#mmm such a fair battle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

braaan · 1 year ago

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In all the ways that matter (w/ Yunjin)

male reader & lesserafim yunjin

smut & angst & fluff (the one where you want more of what’s already yours), 6k words

Let’s be honest: you don’t deserve Huh Yunjin.

She’s an ambitious mishmash of love languages. But from the way she’s always including you in wishlists back to her parents in New York, how she’s always testing new big-stretch-and-yawn-at-the-movies level ways to get her hands on you, or how she’s going on her eighth permutation of pet names and emojis for you on her phone (it’s been POOKIE🧸🦷🤭💙 for the past 2 weeks — your longest running), anyone would guess that she was fluent across the board.

And that’s only while you’re pretending that looks don’t matter.

Because whenever it feels like you have to chalk up a point for Yunjin’s personality, one of her physical features always stops you at the blackboard.

Yunjin looks like she was grandma-knit: finished patiently and smoothed tender. Where skin would normally crease, Yunjin softens. And between the way her eyes sweeten into crescent moons when she laughs, how her lips always find a way to ease back into their permanent pout, or how perfectly her chin nestles in between your fingers, there was nothing about her that didn’t compete to be your favorite.

But all of them have to settle for second best.

Because your favorite thing about Yunjin is her eyebrows.

They waltz between well-learned battle lines on her forehead, stretching emphatically behind boundaries they know other features did not dare cross, because compared to the rest of her face, they’re bold. They explode from sienna to whiskey and hook insultingly fast, threading down to points so sharp that it only feels right to dot them at the end like exclamation marks, putting a megaphone to the stories that her eyes tell. Only on Yunjin’s face does softness ring loudly. Eye contact morphs into reverie, amusement magnitudes up into hilarity, and tenderness becomes love.

You think it’s unfair.

It’s unfair that the reasons you could fall in love with her are endless. It’s unfair that she can simultaneously make the world the two of you share both so tiny, special, and unreplicable and then larger than life, ever-expansive, and infinite. And it’s unfair that she makes doing all of this at the same time look so effortless.

It’s a high bar to clear.

But you try anyway.

If not to at least get close to the standard she sets, for the sex.

The two of you are practically asking for it the time you get caught.

Standing at the far end of a HYBE practice room, it’s all so fitting: under the only lit floodlight, her on her knees, your cock at attention inches from her lips, tension teetering above climax — Huh Yunjin was going to give you a performance.

She’s kissing at the bottom of your shaft, lingering half a second longer each time as she slowly makes her way up your length. She mewls, ad libbing your grunts with soft, venom-laced yeah?s.

“You sound so pent up,” she starts, thumbing your cockhead counterclockwise.

You give her bits and pieces of an affirmative response: you let out a forced breath somewhere between a grunt and an exhale, grip your cock tighter, and pinch one of her nipples with your free hand. She translates.

“Mmm?” Yunjin purrs. She runs the flat of her tongue long across your entirety, flicking up as she reaches the tip.

You’re gripping at anything you can to stay alive. Trying to keep the facade up that you can compete. You splay your free hand and grab at her chest, playing dirty; grasping for a reaction. She plays your game and picks up the rhythm on your cock.

“You don’t want to just paint my face right now?”

Your breath is hot on your lips, tight in your chest. You’re parrying, blocking, countering. You look deep into the pools of honey bourbon in her eyes. You’re falling into the abyss.

Who fights fair with a poisoned blade? Yunjin? Not with the tears dotting the corners of her eyes; not with the drool running down her chin. Her cheeks are hollow as she swallows further and further down your cock. Her lips brush the base of your shaft. It feels good. She knows it feels good, the way she’s looking back up at you; the way you’re groaning.

She raises her eyebrows.

You cum.

And despite all of the preposition, conviction building, and white-knuckle–steeling, you think, you don’t really ever lose. Because the moment you ride out your orgasm, it’s great.

You can’t compete. You kick off the cliffhanger and throw yourself into freefall. You see white flashes where there used to be color, and the tightness under your stomach evaporates into a vacuum: hot, and all at once. You can fully exhale and for what has to be a full minute, you die.

And as usual, after she makes peace with killing you, Yunjin brings you back to life.

She kisses the top of your cockhead before sitting back on her heels. Under the spotlight, sweat literally shimmering, she’s glowing, and she’s ethereal. Her tongue darts at the sides of her mouth before retreating, replaced by her bottom lip, equal parts pink and proud; satisfied and smug. She grabs at a small towel sitting next to her before beginning to clean up, dabbing at where you’d made a fucking mess out of her face.

But not before the door to the practice room opens. Your stomach shatters, and everywhere you just felt warm goes cold. A woman takes the empty space in the doorway, starts in your direction, and continues way too fast.

Your brain is instantly numb, and you scramble for something further than a stone’s toss away from the plot of a cheap porno. She slipped on her towel and grabbed my zipper on the way down! What do you mean Yunjin’s in this room with us? My COCK? God no, this is a thermometer that just looks a lot like- You don’t get far.

And before you try at reasoning that would effectively end you on the spot, the woman gets close enough. She yelps, producing a folder from behind her to try and shield you from any further consequences.

“Can you put-” she shakes her hands — folder and all — in your general direction, “everything away?”

Jolted awake, you scramble at your pants at your ankles, pulling anything your fingers brushed against in the direction you thought was closed. In hindsight, the zippers for your pants pockets probably didn’t matter much, but you zip those too, hoping the thought counted. Yunjin reappears next to you, the straps of her newly stretched tank top sitting awkwardly on top of her shoulders, now resembling probably anything else closer than they would elastic.

The woman gingerly peeks an eye over at the two of you and lets out a deep, full exhale. “Good, phew!”

“You would think we’d have that practiced by now,” she tuts, using what was once her plastic barrier to fan herself. She shoots a dirtier glare at Yunjin before turning towards you, and her expression visibly softens. “Oh! Same guy!”

And instantly, anything that would give off that she was disappointed just a moment ago dissipates, and is replaced by genuine admiration.

“I respect that you guys are trying to make the dating thing work!”

There were some things that practice wouldn’t get you used to.

See, when you and Yunjin first started dating, you expected a little bit of onboarding. A little bit of catching up to speed: When were her parents’ birthdays? Was she allergic to anything? What were her favorite movies? For extra credit, you’re even brushing up on the idol industry: How long was a comeback promotion period? What was an aegyo? — the usual.

But you’re still taking notes to this day.

(It’s a Saturday a couple of months ago, and you and Yunjin are snaking through the aisles of a thrift store.

“And Chaewon’s seeing them?"

Okay: Yunjin’s snaking through the aisles of a thrift store. You’re trailing behind her, making sure you connected all the right dots together.

“Nope,” she says, eyes scanning a tattered band tee. Then, equally nonchalantly: “Idols get horny, too. Dating just makes things messier than they need to be.”

There’s an expectant pause, then Yunjin turns to look at you.

“Not that that’s a rule or anything,” she adds, placing a hand on yours as if to close the lid on any implication that tried to escape. “It’s just not most people’s style.”)

‘Given’ was probably the word for it, you think. The idol industry collected teenagers at their most formative periods, and where others their age condensed pre-calculus and high school breakups, they learned choreography and how to introduce themselves across the language spectrum. When other kids’ hormones flared up and made them deal with acne, they were digitally edited, scrubbed clean, and hidden behind locked doors. An industry formed on cherry-picking highlights had to have a gnarly underbelly — what would be taboo had to be a given — and it probably only helped that everyone had to look like sex.

So you try to catch up and blend in. Try to not get hung up on how casually sex, drugs, and secrets are laced in sentences. Try to take what Yunjin says at face value.

