thought we could lead Fódlan to a brighter tomorrow, one where the wall would be taken down, one where we could all be united. I thought you were like me on that point; that’s the only reason I agreed to join you. But clearly, I was wrong. I was wrong to think that you cared about my people, about your people, about our friends.”

“Claude, you’re being irrational again.”

She takes a deep breath before she continues. She’s reassessing her words, thinking about them carefully before letting them flutter free for the man to seize. She doesn’t want another outburst from him. She doesn’t want to drive him away more than she already has. More than he’s already driven himself.

“You know as well as I that we’re not here to make friends. This is war. This is bloodshed. This is a massacre. We knew this from the start. We knew there would be blood on our hands, the blood of our enemies and the blood of our allies. We knew we had to lead with an iron fist, not with a heart of gold. Emotions only get in the way of our schemes, of our victory. Just look at you. Look at the condition you’re in.”

There’s a pause in the conversation. Edelgard watches Claude’s chest rise and fall, watching him struggle to breathe. Had he been hit during the previous battle? Is he suffering from something hidden, something he’s disregarded due to his blind fury about Hilda’s passing? Or is it anger choking him?

“I’m not here to make friends, and I don’t think you’re here to learn from me. We misjudged our situations and, perhaps until now, it has worked in our favor, but that time has ended. I mistook you for someone that was ready to be my general, but that was my error.” Violet eyes pierced every heart, sharper than the lances that lined the wall. “Claude von Riegan, I release you from your position as a general of the Adrestian army.”

Silence hangs heavy in the room. Edelgard’s words were clear and precise, as if she had rehearsed them for weeks. There was not a stumble nor a pause, just a flow as smooth as the run of a river. Her heart had no say in what came out of her mouth, a true demonstration of her motto: rule with the mind, not the heart. There is no place for passions in the midst of a war.

“You…”

Claude straightens his back, suddenly looking far taller. He wasn’t the tallest man they had encountered, but in this room, in this old conference room that felt like it was caving in on itself, he seemed taller than even the worst of the demonic beasts they had slain.

“Fine, but hear this before I leave.  You may be releasing me from my position in this army, but that won’t take my convictions away. You won’t take my beliefs away. I will continue to fight for the unification of Fódlan. I will continue to fight for the people. Because at least I know what I’m fighting for. But you, Edelgard, do you know what you’re fighting for?” He cocks his head to the side, that sly smile of his reappearing. “Glory? To be known? To be in the history books? I know what my goal is, but do you?” There’s a taunt in his voice, a dangerously cool taunt that could unleash a brand-new war. “Do you know what you’re fighting for, o wise one? You with all the answers, tell me, what are you fighting for?”

“I’m fighting for the unification of Fódlan as well, and you know that. I want a better place for our people to live.”

“If you’re fighting for the people, then why’s your life spent all alone? Hear me, Edelgard von Hresvelg, you’re—” his hands slam down on the table— “alone!”

The word echoes throughout the room. It rains down like a shower of arrows, sharp and deadly. Alone. Edelgard is alone. She’s alone at the top of her throne, and she knows this. She knows this, she’s always known this, but she’s never let it show. Or at least, she doesn’t let it show that it affects her until now.

There’s a shift in Edelgard’s stance. Her eyes grow wide for a fraction of a second, something that’s rarely ever seen in her. And they drop. Her gaze drops down onto the table, though not for very long. But it’s long enough. It’s long enough for anyone to have noticed the change in the emperor’s posture. She’s just a little bit smaller, just a little bit caught off guard, just a little bit more like a girl. She’s just a little bit more like the girl she had once talked about, ever so briefly, the girl who is deadly afraid of rats and who doesn’t like constrained spaces. It’s a tiny change in her attitude, almost invisible, but as noticeable as the ruins in which Fódlan finds itself.

Eyes meet from across the table, one glare far harder than the other. Emperor versus leader. Mentor versus student. Leicester versus Adrestria. Riegan versus Hresvelg. Claude versus Edelgard. It’s a war with no beginning; it’s a war with no end. It’s a broken pact that never should have happened in the first place.

“One day,” Edelgard’s voice is soft, softer than it’s ever been, “you’ll understand what I’ve been trying to do. One day, you’ll see why I’ve been so hard on you. One day, you’ll finally grasp what comes with being a good leader. But not today. After all,” a smile stretches across her lips, crinkling the corner’s of her eyes, “you’re just another man. Raised so far from the court, so far from war councils, all the way in Almyra, how are you to know what it’s like to rule a country? You’ll never know what I go through!”

Edelgard’s hands on the table don’t echo the way Claude’s did, but the violence is there. It’s there in her eyes. It’s there in her hair that’s slipped out of their neat buns. It’s there in her clenched jaw. Frustration radiates off of her body leaning over the conference table, the only thing keeping her from striking Claude with all her concealed violence. Politics and diplomacy vanish at that moment; her whole façade falls, leaving her baring her true self.  

“I had no childhood! I didn’t get to play with other children! I didn’t get to live as a big happy family! I had to flee my country, flee my family, flee everything I knew! I had to watch my siblings die or go mad from horrific experiments! I was the sole survivor! I was the only one who made it! And my country depended on me to guide it correctly after all of that!

“I was thought to put my emotions aside. I was taught that the ends justify the means. I was taught everything you reproach of me, von Riegan, and I don’t plan on changing the way I view the world. If you decide to go against me, I will not hesitate to take you down. But I promise you this: when I’m done with Fódlan, it will be united like you so want it. I just won’t bring it together with your sentimentality. I won’t let myself lose it because I put my emotions where rationality should have been.