Still, as her manager leads you through the lobby towards the revolving doors, and you’re bowing profusely as you try to apologize for what she brushes off as not the first time and very normal, there’s a certain edge about it all. Like no matter how airtight Yunjin’s grip tried to be, that you were fortifying a house of cards with pillars of paper mâché.

And it sure as hell didn’t help that halfway through the lobby, you trade greetings with her fake boyfriend.

There were some things that practice wouldn’t get you used to.

So get this: your girlfriend was going to be one half of a manufactured dating scandal.

She stood too close to another idol at a variety show, and online forum sentiment was eating it up (or something like that). There it was: a full page, in bold. All over social media. Yunjin, and the boy with the jawline and swoon-inducing eyes (not that you were jealous), everywhere at once, and on the tips of everyone’s tongue. The buzz brought eyeballs to her group debut, and what better way to snowball that momentum than to confirm it?

Yunjin just didn’t know that you knew yet.

And for your sake, it was probably for the better that she thinks her secret was safe. Firstly, because you don’t know how to feel about how you get the information. You were both at the pinnacle of industry — dating an idol — and at the mercy of it — cobbling together information from vague fan accounts, building a list of social accounts that got leaks right; irony never played fair.

And secondly, because you didn’t know how to bring it up.

Truth be told, you don’t know how to feel about it. You don’t know how you’re supposed to feel about it. You’re equal parts ruptured and reductive. Half of you thinks it borders on trust, and the other half scolds you for thinking that way: that you signed up for this, and don’t know how to compromise. Half of you imagines what they talk about when you’re not around: how far he’ll go to convince the public of a relationship, and the other half thinks you have no self-esteem for stooping that low.

All of you yearns for Yunjin. Because where there were all the things that you had to get used to, there were also the FaceTimes. The phone calls of complete silence when she just wanted someone to listen but was too exhausted to recount what practice was just like. The joy on her face when she told you that was going to debut.

Imposing would be selfish. She deserved everything she worked for, and you don’t even come close to par. Under it all, through the glitz, you see the Huh Yunjin that you fall in love with over again every single day, and she had too tight of a grip on your heart for you to break hers.

So you don’t bring it up, and wait for her to.

It’s quite literally pathetic the way notifications on your phone evoke a physical response out of you. Like it fires a neuron, you’re diving hands outstretched every time you hear it chime.

Sure, it hasn’t paid off yet — you’ve dropped literally everything to be greeted by promotional emails, pushes about the weather, and pings on the latest discounts — but you’ll hold your breath.

Though as you pick yourself up off the floor from familiar disappointment at another non-Yunjin notification, you can’t say that you’re less confused. And you’ve caught yourself multiple times today way too deep in somber tangents for some of it not to start sticking.

The loudest of them all stemmed from the fact that it felt like the answer was implied. That if there was nothing to it, it’d be easy to talk about. That if it was anything like the dating mantra, since it didn’t apply to the two of you, Yunjin would address it at face value.

And tautologically, because she didn’t, it wasn’t.

It’s the end of the week when Yunjin finally texts you.

have dinner plans tonight mister? :)

You draft two texts. The first makes you sound sixteen: obnoxiously sad about the state of affairs of literally everything. The second makes you sound sociopathic: blunt, deflecting, and not enough emojis. You send a third.

Nope! What do you have in mind?

Before long, you’re sitting on a blanket overlooking the Hangang. The sun’s setting, playing a global game of cat and mouse: light spills through the gaps in willow trees, gazebos, and construction, highlighting pockets of parkground with its blessing of orange-red. You’re where the surface area’s the largest, like the paper bowls of ramen didn’t anchor the blanket down enough, and the sun’s rays are what did the trick.

Or, technically speaking: bowl of ramen.

Because while Yunjin was three-quarters of the way finished with hers, sneaking bites in as she took breaths in between practically spoiling her next comeback, yours was virtually untouched. You made do with spinning the floating egg in your bowl dizzy.

“You know,” Yunjin starts, “you didn’t have to come out if you weren’t hungry.”

You look up at her. Her head’s cocked at an angle, piqued such that it catches sunlight. In the glow, she’s beautiful.

“I’m a big girl now,” she emphasizes. “You can tell me no. I might cry myself to sleep after, but — you know — in a big girl way.”

Her eyes curl up into tiny moons like they always do, and you give her a weak response.

It’s tightrope thin. Yunjin’s prodding, expecting you to riposte, poking at things she knows will get a reaction out of you; you don’t bite. You’re both expecting an answer. Your heart is jackhammering at your chest, and between the punctuation, in the offbeats, you want to yell. You want to find out if your house of cards is built on sand.

The both of you are walking back towards HYBE, along the scenic route that you always take, and only someone purposely oblivious would guess that everything was fine.

“Do you,” Yunjin perks up, trailing off, “not like the comeback?”

You don’t say anything.

“Maybe,” she pokes again, “you’re grumpy because I haven’t been texting you?”

You feel her eyes peek at you then retreat. In your peripheral vision you see her purse her lips, nod, and then smirk. You hear a tiny breath.

“Are you,” and she lets out an exaggerated gasp, “seeing someone else?”

“I know about your scandal, Yunjin,” you blurt out, and it's too fast for either of your own goods.

There’s a beat. You both stop walking. You turn her way.

“Your dating scandal — your fake boyfriend — whatever.”

Yunjin isn't great at hiding her emotions — her eyebrows give it away. You see her face gradient across shock, then consideration, before landing on shame. Her eyebrows knit, and she can’t meet your eyes.

There’s another beat. You can hear your heart thump in your ears, and despite the autumn at night, you’re hot. You’re searching her face for a tell, some semblance of an answer; anything.

You’re imposing.

And for the first time in the past week, you’re thinking of her. Of her today and her in the past. Of all the work she put in to get to where she wanted to be. Of what she had to give up to have tonight with you. Of all the nights before this, and the many she had to cancel abruptly because work came up. Of her being here now, and you selfishly making this about yourself.

You’re imposing, and it feels like shit.

“I’m-,” Yunjin starts, voice shaky.

You look at her, and there’s tears pooling in her eyes.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up,” she continues slowly, and then the surface tension breaks. She shuts her eyes tight, and then she’s crying. “It’s in the contract we signed. It helps our comeback.”

You hear the Huh Yunjin that you first fall in love with. Before the glitz, before she had to pretend like she was an adult-

“I don’t know what to say.”

- before she had to hide anything from you.

(The two of you are in front of the HYBE building, and she’s giving you shit for how messily you eat. It’s a late spring, and Yunjin’s hair is shoulder-length and cherry oak. You’re missing a lecture on the pigeonhole principle, and she’s dodging her manager — sea salt ice cream was seasonal, after all.

“How did you get it on your nose?” She chides you, dabbing around your mouth with a scrunched napkin. “They should have you give your I.D. to see if you can handle a cone instead of a cup. Nine-year olds can do this better than you.”

“What if you don’t debut, Yunjin?”

You were always good at telling it like it was, even if you had to disregard social tact. But you had a point. Yunjin was going on her third trainee year, and internally, it didn’t look like it was going to be her last.

There’s a couple of beats before she softens.

“I don’t know.”

It’s a side of her that really only you do. Under the spunk and the character she has to amplify, there is fear: that she’s taking too large a gamble, that she’d be perpetually behind if she didn’t make it, that it’d be safer if she just did what everyone else was doing.

She can’t meet your eyes, and she’s fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“I just think things tend to happen for a reason,” she says, with more resolve than you expect. “And I don’t think it’s worth it to question it deeper than that.”

“How much of that is because you’re scared of the answer?”

There’s a pause, and the implication is clear.

“Do you always hate to have just a cute, fictional moment?” You look down at her, and she’s expecting it, staring back at you, eyebrows knit, lips in an exaggerated pout. “We can’t just — I don’t know — kiss and end things on the high note?”

You break, and let out the unflattering start to a laugh. She’s deflecting, and you know to let it go. In your heart of hearts, the two of you know that you’re both right. That there’s fear in uncertainty — a lot of it — but also hope. That big payoffs don’t come if you don’t gamble it all.

You lean down and kiss her on the nose.

She’s staring at you as she walks all the way back through the revolving doors, a smirk across her lips, and the unmistakably blue speck of sea salt ice cream on her nose. She’s yelling, letting you know to let the rest of your face have some ice cream, too.)

And you’re staring at her, wishing this time was half as picturesque. She doesn’t have the words; she doesn’t have to. Asking the hard question was your thing. She’s pleading, frantically, and her watery eyes are beckoning. You want to tell her that it’ll all play out, that things happen for a reason; you don’t have to — that was her thing.

Under the soft, streetlamp glow, you see the Yunjin the public doesn’t — the uncertainty, the gamble, the fear. You hear the desperation in the dark days; the resolve, unconvincing yet unabashed, that what was far out was not so; the throughline: that if she pretended to be convinced, maybe you would, too.

You see the Yunjin you love, and you’re so fucking whipped.

You thumb the tear trailing down her cheek. You’re defeated, and it bleeds into your voice, but never going to pass on hitting where it hurts. “What happened to changing the idol industry?”

She chokes back a laugh through tears. “Okay,” she starts, and through the sarcasm she tries for — and how muddy it was between sniffles — she’s glad to hear your voice. “It’s the goddamn industry. What am I supposed to do in the debut video: admit defeat? Who’d watch that?”

“Sorry, it’s just — all of it — so dumb,” she adds for good measure, swiping at her eyes.

Hanging in the night, in the words unsaid, in between the watery sarcasm and the tension quickly evaporating, it’s clear. The two of you resolve a silent conversation. You’re punctuating her apologies with eye rolls, and she wants to hear you say you love her, but she knows that already. You say you don’t deserve her, and she calls you stupid.

Tears hot down your cheeks, you’re both laughing now, bouncing off of each other. And then, into the what’s next of it all: “I can try to get out of it,” Yunjin says.

It’s cathartic and real, and should disarm you.

But you say no.

Down to your cores, you and Yunjin were infinitely kindred. Intertwined forever, etched in the books of fate with permanent marker. You were after each other's hearts, molded from the same cosmic clay. You had each other in all the ways that mattered, and that would never change.

The last stop on your train home is when you get the notification.

are you headed home?

And in the moment, you catastrophize. It was in the middle of the weekend of her comeback. What was she thinking? Did something happen? How far were you away from HYBE?

But even if you played the same situation back a hundred times over, there was no way in hell you’d get to the conclusion that Huh Yunjin was in your foyer, behind your door, and wearing what didn’t leave much to imagination.

“Yunjin-” you try and start, before you’re kissed quiet.

Her hands are on top of yours, leading, as you smooth down the creases of her vanilla crop top and run your thumbs down her body. Your fingers are fluid, filling the divots, tracing along the lines, running the valleys of muscle in the flat of her stomach. Between bouts, as her lips linger inches away from yours, for a moment uncaptured, you breathe in air nonvenomous, and try to grapple with it all, scrambling for something to hold on to before your brain short circuits.

You’re sinking, and you don’t know how to wrestle rights from rudimentaries. Yunjin’s eyes, glazed over, zero in on yours, and she kisses you again. Her lips are sweet and have a bite to them, yours smack as you swallow the venom thick on your tongue. She pulls away, you come up for air.

Standing in the soft, orange-yellow glow of light from the room adjacent, you see the Yunjin the public does — the siren, sultry and seductive: her eyes, soft, malleable, and unassuming — how she could convince you that your name was something else entirely if she looked at you head on — her lips, venom-laced and tantalizing — how she’d push the agenda.

Except this time, you’re finally lucid, and you see the parallel. In the muscles — impressive in the light, but meek at the same time, like it split moments in the spotlight with softness — in the eyes — perpetually provocative, but infinitely innocent — in the perfect unattainable. Everything is polished, nudged purposefully in its direction. It’s all artificial, doctored, and done up.

Huh Yunjin is a product of industry, and you were going to fuck it out of her.

Yunjin’s smirk dismantles as you rip your hands from her grip. It completely falls apart as you pull her into you face first, thumbs across her cheeks. And as she tries to pull back, you’re keeping her where you want her, kissing into the poison. Her hands grab at your chest; at your dress shirt, half foregoing permission, pulling buttons apart, and half to steady herself as you move your dance deeper into your living room.

You’re leading this time, and as your knees bump brown velvet, you’re able to rasp: “Yunjin, on the couch.”

“How do you want me?” she whispers, breath hot on your lips.

“Legs apart.” You push her into the middle seat, and her hands are working at her shorts. There’s an audible zip, and they’re on your hardwood.

And as you’re kneeling down into the negative space in between Yunjin’s thighs, in the seconds, sultry and slow-burn, you catch a glimpse of her face. Spread across the finger in her mouth, eyes half-lidded, and eyebrows upturned, you think you see anticipation. Like you were going to rip Yunjin apart, and — straying away from what she was taught, coloring outside the lines — she might let you.

You test the theory: you take her into your mouth.

And you don’t think you’ve heard an exhale more pained.

You’re generous — lapping at her heat through lace, grazing against her clit — and with variety — kissing her inner thighs, nipping at skin. Yunjin’s sensitive and unintelligible.

“Fuck,” she manages to get out, her hips bucking, searching for more of you. One of her hands tries to meet you where you are, to pull her panties to the side, to feel you on her. But you redirect her to where you want her to be: your free hand on her wrist, you lead her up her chest. And though reluctantly, she translates. Together, you’re undoing buttons, palming the fullness of her breast, and flicking at the hard bud of her nipple.

Eventually, you give Yunjin what she wants.

You’re cradling her thighs around your forearms, and at the angle you have her, suspended, supported by the small of her back, you swear she yelps. You draw her underwear to the side, and then Yunjin’s squealing. She’s whining, she’s so wet, she’s raking her nails at your scalp. Your mouth’s on her cunt, drawing long across her folds, tonguing the alphabet over her clit.

There’s this moment. She’s arching, thighs hooked tight at your arms, on her tiptoes. You poke your tongue into her heat, there’s a high note, and then Yunjin’s cumming in your mouth.

And as you coax her through it, tongue flat, letting her ride your mouth, you’re sharing a gaze. Morbid curiosity can’t stop her from peeking at the mess she’s making, and you want to see what it looks like to kill a goddess.

“Fuck,” Yunjin repeats, like it’s the only word she knows, as you lick your lips. Her head’s tucked into her chest, and the orange bask she’s painted in is competing with the blush sauntering across her cheeks.

“You’re so-” she starts, dodging your eyes, kicking out gingerly at you.

“Mm?” you beckon, easing yourself in between her legs, undoing the button at your pants, freeing your cock tenting at the fabric. “I’m so?” you press again, tugging her panties off, soaked beyond belief.

And how you have her under you, top unbuttoned, hanging off her shoulders, how she can’t meet your eyes, it’s apt. Like she’s disarmed. Like under the layers of polish and practice, purposefully put away; under the glitz, the expensive everything: multisyllabic and most likely mispronounced; under the spunk, in her personal space, when she wasn’t allowed to deflect, Huh Yunjin was naked, and like putty in your hands.