“Now,” Edelgard straightens, taking her air of an emperor once more despite her dishevelled state, “get out. Get out before I kick you out myself!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Claude scoffs, finally turning away from the emperor. He looks a little less blinded by his frustrations, but he still holds his head high. Perhaps watching the stoic woman turn into something so emotional made him understand where she was coming from, but his pride won’t let him admit to such a thing. So he just turns away from her, not letting his eyes linger on her any longer. Instead, green finds green, a spark of hope glistening in Claude’s eyes.

“Well, Teach?” He extends his hand to the one who silently stood to the side, his smile looking soft on his lips. “You coming with?”

“Professor.” Edelgard’s voice is sharp with a warning from her corner of the room. “You’re not going to leave me, are you?”

» "Claude, I'm coming."

» "Edelgard, I will not leave."

[suguruverse]

your personal space has never really truly been yours since you’ve started dating him. his muscled arm around your waist when you wake up in the morning, has become as familiar as the sunrise itself. it used to be cute, his warmth a cozy start to the day. but now, it's suffocating, like he can't bear to let you go, even in his sleep.

you shift carefully under his weight, not wanting to disturb his sleep. his breath keeping its steady rhythm against your neck, and you wonder if he dreams of you as you lean in to kiss his forehead gently. he smiles in his sleep, a small, contented expression that almost makes you want to slip right back into his arms.

the sheets rustle softly as you slip out from his grip. you slowly tiptoe across your shared bedroom, craving the simple pleasure of being able to enjoy making coffee alone. the smell of freshly ground beans fills the kitchen, and you lean against the counter, enjoying the quiet morning.

but as your coffee brews, a twinge of guilt creeps in and you can almost imagine when he'll wake up and wonder where you've gone. despite enjoying the well needed alone time, you knew the longing to be close to him will pull you back into his embrace sooner than you'd planned. almost as if in complete sync with your thoughts, you hear a mumble approaching the kitchen, and then his voice, thick with sleep, calling out softly,

"angel cmon back to bed with me, you know i don’t like sleeping without you"

ੈ✩‧₊˚ gojo, nanami, bakugou, iwaizumi hajime (27) althetic trainer, oikawa, kuroo, geto, choso, yuji, midoriya

[nanamin-nah-nanamine]

Can you just imagine Nanami letting you ride him? Giving the illusion that you’re in control, praising you for being such a good girl bouncing on his cock so well. His big hands running up and down your sides as he watches and waits.

Waits for you to falter.

Waits for your legs to grow tired and your rhythm to falter as you whine that you still got it and that he doesn’t need to take over.

And he’ll humor you. He’ll indulge you until your bouncing turns to grinding down on his cock, your clit rubbing against his hip bones with each roll and he’ll wait until you’re close before he flips you over and pounds you until you’re squirting <3

[artist-rat]

fine dining at the blushing mermaid. with the boogieboys

[kenchann]

as usual i love drawing the hw boys with my yuu o(*￣▽￣*)ブ yuus fit (i might change it lol etcetc)

[xochimillilili]

Kinktober day 2: Knotting

Shit I wanna fuck my knot into my pretty little puppy so badly. Need to grip their hips and bend them over, keep them pinned down with my weight as I tear their underwear off. Shove their face lower into their plushie when they start whining that it won't fit, as I start shoving my thick throbbing cock between their legs

You're okay puppy, you're alright I've got you. I'm right here, I'll hold your hand, kiss your back and rub your hips. You're my good pup, my precious love and and I'm not stopping until I've popped my knot into your warm tight little fuck hole. We're not done until you're pumped full of my pups, and you're a blissed and fucked out puppy for me, and don't worry, I'll make it fit~

[puppysiskisser]

Big sis grunting out "fuck" with a huff of annoyance as she stops slamming her hips down against mine, her thick cock halfway buried in my sore cunt.

"Need to piss," she replies to my questioning whines. I pout and nod before trying to move from under my sister, but she doesn't release her grip on my folded legs.

Holding me in place, I feel big sis' cock twitch in my little pussy immediately followed by a sudden hot fullness. I can't help but let out a surprised moan as she releases all the piss that builds up over hours of fucking your little sister. Getting filled by my sister's hot piss feels so much better than it should, and after a few seconds I'm panting and riding the edge of orgasm.

"Ahhh, thanks babygirl," she smiles down at me while her hips start moving again. I feel her girldick plunge deeper into my overfull cunt and hear the squelch of her piss being rapidly displaced out onto the sheets. The sensations push me over the edge and I cry out as I cum around my sister's cock. Big sis doesn't stop moving her hips as I ride out my orgasm, chuckling to herself in anticipation of the hours to come.

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

mmmmm imagine satoru fucking you in front of a mirror, right.. he's holding you flush to him, his hips ramming into yours at such a tasty fucking pace oh, it feels so good. and then he goes to grab your chin to make you look at him through the reflection, thinking that he's going to see you unravel right then and there but no, no – your eyes meet his and satoru knows that you're not his plaything.

he's yours.

your lips strech into a pretty little smile, pupils blown wide as you coo at him when his hips stutter. he swears under his breath, his cock twitching inside you – you tease him for slowing down, you tempt him with your sticky words.

"c'mon, pretty boy, don't you wanna make me feel good? don't you wanna come inside, don't you wanna fill me up?"

his head is dizzy, but he'd rather die than to refuse anything you ask of him. it doesn't even matter that you're mocking him, that you're just trying to push his buttons – that only motivates him more. he wants to make you proud and he wants to take care of you. and if doing those things means that he gets to be your toy, than so be it. he fucking loves it.

[reki-of-the-valley]

Summer Time (Family) Madness

Almost a whole ass year later, I post the revised chapter 5 💀 But hey, I'm finished uni forever now, so maybe I'll have more time to write?