All it took was your mouth on her cunt.

And she sure as shit didn’t need to say anything to you to admit it. It’s hard to miss, the way she’s folding her legs behind your waist, the red across her cheeks deepening.

“Think about your answer,” you quip for good measure, and with your cock hovering inches away from her pussy: “I’m going to fuck you now.”

And truthfully, the confidence is more for you than it is for Yunjin. It’s far from your first time, but every time you slide your cock in Yunjin’s cunt, it’s like everything around you takes a collective deep breath. Time becomes measured in fractions of a second, and you’re clairvoyant and hypersensitive. The head of your cock pushes into her pussy, and it’s hot.

You inhale a breath, picking up the sex in the air.

You swear your vision inverts. There’s white where there used to be color.

You catch the entirety of Yunjin’s mewling, as she goes from fuck, please, and your cock into falsetto. She’s mixing your name with untranslatables.

You feel her fucking cunt.

Teeth gritted, you’re pairing hard and soft. You bury your length in her, the front of your thighs slapping the back of hers, and kiss her lips tender. You only taste Yunjin, and you kiss her like she’s lifeblood. It’s sweet: her lipstick, her taste still on your lips, the breaths you’re sharing. And as Yunjin breaks for air, you’re whispering in the negative space, breath hot.

“Yeah?”

And she’s nodding her head, uncontrollably. Agreeing to anything you put forward, before you even asked. Anything that kept your cock in her.

“You’re-” you try again.

Your hands wrap around her midriff, her hands wrap around your wrists.

“You’re such a-”

God, her fucking cunt.

Except you need to hear it. You want to hear her say it, airtight, with no room for implication to escape.

“Yunjin,” you finally manage, and then in whole: “You’re such a good girl for my cock, aren’t you?”

She’s nodding her head, mumbling. But that wasn’t good enough for you. You’re hilting, deep in her cunt, and steadying yourself, curling a hand around her neck. “Yunjin” — a little louder — “answer me.”

Her hands around your wrists tighten, and she lets out this moan. Like she’s trying to give you the answer you want, and frustrated that she can only whine. Finally, through the untranslatables: yes, yes, all for your cock-

But that wasn’t it. Your fingers are pressing into her throat, and you’re pounding into her, wet all over you; imprinting her into the sofa. “Yunjin,” and it’s dark. “This is all you want, isn’t it?”

And she’s doing everything she can to convince you. She’s pushing herself into your length, grabbing at your hands, and through eyes half-lidded, staring deep at you. To show you she can compete, to show you just how good she was — just for you. And through your grip: “Yes, fuck. God, yes — this is all I-”

But it’s not what you want to hear. You’re riding the line. You’re biting your tongue bloody. Yunjin’s cunt is suffocatingly tight against your cock. Your grip’s white-knuckle on her skin. You shut your eyes tight. You know what you wanted to hear.

“Your other boyfriend can’t give it to you like this, can he?”

And you spend all the luck that was supposed to last you this lifetime, because in a moment of lucidity, you pull out. But immediately after that, you’re left to your own devices, and of course, you cum.

It’s hot, and you feel like a rubber band twanged across the middle. Like everything tight is wrenched out of you, and then let go, left to ricochet on your spine, springing back and forth. Your ears are ringing, your toes are curling; you’re letting out an orgasm so deep, you’re only saved by the fact that your eyes are closed for half of it.

And as you stir, blinking vision back into your eyes, your brain coming back to center, you’re thinking back, and you realize what the fuck you just said.

Yunjin’s meeting you where your eyes are at. Your brain’s numb, her jaw’s frozen in this half-scoff, lips untouching. She raises her eyebrows, giving you somewhere between what the fuck and intrigued. It’s expectant. You opened this up, she’s saying, now what?

You’re standing in the sand, and your house of cards is crumbling. You’re toeing where you expect the line to be, can’t find it, and don’t need to look to know it’s long behind you. Your chest is tight, and the implication is still in the air. You’re scrambling for something: something to walk it back, something in between the lines, anything to drive a stake through the premise and kill it entirely.

Yunjin is less patient. She ventures into the unknown, since you won’t. “Has this been about that the entire time?”

“Yunjin,” and you’re honest, preemptively reaching your hands out to her. “I don’t know why I said that.”

You’re looking straight into her eyes, completely wide. Her eyebrows pinch, and there’s a couple of beats. You know you should take them, to fill in the blanks; not to let the implication linger. But before you do: “I thought about my answer,” Yunjin starts, lowering her fingers to where you left yourself on her stomach.

And only after she runs her forefinger across her tongue, only after she cleans it of cum: “You’re so good, and no one can give it to me like you do.”

Spread across the bite in her lip, eyes half-lidded, and how she’s staring at you through her lashes, the implication’s crystal. And you would probably literally short circuit, if not for the second wind that was Yunjin licking you off of her fingers as she doubled down.

It all crescendos. She’s flipped over, and you’re pounding her into the couch, half to punctuate any sentences that implied she wasn’t completely yours, and the other half because her cunt was still so goddamn tight. The upholstery’s harmonizing, the hardwood exhaling on her offbeat.

You’re gripping Yunjin’s hips, bottoming out in her cunt at an angle, pulling her back into you. And she’s writhing, whining, taking your cock deeper and deeper.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she’s saying, and it irks you a little more than it should.

“Yunjin,” you spit, and you’re pressing your thumbs into her skin. “Shut up and take this dick like a good girl.”

And when you’re both pressing the buttons-

“Who else can fuck you like this, Yunjin?”

no one no sorry so sorry all yours this pussy yours you fuck me so- so hot when you’re jealous

“Yeah? You want me to? You’re such a good girl for me, baby,”

yes so good only for you so messy all over your cock fuck cum in me cum in me please i’ve been such a good girl please

- the gray area might as well be a chasm.

Because after you cum inside her, Yunjin drooling over your sofa, breath shuddering, leaking all over your cock, you have a mountain to climb. Physically — how you’re crumpled over her, exhausted, entangled — emotionally — how you’ll both put a cap on this in its entirety — and all of the rest of the above.

You’ll wait for her to bring it up.

Yunjin’s wrapped in your dress shirt, two sizes too big, and her head’s on your chest. Nothing short of Herculean, you’re in bed, and under polyester.

“He has a girlfriend, you know,” she says.

“Huh?” you manage intelligibly.

“My scandal.” Yunjin motions under the sheets, like the word needed air quotes. “Cute little thing. Works at an animal hospital. Always the loudest voice in the fanchants.”

You’re stunned, and don’t know what the right line of conversation is. “How are they taking it?”

“Probably makes their sex hotter, too.”

Dating made everything so much messier than it needed to be.

Two weeks after their comeback, the scandal breaks.

The official post is tame, but knowing netizens — a look at the comments confirming your suspicions — they’re feral. It’s a collage of three photos that look like they were taken from fifty feet away, but unmistakably of Yunjin an arm’s length away from another figure. They’re on a blanket overlooking the Hangang; she’s cuddled up in one of your hoodies, two sizes too big; and in the third photo, enlarged in post for emphasis, Yunjin’s nestled in his arm, selling the relationship pretty goddamn well.

You open an alt account and leave a hate comment.

LET’S BE HONEST HE DON’T DESERVE HER 💀💀💀😭😭😭

---

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #reader insert #idol x male reader #idol x reader #lesserafim smut #yunjin smut

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cyborg-franky · 5 months ago

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Something for @corpusprion for guessing the movie the other night! Pleas enjoy <3

GN Reader X Marco SFW Ace Lives Au Word count: 682

The events of Marineford had been intense. Bodies and hearts ached. Pain drenched every inch of your wary body and a relief tinged with sadness filled you. You sighed and looked at Marco who sat on your shared bed looking exhausted. You’d never seen him look so tired, never seen the tell tail signs of his age. He looked every bit the image of a forty-something man who’d spent his entire life working hard, working his fingers to the bone. His phoenix power all but drained from healing others, it could barely spare a spark of flame to heal the cut on his forehead.

He let out a shaky sigh, wincing as he felt the simple act rattle his bones. “Not used to being so beat up huh?” You called, a medpack in your arms as you kicked the door to the room closed. You saw the lazy smirk on his face as he chuckled. “Do I detect a hint of gloating yoi?” he asked and you shrugged as you set the kit down on the bedside table.

“Maybe,”

The fight had been intense, everyone had battled their hardest, and shed more than their fair share of sweat, blood and tears to save Ace and Pops, a feat they almost had failed to achieve. There had still been casualties, injuries that would show for years both in scars and in memories. You tried not to think about those you’d lost. Trying to remind yourself Ace was safe.

You masked the worry about your partner with jokes and a plastered-on smile, during the war you knew he was going to be fine, he was so strong and confident. Too smart to let anyone get the upper hand on him, though the seastone handcuffs had your pulse in your throat for a moment.

No, you were more concerned about the bruised and bloody man sitting on your bed now. His cuts refused to close as he was out of energy. Spent on others, that was just typical of him. Putting his crew before himself.

It was your turn to help him.

You sat next to him on the bed and gently cupped his face, looking at those tired half-lidded eyes and seeing the wrinkles where he frowned, where he smiled, where he laughed with all his heart. He was still the most handsome man you’d ever seen. You could see whisps of greying hair in his eyebrows and the scruff at his chin. “Feeling rough?” you asked as he held your hand to his face, turning enough to kiss your fingers. “Mmm,”

Marco hated the the flashes of mortality that ebbed through him when he was this depleted of his phoenix given vitality. He just leaned into your touches, desperate for your comforting warmth and words as he tried not to feel sorry for himself, to let you know how he was aching and hurting. You leaned forward and kissed his nose, just above where a cut crossed the bridge.

“I got you, don’t worry.”

In a comfortable silence you washed his skin, taking away the crusted blood and the dirt of the battlefield. He only grimaced once or twice at the disinfectant you used on his scrapes and cuts before you dressed them with bandages and bandaids.

You sat back and looked at Marco. You’d never seen him so banged up and in such a state. You smiled weakly, feeling as sorry for him as he looked for himself. “Want me to get us something to eat?” you asked, but he shook his head, brushing off any wrappers and leftover bandages from the bed, strong arms pulling you against him before he flopped back on the bed. You blinked, a little confused, but soon heard him take in your scent. You felt his nose nuzzle into your neck as he kept you close.

He just needed this.

And that was fine by you.

You held one another until sleep came for your tired and worn bodies. The comfort and safety of one another's arms whisking you both into a much-needed and well-deserved slumber.

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seresinhangmanjake · 2 years ago

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Nothing Better than What We’ve Got

Dad!Jake “Hangman” Seresin x female reader

Summary: You once said you wouldn’t marry anyone unless you were with them for at least a year, but maybe with Jake, your mind has changed.

Warnings: Allusion to smut(ish). That’s probably it. A MASSIVE BALL OF FLUFF!!!

Notes: Part of the Oh, Baby Universe.

Words: 2600

---

He slept well these days. As deeply and thoroughly as the little girl nestled in her crib down the hall. All traces of nightmares were long gone and he woke perfectly rested with a smile across his face before he dropped a kiss to your forehead, then your lips. Every morning the same confirmation of his happiness.

You were thankful for that; that he had fought his way through the pain you had caused, the added stress of dealing with your mother, and the unease and fear of facing his own parents to get to a place of peace. But that was Jake. Put a wall in front of him and he would fight his way over it. That is, with the exception of the time when you were gone. I wasn't getting over you, he'd said. There's no way. In that area, you had stunted him.

Pinpricks of guilt lingered, occasionally making themselves a tad sharper; impossible to ignore. But despite what you had done, Jake remained a fighter, tackling all battles that quite literally kicked down his front door. Just as he was a protector; fierce and unrelenting when it came to keeping you and your shared daughter safe. And yet, those prominent qualities made him no less of a lover. Your lover, your man—the only one you ever cared to have.

You loved him so terribly much. He made up a piece of your world that if taken away from you would leave an unfillable void. Jake Seresin was it. He was everything. Of that, you'd been so sure of for so long, and you were tired of not letting him know it in every way possible.

"Jake," you whispered.

His eyes were closed, mouth ever so slightly parted so his gentle breaths could warm your face. You really hated to wake him, but not so much that you paused to consider stopping your light shaking of his shoulder.

"Jake!"

He began to stir, brows furrowing, consciousness tugging at him. "Mmm, Honey," he muttered. Lazily shifting onto his side, his hand found your bare hip, a weight holding you down.

"Baby, wake up. I need you."

He mumbled your name, but when your words sunk in, his torso shot up in bed. Eyes wide. Chest heaving. "What? What's wrong?" he rushed out as his head turned in all directions to scan the room. "Are you ok? Where's Eve?"

"No, baby," you soothed. "We're fine." With your hand pressed into his chest—feeling the intensity of his rapid, thudding heartbeat—you helped settle him back onto the mattress. Head again cushioned by a pillow, Jake blew out a breath and gave you a look that barely concealed the merest bit of irritation for nearly causing his heart attack.

His hand layered yours for a moment before he grasped it tightly and brought your palm to his lips for a kiss. He kissed it once more, the second time longer.

"You can't do that to me, Honey. You know how I am." A mild scolding; maybe a fair one. You did know how he was. His sleep might have improved exponentially, but he was still a military man, still a man who had suffered enough and worried enough and feared enough for the sake of his family that he could be pulled from that deep sleep for next to nothing. Just a whiff of danger or threat was all it took, and your words were not so carefully chosen as to protect him from questioning your safety in the dead of night.

"Sorry."

"It's ok," he smiled, flipping back onto his side. He kissed your forehead, pulled your body into the cocoon of his frame, and closed his eyes again. You cupped his cheek and ran your thumb over the scruff of dark blond whiskers.

"Tell me what's wrong," he said, but his voice was already fading as exhaustion draped over him.

"Nothing."

"No?" You could hardly make out the weak syllable.

"Wrong? No," you confirmed. Those lips were parting once more. Light puffs traveled in and out of his lungs. You considered letting him be, but then you said, "I want to marry you."

You'd stared into his eyes countless times, but this was different. When eyelids shot open to reveal green orbs, they held an array of emotions, each one of them struggling to claim the forefront. His eyes flicked back and forth between yours in search of the meaning within your gaze, but he wouldn't be searching long. You knew your emotion was solidly present. The love you felt for him splayed across the surface of you, an abundance pouring out through your eyes and smile and touch.

"You—" His inhale was sharp; exhale heavy. He blinked and shook his head like he was trying to understand if he heard you right. "You what?"

Your thumb reached lower to graze over his bottom lip. "I want to be married to you."

"I thought…" From his continuous disbelief you chuckled. "You said not for a year."

"Jake, we have a child together. And I love you so much," you said softly. His hand on your waist squeezed your flesh. "I don't want to wait anymore to be your wife."

He stopped blinking altogether, but then a smile cracked his face and he threw the comforter off his bare body to hop out of the bed.

"What are you doing?"

He crossed the room in record time and, opening one of the dresser drawers, began to rifle through his neatly folded underwear. When he pulled his hand back, a little black box was clutched in his shaky fingers.