First | < Previous | Chapter 5 | Next >

AO3 | Original Chapter 1  | Original Chapter 2 | Original Chapter 3 | Original Chapter 4 | Original Chapter 5 | Original Chapter 6

“Dude, you were so cool tonight! I can’t believe you pulled that trick off! I totally would’ve landed on my ass!”

It was hard to think of anything other than the grin that broke across Reki’s face as he went on and on, praising and complimenting Langa for yet another race won, but still, Langa made sure to duck his head, his skateboard pressed to his chest as he crawled through the open window. He couldn’t afford another head injury just because Reki’s voice was ever so distracting; it had already been hard enough to explain to his mother why he had been all patched up, his eyebrow suddenly split open. He shuddered at the thought of the skeptical look in her eyes as he lied through his teeth, assuring her he had just tripped on his way home from school. She probably hadn’t believed him, Langa being the shit liar that he was, but she also didn’t ask any further questions. All she had left him with was the reassurance that if anything was going on, she was there to listen to him.

“And that jump?” Reki let his body flop onto his bed, deep amber eyes shining under the dimmed lights of his room. “So cool.”

“You were cool too, you know.”

It was almost commendable how quickly Reki could switch between grins and that flush of embarrassment. He was so good at complimenting everyone around him, praising every little thing he admired, but the moment those compliments were pointed at him, he froze up. His face always turned that bright red as he denied any sort of praise directed at him; he shook his head as if shaking away the words presented to him.

“No, nope, no way. Can’t be cool, I lost. You, on the other hand…”

“Reki,” Langa settled on the edge of the bed, unable to peel his eyes away from Reki, “you’re so cool. It’s not about winning or losing—”

“I know, I know, it’s about having fun.”

Reki stuck his tongue out, annoyance coating his words as he called Langa a sap, but not once had Langa thought him serious. Despite his tone, his bright smile shone through, piercing the annoyance like sunshine breaks through rain clouds. Reki, he always had the ability to be the brightest person in the room, from the twinkle in his eyes to his wide grin; Reki, he was always so captivating. But before Langa could say anything more, insist once more that Reki was amazing, him with his countless talents, the boy was bouncing back onto his feet.

“You mind if I ditch you for a bit? I really need a shower; feel gross and all, y’know?”

Reki shifted his weight back and forth, his fingers pulling at the skin of his wrist. Sparkling amber eyes were decidedly pointed at his feet, his gaze flickering between his toes and whatever was scattered around his bedroom floor. His eyes were avoiding Langa, so much was obvious; Langa would have had to be a complete idiot to not notice it.

Compliments always made Reki feel awkward; Langa had started to note the sudden shift between Reki’s bubbliness and that awkwardness whenever dared say anything nice about him. Maybe he just didn’t know how to react, not yet accustomed to accepting compliments, always feeling the need to deny what was obviously there. Maybe. But regardless of the reason, that had to change. Langa was not going to allow Reki to deny every little wonderful thing that made him so wonderful; he wasn’t going to let Reki deflect every compliment Langa would shower him with. Things would have to change, but not quite yet. That was something to work on later.

“Go. You’re sweaty and gross and I know your mom hates having to wash your sweaty sheets. I’ll just…” Langa’s eyes scanned over the room; he wasn’t sure what he was looking for, so he settled his gaze back on Reki. “Can I take one after you?”

“Yeah, sure man!” A grin broke across Reki’s face, a smile Langa couldn’t help but mirror at the best of his abilities. “Just don’t drop my mom’s shampoo down the drain this time.”

Langa frowned, groaning at the memory. It had been an accident, and Reki knew that. The bottle had slipped from his hands and had spilled all over. He had tried to present the damage, he had tried scooping back up what had poured out of the container, but his effort had been in vain. Everything was going faster than he could react. And Langa had apologized; he had apologized at least a thousand times over, having even replaced the bottle of Mrs. Kyan’s shampoo with his own hard-earned money despite her assuring him it was fine. He had done everything in his power to fix his mistake, but Reki had it his own personal mission to remind Langa of the incident. A grin always broke across his face as he teased him about his butterfingers.

Langa shoved a snickering Reki out of his room. “Get out of here. Go take your stupid shower.”

And just like that, Reki was gone. Langa knew he wouldn’t be alone for very long, Reki always being quick to wash, unlike Langa, but that didn’t stop the room from suddenly seeming intimidating. And sure, he knew the room better than his own, knew it as well as the back of his hand, if not even better, but without Reki physically in it, everything seemed so strange. He was there; he was everywhere, from the posters on the walls to his clothing scattered on the ground, probably having been thrown at the hamper but missed, and yet, it was too quiet to be Reki. It was missing that loud energy that accompanied Reki wherever he went; everything felt too small to be Reki, Reki, who made everything feel so big. Or maybe it was just that Langa suddenly had all the freedom in the world; maybe it was just that he had free rein for a few minutes. That freedom was the most intimidating thing of all; Langa could do as he pleased without consequence.

A flash of yellow caught Langa’s eye. A yellow sleeve poked out from under the bed; mindlessly, Langa’s fingers curled around the soft fabric. His eyes fell shut as he pressed the hoodie to his chest and buried his face in the hood. A faded scent of orange mixed with what was undeniably Reki enveloped Langa as he sunk into the mattress once more; sweat, sunshine, his deodorant, his shampoo, it was all imprinted in the fabric. That hoodie, it was so undeniably Reki. That hoodie, it had the power to calm Langa, leaving him grounded and content. Paradise.

“Whatcha doing?”

A blush flared across Langa’s face as he pushed the hoodie into his lap and straightened his back. Reki stood in his doorway, a towel loosely hanging around his neck. His hair was damp, water trickling down his cheek, his jaw, his neck… Langa gulped; there was no way he was allowing himself to follow the path of those stray drops of water. There was absolutely no way.

“Langa?”