Any amusement on your face dissipated and you sat up quickly, the sheets falling away to expose your chest, but you didn't care. He took his spot across from you and recovered his lower half. Both sets of eyes were glued to the box as he placed it atop the bed between you.

You almost didn’t want to touch it. Well, truly, you knew it wasn’t yours to touch quite yet. But still, it felt like that box had some sort of magic inside it—the culmination of all you’d been through with the man you loved somehow stuffed into one tiny hollow cube—and that opening it would overwhelmingly drench you in every feeling you’d ever had for Jake, every emotion that ever passed through you. And that was so, so, much.

You never needed a ring to prove anything to one another. It wasn’t the physical symbol of love that would forever hold you and Jake together. If anything, you had Eve for that. Nevertheless, you wanted it. You wanted to be his wife. You wanted him as your husband.

"You had this already?" You asked, vision beginning to haze from a damp coating.

Jake swallowed, finally looking up at you. You met the sweetness in his eyes. "I'd been thinking about all of it for a while. I got the ring made a couple months ago."

"How long is a while?"

Some of that sweetness fell away to nerves. His smile faltered so he could clear his throat. "You don't want to know."

You nodded encouragingly, weaving your fingers with his.

For a minute, you weren’t sure he was going to answer you, but then he sighed. "Honey," he said. He paused again, his mouth opening and closing. He shook his head to himself and looked back at you. "I used to imagine you being my wife well before you ever kissed me."

Your eyes went wide as saucers.

That day was permanently vivid in your mind. The day you took that leap. The day you finally grasped that Jake—the potential of finally being with him after a year of back and forth—was worth the risk of any humiliation had you misunderstood what he felt for you. That one day changed your entire world. You’d kissed him, you’d slept with him, you’d conceived your daughter without knowing it. It felt so long ago and yet if you closed your eyes and reached out your hand, you were sure your fingertips would brush along the memory.

"A while,” you whispered.

He nodded. "A while."

Each breath was loud in your ears, each heartbeat adding to the echo-like rhythm.

“So, Honey…” Jake took the box in one hand, and with the other, pulled back the hinged lid. The diamond sparkled despite the lack of light in the room. “Will you–"

"You don't have to ask," you said as you scrambled into his lap, your legs on either side of his thighs. His arm held you tightly to help steady the sudden collision of your bodies as your hands framed his face. Leaning down, you kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him—every inch of his face you could claim. "You already know the answer."

Feathery touch traveled up and down your spine, then he pressed his lips to yours; softer; delicate and thorough compared to the frenzy of yours. "Let me hear it,” he pleaded. “I want to hear it so bad.”

The corners of your lips quirked up just slightly at the desperation in his voice. You could see how much it meant to him, so you didn’t make him wait.

"Yes, Jake,” you said, nudging your nose against his, “I will marry you."

He let out a deep groan and his hand dropped the box so it could weave into your hair as mouths melded again. Your lips tingled in the aftermath of your words, the sensation making its way throughout your entire system the longer you stayed intertwined with the man you were going to call your husband.

You were so close to losing yourself, as you always did when you were with him. But then it hit you.

You released a muffled squeak and pushed against his chest. "Wait, wait, wait," you stopped him.

"What?” His voice was husky. His eyelids heavy over the love and lust swirling in emerald irises, and he licked his lips, the hand at the base of your neck already starting to draw you back into his kiss.

"You forgot to put it on me,” you said quickly.

"Oh!" A genuine expression of surprise took over his face. He looked around the mattress until he found the box with its ring still snuggled inside. Plucking out the silver band, he said, "Sorry, Honey. Got distracted.”

You giggled at his renewed eagerness.

Few things in your life had been more beautiful than Jake sliding that ring on your finger. When the nurse placed a swaddled Eve against your breast so you could get your first good look at your daughter’s perfect little face. When you saw Jake after nearly a year of being apart and realized that not only did you want to be with him, you belonged with him. And when you tucked your daughter into his awaiting arms and heard his declaration of love for her only minutes after his learning of the circumstances of her existence.

Those moments gave you life. Hidden away, but always accessible. Never did you spend a day in darkness with the light of them behind you. They helped you to remember that nothing mattered but Jake and your baby. His father, your mother, the difficulties of past choices, and anything the future may throw at you were weak under the weight of each beautiful building block that made up the life you and Jake shared.

And now you had another moment. Another memory. Another block to squash your troubles.

“I love you,” he said, letting his lips brush over the diamond. “Don’t ever take this off.”

“I’ll never want to,” you replied.

—-

He’d worn you out.

It wasn’t exactly intentional, but he couldn’t stop wanting you. He couldn’t tamp down how badly he needed to be inside of you again and again. And he thought he would pass out alongside you, he really did, but there was no resting his eyes after all of that. You were going to be his wife.

His Wife.

A part of him was too stunned to believe it, but every time he glanced down at your hand, the ring was still there and his heart burst in his chest all over again. So, no, he didn’t rest. There were too many emotions bouncing around within the confines of his body.

Instead, he watched you sleep, occasionally tucking back strands of your hair when your shifting caused them to fall into your face so he could press his lips to your skin. Every few minutes he found somewhere else to kiss. Your fingers, shoulder, cheek, temple, neck. As long as he didn’t wake you, his careful kisses continued to find new places until the first rays of sunlight broke through the curtains.

Jake sighed. He didn’t wish to leave you, but Eve’s cries would begin soon. Slept peacefully, she did, but like clockwork, his baby girl woke so early it was as if the dawn itself whispered in her ear each morning.

With a final kiss, Jake stood from the bed and grabbed his sweatpants off the floor so he could pull them up his legs. He made his way down the hall into the nursery and took the stirring girl in his arms before she had a chance to question his absence.

Jake had learned his daughter’s needs rather soon into their budding relationship; something he took great pride in. And he knew she favored touch. Had to be greeted with cuddles and kisses before anything else could be considered important. Their routine was not one she cared to have interrupted, so, as always, Jake quickly changed Eve’s diaper before taking a seat in the rocking chair his Gram had gifted, keeping her snug against his chest while they swayed with the back-and-forth motion.

His eyes welcomed hers.

“Well, good morning, baby girl,” he said.

She granted him the most delicate of smiles. As incredible and heart-stopping as yours.

Jake knew she’d destroy someone when the day came—would absolutely wreck them from the inside out because of that smile, exactly how you had done to him. He just hoped that if he had to watch his daughter with anyone, despite the anxiety that zig-zagged up and down his spine at the thought, that person would be worth Eve putting her love and time into. And if they were worth it, he’d wish them luck. Because as much as Eve’s face matched his, her personality was clearly going to develop into a carbon copy of yours. In his daughter was your wit and love, but he didn’t kid himself into thinking she didn’t also have your stubbornness and grit. But thankfully, it would be a while before he’d be forced to worry over anything like that. For now, other matters were to be shared.

“I’ve got news for you,” he continued, extending his hand so Eve could wrap her five little fingers around his larger one. “Mama and Daddy are getting married.”

She blinked, then giggled.

“I know. I’m sure it seems awfully fast to you,” he said with a chuckle of his own, “but I’ve loved your Mama longer than you know. Longer than she knew, too.

“And she’s going to be so beautiful in her dress, and you’re going to be so beautiful in whatever doesn’t make you grumpy that day. You can be our flower girl and we’ll have Uncle Rooster carry you and help you toss petals down the aisle, doesn’t that sound good?”

At her look of awe, Jake gave a peck to her forehead.

“I’d say things will be perfect, baby girl,” he grinned, running his thumb over the back of her hand, “But they already are.”

---

tag list: @wkndwlff @genius2050 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22

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marshmellin · 1 month ago

Text

Star and Stone, Ch. 7 | Where the Shadows Are 🔥

Silence did not seem to be what he sought. His voice was low. Eager. Hungry. “Would you—”

“If you start talking to me instead of touching me, I will muster whatever strength the Valar have left me with and scream.”

He blinked in momentary surprise, the second-guesses seeming to die on his tongue. But his eyes narrowed as he hiked one of her legs to his side, her skirt falling into a pool against her waist.

-> COMPLETE! F FOR FIX IT: Explicit for rare smut (🔥) between consenting partners. All other content is Mature for language and canon-typical descriptions of angst/violence. Gil-galad x female OC Sindarin elf, Occurs between the Fall of Ost-in-Edhel in Eregion and the Battle of the Last Alliance. Contains references to other Tolkien lore and the Silmarillion with author notes for full explanations.

Repeat: Happily Ever After; everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. I try to be as canon-compliant as possible except for the whole 'keeping Gil-galad alive part.' No beta, we die like Mirdania.

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

🔥 Explicit content under the cut. S for Smut at the END of the chapter. We made it, crew!🔥

✨ Star and Stone: Complete Chapter List

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

You are here -> Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Ch. 9: Wherever the Need is Greatest

Ch. 10: Where He Dwelleth, None Can Say

Ch. 11: Of Whom the Harpers Sing 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 12: Last High King of the Elves of the West

The glow of the hearth was subdued, the flicker of firelight barely reaching the tall shelves and scrolls that lined the walls of Gil-galad’s study. Elaniel stepped inside, her footsteps muffled by the thick rug beneath her boots. Gil-galad looked up from his desk, his expression softening as his gaze met hers.

“Elaniel, you did not need to visit so late,” he said, rising. His voice carried a weariness that he could not hide. He was still in his formal robes, draped in layers of gold brocade, crown still pinned into place but slightly askew.

Eyes flicking over him quickly, she noticed several things at once:

He’s still wearing full robes, so he has been in council with ambassadors all day. And likely has not ceased working since morning. That is a tall stack of paperwork. If war is so messy, why is there so much documentation? I doubt he’s had water, much less eaten. He’s broken, mmm, looks like two quills. How long has that crown been digging into his head? It is smaller than what he used to wear, yes, but it still must hurt.

Valar, he is tired.

Elaniel voiced none of these thoughts and instead simply said, “You sent a note for me. I assumed it was important.” Moving toward him, she unpinned her cloak and placed it over the chair that had become hers in front of the fireplace.

“It is important,” he admitted. “But it is not urgent. I didn’t mean to take your time tonight. I’ve heard you’ve been on worksite inspections all day.” He was clasping his hands in front of him, the fingers of one hand flexing tightly around his other hand. A tell of his, she had learned. Something he only did when he was anxious or uncertain.

“And you’ve been here,” she countered gently. “Shall we both agree to share the blame for overworking?”

Gil-galad crossed the room to join her, wrapping his arms gently around her in welcome. She popped up on her toes to kiss him hello, before walking toward the sideboard to pour two glasses of water.

Handing one to Gil-galad to drink, she surveyed the room.

“How has your week been,” she asked cautiously, taking in the scattered scrolls and books on every surface and chair.

Her drafting table seemed to be the only surface he had left untouched, which warmed her heart but did nothing to stop the alarm bells ringing in her mind. Typically, the clutter in their shared space was not his but hers; he was not a messy person by nature.

The study looked like a windstorm had passed through.

An almost embarrassed chuckle escaped him as he allowed his shoulders to slump. “It has been…difficult.”

“Ah, is your crown part of the important-but-not-urgent conversation you’d like to have?” she asked innocently, reaching out to brush a strand of hair over his ear. “Or can we proceed this evening without it? I find you are tall enough without the enchantment...”

Gil-galad’s brow furrowed and he looked up as though he could see the crown through his forehead. “I didn’t realize I was still wearing it,” he murmured.

“Mmm,” she hummed in reply, moving his shoulders to spin him around. He obeyed and tilted his head back so she could remove the crown and the two golden pins that held it in place. Setting it carefully on the desk, she reached up again to rake her fingers through his hair, nails gently scraping his scalp as she worked through a few small tangles. He sighed in gratitude before turning to face her again.

“Thank you,” he said with a smile — a spark of light through the weariness he showed.

“Of course,” she smiled in return. “I doubt it’s the most comfortable thing to wear.” He shook his head gently, looking over his shoulder toward the desk where the crown now sat. And his paperwork. He started to open his mouth, but she had learned his timing by now.

“The robe and cloak combination has to be heavy, too, certainly,” she prompted, tapping her nails against the intricate chest piece he wore. “How does this work? I can secure anything you’d like to stone or iron but this is witchcraft to me.”

Gil-galad’s focus shifted back and he paused from the change in topic. “Oh,” he murmured, lifting up a heavy clasp over his shoulder to show her. “It fastens here—“

“Ah!” She said in delight as she mimicked the motion over his other shoulder. The neck piece and cape fell to the floor in a heap behind him. The thud they made indicated the weight was not insignificant.

A small laugh as Gil-galad looked down at the velvet puddled at his feet. “It is more comfortable without it.”

Murmuring in agreement, Elaniel moved closer. “What about this?” she asked innocently, fingers skimming the edge of an elaborate wrapped belt around his waist. “I am uncomfortable just looking at it. This is why your posture is so straight, you could not bend if you wished.”

Can he even take this off without help?

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow as his hands settled around her hips, but he did nothing to stop her. She dug at the wrap around his waist. His face showed nothing of his thoughts, but something familiar glinted in his warm brown eyes. “One might think you are attempting to undress me, Elaniel.”

“One might be right,” she replied with a laugh and another playful tug at the intricately wrapped belt, pulling him so close their bodies aligned. “But not for the reason you hope. This is a ridiculous amount of clothing to drag around at moonrise. Ready yourself for sleep. Go,” Elaniel pushed again at his chest, moving him toward the door to his chambers.

He sighed and stood still, rendering her efforts to push him useless.

It’s like shoving a wall. I am not weak. Why is he so solid?

She didn’t stop trying, though, kneading her hands against him and muttering “go, go,” over and over. Rich laughter echoed through the room, and Gil-galad’s face finally blossomed with the joy she had worked so hard for.

“I have many more responsibilities to see to tonight before I prepare for sleep. Sit with me for a moment, instead?” he offered as a compromise. Gil-galad moved toward a low couch across from the hearth, gesturing for her to join him.

She pretended to consider, waving her hand at him. “Belt…wrap…painful thing off.”

A heavy sigh. “Belt off,” he agreed, deftly — and she could not for the life of her see how he did it so quickly — unwrapping the intricate belt to let it fall to the floor. He now remained in a much lighter outfit; a simple embroidered robe. He gave a muted sigh of relief and she wondered if he realized how much his crown and robes weighed him down.

They sat in silence, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as the crackle of the fire filled the room.

“I’ve thought about your recommendations for the latest worksite placement,” Gil-galad murmured after a long pause, his voice still laced with exhaustion.

Elaniel reached out, her hand resting on his leg. “There is nothing you could suggest tonight that I can change by morning. The work will wait.” She gave his knee a reassuring squeeze. “Also, I do not allow meddlers to comment on my worksites.”

He leaned back against the cushions, fatigue etched into his features despite the smile on his face. “I am a meddler, now? Quite the downgrade.”

“Either take up your apprentice seat on the stonemasons council or stay off my worksites. If you can’t shape stone, wood or iron, you’re a meddler,” she ended, her tone light.