Sirens blared in Langa’s head as Reki grew closer, his eyebrow arched. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, a smile Langa knew far too well. It was that same smile Reki always wore, that smile coated with a hint of confusion or uncertainty. It was one of those smiles that left Langa’s stomach flipping as his eyes darted to his lap. What was he supposed to do when Reki was looking at him so intently?

“I’m…” Slowly, blue skies found the sun. “Checking if it’s clean?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement, but panic had mangled Langa’s voice. It had left him cringing at himself, at the way Reki was looking at him, at the sudden heaviness in the room and on his chest. He had sounded as guilty as he looked, as he felt, the hoodie half-buried between his thighs.

Reki, he had to know. He had to know what Langa was being weird. He had to have felt the awkwardness that coated Langa’s words. He had to know all of this; it had to be the reason he was getting closer. He had to be readying himself to take the hoodie away, readying the names he could throw Langa’s way before asking him to leave and never come back. He had thought Langa was weird, and this was going to be their downfall. Noticing that wretched hoodie under the bed was going to be the reason Langa would lose what meant the most to him.

Langa’s stomach dropped to his feet as fingers, then a palm, settled against his forehead, pushing his bangs away. His heart flipped in his chest as the movement followed its course, those calloused fingers sliding down to his cheek. Everything felt like it was suffocating him as Reki stared at him with a look Langa couldn’t quite decipher. Concern? Worry? What exactly was it that shone in those eyes?

“Dude, you’re burning up.” The suffocating summer air felt cold against Langa’s cheek as Reki pulled his hand back, though it quickly settled back in its spot against Langa’s skin. “You sure you’re alright? Y’know, sleep depravation can-!”

“I’m fine! I just—” Everything was moving on its own, Langa’s feet leading him to the door are his fingers shoved Reki’s hand away and curled around the hoodie, “I need a shower. That’s all.”

Everything sounded so far away as Langa pushed his way out of the room, making a beeline for the bathroom. Everything seemed to be buzzing between his ears as he marched ahead. Everything seemed like it was going to kill him. Everything that was Reki, at least.

Reki… He was going to kill Langa with all that touching and worrying and genuine kindness. He was being an amazing friend, better than anything Langa knew back in Canada. He was being the best friend Langa could ever ask for and he could not risk ruining that because his stupid heart wanted to jump out of his chest every time Reki dared look or smile at him. He could not risk ruining his friendship over a stupid little crush.

A hot shower was exactly what Langa needed. The scorching water was soothing against his aching muscles, leaving his skin red with a slight burning sensation. And perhaps a cold shower would have been better to cool down from the summer heat, to cool the fire that had pumped through his veins as sweat dripped down his forehead, to wash away the grim from his hair after a long night of skateboarding, but there was just something so comforting about the hot water. It was something Langa couldn’t quite explain to others. It just felt like… home. Home in Canada. Home in the snow. Home where he would wash away the freezing cold away under a scorching rain. Hot showers had always felt so nice to him. They had always been so relaxing to him. That was until the bathroom door was opened.

The yelp was involuntary, a natural reaction as Langa’s back slammed against the wall. Steam swirled around him as hot rain splattered against the tiles, concealing him from prying eyes, not that there was anyone searching for his body. An arm was all that was poked in, a pair of sweatpants waving around the small bathroom as Reki’s whispers echoes against the walls.

“Thought these would be more comfortable than your sweaty jeans.” The clothes were tossed into the sink with a worrying amount of accuracy, leaving Reki’s hand waving about. “Sorry for freaking out, man. Didn’t think you’d notice me or anything, and I didn’t want to interrupt you. And I swear I’m not looking!”

“Why…” Langa huffed as he grabbed his towel and shut the water off. His whispers echoed almost too loudly, annoyance dripping like the water down his neck. “Why didn’t you just knock?”

“Didn’t want to interrupt you? And like, you could’ve locked the door if you didn’t want to be bothered, so this is on you, dude. Just—” Reki’s arm disappeared behind the door, probably returning to his side, “hurry up and don’t break anything!”

And with that, the door was clicking behind Reki, leaving Langa alone once more.

Isolation had never suited Langa very well. It left him with his thoughts to spiral, a state of mind that always worried those around him. And if he was being totally honest, he never enjoyed being completely alone. It was scary not having a single person to turn to; it was scary seeing a vast world with no color to shine through. Loneliness had always been Langa’s darkest foe, at least everywhere other than the bathroom. There, he valued his privacy. There, he enjoyed not having any company. He didn’t need crowds cheering him on as he went on with his personal business. He didn’t need Reki talking to him through the door.

Light laughter bubbled out of Langa as he got dressed, hopping around as he pulled the pants on one leg at a time. The bathroom was a place for privacy anywhere but in the Kyan household. Here, family members burst through doors with little to no warning. Here, privacy was a privilege, not a right. Here, well, he had witnessed firsthand Reki’s mother walking into the bathroom to pick up some laundry as he brushed his teeth.

“Unless the door is locked,” Reki had once warned, “expect someone to walk in on you.”

And Reki had been right; he more often than not was right. Someone had walked in on Langa, someone who was none other than Reki. Someone had opened the door and tossed some clothes for Langa. Someone had handpicked soft jersey pants for Langa, pants that hung loosely around his hips and cuffed above his ankles.

These were probably the longest, and largest, pair of pants Reki owned. And looking at how strange the clothing looked against Langa’s pale skin, how everything, from the hoodie to the sweatpants, seemed so large on his small frame and narrow hips, Langa knew that these weren’t made for him. This outfit was made some someone with broader shoulders, someone with stronger thighs. This was made for someone whose strength was apparent to the naked eye, not someone built like a twig. These were clothes that would look wonderful on Reki, falling loosely around his body just the way he liked. This outfit was made for comfort, something Langa always found in Reki. This outfit was made for Reki, Reki who was soft and comfortable and…

Langa shook his head, hoping to shake the thought of Reki out of his mind. The last thing he needed right now was to think of Reki wearing this exact outfit, how beautiful he would look wearing this, as Langa made his way back to the bedroom. The last thing he needed was for his mind to be flooded with memories of Reki, of his smiles, as he lightly knocked on the door before sliding it open and slipping in soundlessly. The last thing he needed was to be distracted as he was faced with Reki already pressed deep into his mattress, his pretty face illuminated by a screen as the rest of the room was plunged into darkness.

The bed curved under Langa’s weight as he took a seat at the edge, his eyes never leaving Reki. A snort parted the boy’s lips as he flipped onto his back, pressing his phone into the sheets and pushing himself into a sitting position. Everything had gone dark until Reki was close, his shoulder brushing against Langa’s as his lock screen stared back at Langa, leaving him with a hint of a smile. As embarrassing as it was to see his face below the ungodly hour of 2:53 am, it was always nice to see Reki’s picture-perfect smile right next to him.

“Sorry ‘bout the bathroom thing. I forgot you…” A sharp inhale drew Langa out of his overflowing inner monologue about Reki’s lock screen. “I should have knocked.”

“It’s okay. Just startled me.”

“Sorry again.” Silence fell as Reki’s eyes flicked down to Langa’s chest, sending an electric shock down his spine. “Aw, dude, you sure you wanna wear that one? It’s gross and—”

“No.” It was defensive; it was instinctive, the arms that wrapped around his own body, the fingers digging into the thick fabric, the lean back as Reki tried grabbing one of the hoodie’s strings. “I like this one. It’s soft.”

It smells like you. It reminds me of you. The words felt heavy on Langa’s tongue, words he bit back before ruining everything. Some things were just best left unsaid.

A shrug of the shoulders was enough for him to know that Reki hadn’t found the comment completely deranged. Reki was good at that, not questioning things further than they needed to be.

“Alright, whatever you say, man.”

And with that, the boy fell back into this mattress, his phone bouncing to the ground and falling with a thud, which Reki didn’t seem to care for in the slightest. No, his mind seemed to be far from this room, from this moment, from his phone which might have shattered beyond its usual extent.

Bothered amber eyes stared ahead at the dark ceiling as his nails dug and picked at the scarred skin of his knees. Light marks had blossomed across his sun-kissed skin, the result of all those years of skating and bailing, concrete leaving its mark on a once blank canvas. And how Langa wished to kiss every one of those scars away. How he wished to leave his mark, his promise to never let anything ever hurt Reki again. If it were up to Langa, if he could help it, not a single scar or bruise would ever form anywhere on Reki’s body. Not ever.

“We…” Another sharp inhale broke the silence, drawing Langa’s attention back to Reki’s face as the boy pushed himself into a sitting position. “Koyomi is using the guest futon, which means we’re gonna have to share. Again.” Sunny eyes set, a worrying gleam coating them with something Langa couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” The question was blurted out faster than Langa could process what was happening. “We share my bed all the time when we stay at my place.” Such were the facts, facts that Reki seemed that have been forgetting as he seemed to chew on the inside of his lip, still refusing to look at Langa. “We don’t have a guest futon.”

Finally, those pretty eyes met Langa. “Yeah, but your bed is bigger!” And just as quickly, they dipped back down. “Mine is, well…”

Reki gestured his bed, spreading his arms open and falling back to demonstrate the lack of room on his twin mattress. So what if it wasn’t the biggest bed Langa had come across during his lifetime? It was big enough for the two of them; the proof was that they had been just fine the last time Langa had stayed over. And anyway, it wasn’t like they weren’t accustomed to being in each other’s bubble. What was one night pressed together compared to all those months spent connected at the hip?

A smile pulled at the corner of Langa’s mouth as he squeezed himself between Reki and the wall. Their shoulders pressed together as Reki’s eyes found Langa’s, though not without seeming to widen ever so slightly.

“It’s fine, Reki.” Another smile, always a little easier than the last. “I don’t mind if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

And to prove his point, Langa nuzzled his face into the pillow, getting ever so comfortable in Reki’s bed. And maybe his heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to break out of its cage, but given how all the worry seemed to melt from Reki’s face, his cheek also pressed into a pillow as the boys laid facing each other, he couldn’t bring himself to care. All Langa could care for was the way Reki was snuggling closer to him, his nose pressed against the crook of Langa’s neck, an arm draped over Langa’s waist, right on the small patch of exposed skin where neither the hoodie nor the sweatpants quite reached.

Hesitantly, Langa’s hand found its way to Reki’s head, fingers tentatively stroking the boy’s wild red hair. And even if Langa knew it from all the times locks of hair had brushed against his cheek, it was always so surprising to feel the softness of Reki’s hair. It was nothing like Langa’s silky hair, hair that fell nearly perfectly without doing anything to it, but it had its own kind of softness: a Reki kind of soft. And when Reki let out a low hum of satisfaction as he snuggled closer, Langa felt his breath hitch and his insides tightening.

Reki, he liked this. He liked being there, pressed against Langa. And it wasn’t surprising, Langa knew Reki was a cuddler, but still, it had simply never occurred to him that this might be something that would be enjoyed. It had never occurred to Langa that Reki might like having his hair played with, fingers threading through wild locks. It had never occurred to Langa that he had the power to make Reki feel good and safe. It had never occurred to Langa that it was as simple as this.

“You’re gonna make me fall asleep…”

Another smile pulled at the corners of Langa’s mouth as Reki mumbled into the hoodie. His eyes had since fallen shut; his breath had also steadied. The small room, which had once been filled with uncertainty, had given in to peace. If Langa had felt a pit form at the pit of his stomach before, it had long left him.

“That’s the point. You need sleep.” Light laughter lost itself in the red wilderness as Reki huffed, not bothering to fight back. There simply was no fighting when soothing fingers tangled themselves with locks of red hair, nails lightly grazing Reki’s scalp. “But you know, you really are amazing, Reki. Never sell yourself short. Like, that turn you did? It was fucking amazing. I still don’t get how you managed to pull it off without bailing. When you had finally perfected it, finally nailing it for the first time, I spent an entire week trying to copy you and never got it. Just kept falling off my board. Never seemed to get it right. But you? You were so fucking cool, I could just—!”

Reki’s hands shot up to cover Langa’s mouth, muffling the end of his sentence. Big amber eyes were once again avoiding Langa’s; Reki’s face burned bright red once again, matching his cheeks to his hair.

“If you don’t stop right now, I will shove you off the bed.”

Langa sighed, pushing Reki’s hands away. Slowly, the boy settled against him once again, burying his face in the hood of the yellow sweater. There was no doubt that Reki was still burning up, but Langa didn’t mention it. Bringing up the color, no matter how pretty it made Reki look, no matter how much it made Reki’s freckles stand out, it would be setting himself up for a night spent on the floor. Instead, Langa simply let his hand find its way back to the red hair, playing with the strands once more.

“Fine, but just so you know, I still find you cool. And I’d be nothing without you since you’re the one who taught me how to skate and all.”

“Sleep, Langa. You’re rambling nonsense again.”

This time, Langa didn’t protest. There was no point; Reki would deflect the praise until the sun came up, and probably until it dipped back down again. One day, Reki would accept the praise Langa showered him in, but tonight was not that day. Tonight was the night Langa would let out a sigh as a smile hung from his lips; it was the night he would rest his chin atop Reki’s head, breathing in his shampoo. Tonight was the night Langa would resist the urge to press a kiss right there, right where it would feel so right to do so.

It would only be one night, Langa knew that, but it would be a night he would enjoy. It was a night he would treasure, a night he wouldn’t let slip through his fingers. Tonight, he would spend his time cuddled up under the sheets with Reki, pretending this was every night. Tonight, he would enjoy the feeling of Reki’s weight against him, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Tonight, Langa wouldn’t think of how he would trade anything in the world to have this every single day of his life.

------

Langa wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep, but when his eyes opened to greet the morning, the bed was empty. The spot beside him was cold; Reki must have gotten up a good while ago. It was a mystery as to how or when Reki had left him; he hadn’t felt him slip out from under his arm.

Disappointment accompanied the morning sun peering through the curtains. Langa had really hoped to wake up before Reki; he had hoped he would be able to watch him sleep a little longer, watch him snuggle deeper into his pillow, watch him snore softly, so calm and peaceful. Langa’s heart had wished to experience such a joy; he had always wondered what it would be like to wake up next to Reki. But alas, Langa wasn’t known to be an early bird, and Reki, well, he had always had the habit of being up far earlier than Langa.

Begrudgingly, Langa got out of bed. Life was already bustling outside of Reki’s room. The twins could be heard running around the house, screams and squeals of children echoing against the thin walls as they played whatever games toddlers would play. A littler farther away, a little more muffled than Chihiro and Nanaka’s voices, Langa could hear Reki’s mother in the kitchen, her sweet hum as she went on about her day, probably preparing breakfast for everyone. And in the living room, there sat Koyomi, her knees folded under her as she watched some rerun on the television. Everyone had fallen into their usual morning routines, filling the house. Everyone but Reki who was nowhere to be seen.

Without Reki to steer the conversation, Langa didn’t know what to do with himself. He was far too aware of how awkward he was as he took a seat on the couch, right next to the girl. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, but unlike when he was around Reki, this one wasn’t as easy. This one felt forced and terrified; Langa was scared to know what he looked like.

Silence filled the space between the two; only the tv gave way to some sort of liveliness. Neither dared say a word, at least not until the show cut to a commercial break. Until then, shyness, or perhaps indifference, Langa couldn’t tell the difference, reigned. Until then, Langa rehearsed possible conversation starters, turning the words over and over in his head; Reki had told him to talk to his sisters, to his mother. He had insisted that no one would bite and that they all liked him. He had assured Langa that nothing would go wrong, and yet, as Langa attempted at a conversation with the 14-year-old, it felt like everything had gone wrong.

“So, where’s your friend?”

The girl raised an eyebrow at Langa, seeming confused. Her head tilted to the side, leaving Langa just as puzzled as her. She had used the guest futon last night, hadn’t she? Reki had said so, unless Langa had once again misunderstood.

“What friend?”

“You used the guest futon, didn’t you?”

“No?”

The air suddenly felt tense, both Langa and Koyomi staring at each other in utter confusion. No matter how much Langa tried to demystify the situation, tried to understand what Koyomi was telling him, it just didn’t make sense. Clearly, there had been some kind of mistake or miscommunication. It wasn’t possible that what Reki had said was—

“Are you guys having a staring contest without me?”

Reki bounced into the room with more energy than was humanely possible.  But this was Reki, after all, Reki with his bright sunshine-like grin and his headband he was yet again readjusting. This was Reki, Reki who left Langa in shambles as his chest squeezed at the memory of how soft that red hair had been last night. This was Reki, the very same Reki who had hummed in satisfaction as fingers weaved through his hair. This was Reki, Reki who was so easy to be around, Reki who never left Langa confused and misunderstanding. Being with Reki, talking to him, it was nothing like whatever attempted conversation Langa had had with Koyomi.

“Didn’t your sister have a friend over last night?”

Reki blinked a few times while his sister once again insisted she had had no one over. Her words tumbled out of her mouth faster than Reki’s rambling normally would, jumbled claims that the only person who had stayed over last night was Langa and that even if she had wanted to spend a night with friends, it wouldn’t have been in this overly crowded house of embarrassing people. Her instances filled the room until they buzzed out; Langa’s mind had wandered elsewhere, leaving him nearly clueless as to what was happening around him. There was simply too much noise, noise that was quickly tuned out as questions and thoughts spiralled out of control in Langa’s messy brain. Why couldn’t he understand what was happening? Why had he been so convinced that Koyomi had had a friend over? Why couldn’t he understand the situation?

“Right!” Reki’s voice was loud, his fist pounding in his hand and drawing Langa out of his futile spiral. “Friend! Yes! Koyomi had invited a friend over!”

“I just said I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!” Reki stared at this sister, lips pressed into a thin line. The two seemed to be having some sort of staring contest; was this some kind of sibling telepathic communication that Langa would never understand? “You know, the friend who left a few minutes ago?”

“Reki, what are you talking about?”

“Your friend. That used the guest futon. The futon Langa normally uses but couldn’t yesterday. That friend.”

“What are yo—? Oh!” A grin stretched across Koyomi’s face, a smile so similar to Reki but filled with so much more mischief. It was a look that always terrified Langa; what was up with 14-year-olds and looking like absolute shit starters? “You… Oh, I’m so telling mom!”

“Don’t! Don’t you fucking dare.”

Reki’s eyes narrowed onto the girl as Langa sank back into the couch, making himself as small as possible. Anger seemed to have sparked in those eyes that were usually so kind; or maybe it was the way Reki had hissed out the curse, Reki who never swore. He had made it a point to keep his vocabulary as clean as possible; he had made it clear that he wanted to be a good example for his sisters. And that determination had stuck, even when his family was nowhere near him. But here, in the Kyan living room, hearing Reki swear at his sister, Langa knew better than reminding Reki that there were young impressionable ears not too far away. Instead, he simply observed; this was between the Kyan siblings. And if things really did escalate, Mrs. Kyan would set them straight.

“Fine! But you owe me!”

“What do you mean, I owe you? I don’t owe you shit!”

“Don’t test me, Reki! I won’t hesitate! And I’ll even tell Langa if I have to!”

Was now a good time to step in? Or should he remain invisible? It was hard to tell what the best course of action was, but Langa had been mentioned. Why, he couldn’t tell, but he had been mentioned. So was it a good time to stop being a ghost?

“Tell me what?”

The siblings froze, both still in each other’s faces. Anger pulled on every one of their features, leaving them red in the face, but the shouting had subsided at the sound of Langa’s voice. Frustrated deep breaths instead filled the tense air.

Who knew when the shouting and fighting would flare up again, but from what Langa had gathered from tv shows, the Kyan household, and his occasional disagreements with Emily back when they were children, this wasn’t strange or unusual. If anything, it seemed to be quite natural for siblings to argue, though it didn’t mean it wasn’t at least a little bit fascinating to watch the nearly magical switch of energy. Only with Koyomi did Langa ever see Reki go from bubbly and happy to moody and annoyed with nothing more than one snide remark from his sister. And the same applied to Koyomi; he had seen her go from sniffling and crying to smiling and giggling with just one of Reki’s jokes. So it didn’t come as a surprise to see the girl bounce up to him, a grin nearly identical to the one her brother normally wore as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Oh, just that I did have a friend over. Well, we’re not really friends, not yet, but almost? Maybe – hopefully – we’ll be good friends one day. Oh!” A giggle broke from her lips as Koyomi glanced at her brother. “Also, Reki is totally way too embarrassed to admit it, but he has a huge crush on my friend.”

More giggles filled the air as Koyomi poked her brother’s cheek, drawing attention to his wide-eyed look and burning cheeks. Fingernails dug into Reki’s palm once more, one of the few nervous ticks Langa got to learn about over the course of their friendship. And this friendship had led Langa to learn so many things about Reki: his favorite skateboard trick, his lack of a favorite color, his adoration for Westerner food whenever he was over. Langa knew so much about Reki, but at the same time, it felt like he knew nothing. Or at least, it felt like he knew nothing when it came to the more important things like who Reki liked. Because apparently he liked someone. According to Koyomi, he liked one of her friends. He liked this person who Langa knew nothing about. He liked a person Langa had never met before. What could she possibly be like?

“I— I will murder you in your sleep, sister dearest.”

And with that, Koyomi was bouncing out of the living room, though not without flipping her brother off and sticking her tongue out at him, a grin having broken across her face.

A tense and heavy silence hung in the air. A shadow of hair had cast over sunset eyes, obscuring them from Langa’s view. All that was left to be seen was the slight shake of shoulders, something akin to a threat of tears, something Langa hated most of all. He never knew what to do when Reki cried; he never wanted Reki to cry, not if it could be helped. And if Reki started crying now, what was the best course of action? Would it be best to leave him alone, or should Langa pull him into a hug, holding him close to his chest as he told him everything would be alright? If only Reki would smile instead of being close to tears.

If only they had been anywhere else; if only they had been in Reki’s room. Had  they been alone, then maybe Langa would have found the courage to push those bangs out of Reki’s eyes, revealing those pretty amber eyes that should have been filled with happiness. Maybe he would have gotten up and wrapped his arms around Reki, holding him tight for as long as Reki needed or wanted. Maybe he would have stroked that soft hair as he had only hours prior, hoping it would calm Reki. There was so much Langa could have done, would have liked to do, but instead, he let the boy be. He didn’t need Reki snapping at him for overstepping.

“You know…” Langa’s voice wobbled ever so slightly, afraid this was the wrong thing to do. He hoped a bit of conversation would pull Reki out of his sudden sour mood, but there was no guarantee it would work or that it wouldn’t make things even worse. “She reminds me a bit of Miya, with the whole… whatever that was about.”

“She’s sounding a little too much like Miya, if you really wanna know. They’re both gonna kill me one of these days. But whatever. Just… c’mon.” Reki’s fingers curled around Langa’s wrist, pulling him up from the couch. A small smile traced his lips, almost shy-looking. And Langa, he let himself be tugged along, unable to resist following Reki, no matter where he would go. “My mom made breakfast, and I know you’re starving.”  

[linilou-von-hevring]

Claude groaned as Edelgard threw yet another insult his way. Dealing with his and her royal highnesses the Prince of Faerghus and the Princess of Adrestia was a lot more annoying than Claude had once anticipated. They just didn’t know how to have fun! “If it weren’t for you imbeciles, we wouldn’t have gotten separated from the group!” “C’mon, Edelgard, lighten up! When’s the last time you’ve had enough freedom to not be so uptight?” “Claude, Edelgard, please. This is no time to fight.”

Read it here on ao3!

[wzrd-wheezes]

i love so intensely it burns,

igniting parts of me i didn’t know existed,

consuming every part of my body,

burnt embers of a heart that loves so fiercely it hurts,

a hand that yearns to fit perfectly in someone else’s now empty,

fingers clinging on to thin air, hoping that someone will hold back.

my reflection in the mirror seeming alien,

the eyes staring back at mine unfamiliar,

because after all,

im not myself when i’m not loving somebody else.

- LH

[robo-writing]

Logan with a virgin reader, expecting her to be this shy nervous little thing only to be met with a woman who’s spent too much of her life with only her imagination to keep her company. Suddenly he’s the one nervous because you’re so eager to fuck him and you’re begging him so nicely that it’s hard for him to remember you’ve never actually done this and he has to be responsible. You whine the entire time he’s stretching you out with his fingers, hands grabbing at him and pleading with him to replace his fingers with his cock and god damn it, you’re making it really fucking hard for him to focus.

You’re both bare, losing your clothes somewhere between the living room and the kitchen. The feeling of skin against skin drives you wild, makes you plead for the cock that’s throbbing against your thigh. You know he wants this just as bad as you do, you can feel how bad he wants this, but he settles for spreading you apart on his fingers.

You know you’re testing his patience but you don’t care; not when you grind against him, not when his cock glides against your bare pussy, not when he pins you to the bed as your back arches off it.

“Stop moving,” he begs, over and over. “Stop it, stop—stop fucking moving.”

You’re killing him; every time you look at him with those darling little doe eyes he can feel what little self-restraint he has left crumbling apart, every whine and moan and please Logan, gimme more testing his resolve.

“You need to stop,” he begs, head falling forward as your cunt wets his dick, sliding against his length but refusing to push forward and take you. You shake your head, pull him in for a kiss that’s anything but demure, lust pouring from your tongue as you lick at his mouth.

“Don’t wanna,” you gasp, pulling him closer by his shoulders. Between each kiss you see his control waning, feel his hands bruised your skin, taste the depravity between his teeth. Slowly but surely you see his mask slipping away, a beast in disguise of a man, one that desperately wants to claim you as his.

A sick part of you wants that; to submit yourself, bare your neck against its fangs and beg for more when its teeth pierce your skin. You want to give yourself to Logan—all of him, even the parts that he himself doesn’t want to show you. You want your first time to be just as enjoyable for him as it is for you—which is why you bring his hand to your stomach, to where his dick would leave an outline. You hold his hand firm as he stares with lust-blown eyes just imagining how full of him you’d be, in awe at just how willing you are to submit.

“I can handle it, you whimper, voice sweet like sin. “Fuck me, please.”

And like that, you’re no longer faced with your loving boyfriend. You’re now face to face with the Wolverine.

He pushes inside your velvet walls, still conscious enough to give you a moment to adjust. The feeling is new, full. Your voice wobbles when his thumb reaches down to circle your clit, just enough to get you to relax as he feeds your greedy pussy inch after inch.

“Y’gotta breathe for me baby,” he rasps into the side of your neck, releasing a breath you never knew you were holding. He rewards your obedience with more of his dick, slowly rocking against you as you start to adjust to the feeling.

“Feels good,” you whisper, stroking his hair. Your eyes are locked with his, lost in his pretty emerald eyes. “You can move.”

“Are you sure?” He asks. “Not sure I’ll be able to stop once I do.”

You know he’s telling the truth, it’s written all over his face. A need to possess you in body and soul, his eyes glued to where you’re both connected with a sickening fascination. You know the actual question he's asking, even if he can't bring himself to say it. Are you sure you want me? You realize he's just as vulnerable as you are, unsure of himself. It's a rarity that Logan ever talks about himself, always focused on you above all. You want to give him a break, want to make him feel as good as he makes you feel, want him to finally stop holding back and let go. So you kiss him, long and deep, and hope that gets the message across. His answer comes in the form of hands on your hips, the deep timbre of his voice radiating from his broad chest. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

[milf-murdock]

Simon muttering "what have you done to me?" when he realizes he’s in love with you.

Maybe it's the first time he catches himself draping a blanket over your form after you accidentally fall asleep on his lap.

Maybe it’s the first time he finds himself hurrying home after a mission because he just can’t wait to see your face.

Or maybe it’s the first time he catches himself eyeing a beautiful bouquet of flowers in the shops. “Ten fucking quid for flowers? Are they mental?” He sets them down with a huff and walks away to finish his shopping…only to begrudgingly grab them anyways on his way to the till.

He knows they will make you smile—that bright beautiful smile you seem to reserve just for him.

And as he sets the soft pink bundle on the checkout counter he can’t help but mutter aloud, “what have you done to me?”