Shifting slowly, he laid his head in her lap with a sigh, his long legs dangling off the other end of the sofa in an undignified — but endearing — way. Eyes slipping closed, he breathed out a laugh. “I could fare decently as a mason, given the education you’ve provided. Then again, I have heard the pay is terrible.”

Playing with the collar of his robe, she let her fingers graze his jaw. “Ah, but fear not! For I would not hire you. You don’t really have a craftsman’s build…”

Gil-galad opened one eye to peer up from her lap, a frown on his face.

Her voice turned to honey, a tone she only used for him. “You have the build of a warrior-king, morconinya. Much different, of course,” she smiled. “Masonry would be a complete waste of your strength. And your wardrobe.”

He gave an exaggerated nod, satisfied with her answer.

Elaniel threaded her fingers through his hair. The silky strands caught the firelight. “You should rest,” she said eventually, her voice barely a whisper.

“I am resting,” he murmured, his eyes still closed. He rolled his shoulders, settling against her. “You are far more comfortable than my chair.”

She laid a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat through her fingers, watching the rise and fall of his breathing. Slowly, she stopped running her fingers through his hair, instead contenting herself with smoothing a few dark strands across her lap, mindful not to jostle him. He shifted slightly, his head falling towards her as sleep claimed him.

As she sat there, watching over him, she knew this was what she wanted for the rest of her long life — this quiet companionship, this space to be vulnerable. To lay down their burdens. The world outside might become darker, but here, in this room, none of it mattered. She would do everything she could to protect this future, for both of them.

She would sit up all night, watching over him, if it meant he could rest for one moment longer.

The council chamber hummed with anticipation as Elaniel took her seat at the large stone table, its surface strewn with maps and sketches. The air carried the familiar tang of ink and parchment, mingling with the crispness of Lindon’s sea breeze filtering through high windows. At the head of the table sat Gil-galad, his gaze steady.

Elrond sat to his right, his composed demeanor tinged with curiosity. Halion and Arminas were already discussing…well, who knows what, but there was a lot of gesturing involved. Ristarion leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, radiating barely concealed disapproval.

Gil-galad’s voice broke the murmur of conversation. “We are here to determine the leadership and allocation of resources for the White Towers at Emyn Beraid and Amon Sûl’s fortifications. Both locations, each housing a palantír, will serve as guardians of communication across Middle-earth and a symbol of unity between Elves and Men.”

Elaniel studied the intricate map before her, noting the placement of the towers along the Gulf of Lhûn. Her focus sharpened as she imagined the soaring spires overlooking the sea. Beautiful. Majestic.

Elrond nodded thoughtfully. “Amon Sûl is strategically vital. But its current structure is vulnerable. It was built centuries ago for signaling, not to withstand a siege.”

“Elendil suggests repurposing it entirely,” Gil-galad continued. “Reinforced walls, stone foundations, a keep at its heart. He even proposes diverting masons from Annúminas.”

Elaniel tilted her head, her expression contemplative. “The stones of Amon Sûl are sturdy but uneven. If we begin reinforcing without understanding their weaknesses, the weight of additional structures could cause fractures.”

Gil-galad glanced at her, his curiosity piqued. “You’ve studied its foundation?”

She nodded. “When I first arrived in Lindon to determine fortification sites. Amon Sûl’s base is old—crafted by those who prioritized speed over longevity. It has weathered.”

“We just carved Imladris from bare rock,” Halion added thoughtfully. “We can build Amon Sûl. Clear lines of sight, an opportunity to show strength. The fortifications are the kind of work my team is best equipped for. Master Elaniel, do you object?”

Elaniel nodded in agreement. “I agree. My team is more accustomed to watchtower construction than open fortification. With your leave, Master Halion, my teams will develop plans for the White Towers.”

“Aye,” Halion nodded and they both turned to Gil-galad, who inclined his head in approval. Halion continued, “we could map for structural weaknesses and propose solutions for Amon Sûl within the week. It would delay our start, but we will save resources.”

Gil-galad’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Elendil will not like delays, but he is pragmatic. We will begin immediately.”

As the meeting wore on, Elrond brought up logistical concerns. “If we divert masons from Annúminas, what is to become of their fortification projects?”

Gil-galad nodded, his fingers tracing the map. “We cannot strip one city to bolster another. I will write to Elendil to suggest using local labor where possible. Arnor has skilled workers, even if they lack the training of our craftsmen.”

Elaniel leaned forward. “With respect, local workers could learn from Lindon’s masons. It could strengthen ties between Arnor and Lindon.”

Elrond glanced at her and nodded quickly. “An exchange of skills and culture is also a gesture of trust.”

Gil-galad considered this, his expression thoughtful. “Elendil often speaks of fostering bonds between his people and ours, to correct the rift between us. Master Halion, your thoughts?”

Halion held back a sigh – he does not like visitors on his worksites, either – but nodded. “It would be valuable to train them, for us both.”

Ristarion leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “A moment, please,“ he called out, his tone sharp.

The room fell silent, save for the faint creak of Halion shifting his stance. Elaniel fought the urge to roll her eyes.

Yes, heconna? We are all eager to hear your uninformed opinion on the matter.

Ristarion leaned forward, his voice gaining a pointed edge. “So I am sure I understand: we are discussing how to best divide our precious resources to create two new fortifications — Emyn Beriad and Amon Sûl — to help this…Man and his sons house their palantirí?”

Has he been asleep or….

“Yes,” Gil-galad replied evenly.

“And these seven palantirí, powerful artifacts vital to communication during this time of war, are all to remain entrusted to Men?”

Gil-galad stared at Ristarion. “The seeing-stones belong to these Men. They are not ours to distribute.”

“The seeing-stones were made by the Eldar. These Men use our wisdom to protect their people when no Sindar are afforded such trust. Or power.” His eyes flicked to Elaniel. “Well. Most Sindar are not given such power. Some have sway.”

She could hear the voices of all her foremothers, back to Enelyë herself, telling her to punch the man in the face.

Elves may be immortal, but their noses broke just as easily as Men’s.

Gil-galad pulled Ristarion’s focus back. “If you have a concern to share, I would ask that you speak plainly, Lord Ristarion.”

Ristarion spread his hands in mock surrender. “I only raise concerns that others share but lack the courage to voice. Surely, transparency is what we all value, High King?”

“We do,” Gil-galad said gently. Dangerously so. “Please, share what you have heard. I would have no secrets between any of us tasked with the safety of our people.”

“I dare not, High King,” Ristation continued in an innocent tone, as though being asked to break an Oath. “Many speak to me, and I am known for highlighting their concerns with discretion. I bring these concerns to this council – to you, High King – as I have done in the past, because there are those around this table with the same questions who fear to name them.”

“And those questions are?” Gil-galad prompted again, like an elder speaking to a particularly unruly child.

“We seem to be giving much to Men — our craftsmanship, our resources, our wisdom, our power — to help them flourish. What do they offer in return?”

Elrond tried to interject. Elaniel almost smiled at the effort. The younger elf had truly tried.

Valar, bless him.

“Bodies,” Gil-galad replied loudly, throwing down the scroll in his hands, all restraint gone, his volume rising with each sentence. “They offer us bodies, Ristarion. If every elf in every realm in Middle Earth picked up a sword tomorrow, we would yet fall far short of the numbers needed to defeat Sauron. The Men offer us soldiers to wield swords against orcs. They offer to risk their brief lives to stand with us, despite not knowing their fates after death. For that offered sacrifice alone, I will build as many towers and fortifications as they ask of me.”

Gil-galad’s sharp gaze flicked over the council and he took a steadying breath. Elaniel could see a muscle working in his jaw, open anger on his face. The most expressive she had ever seen him in public. And he was known for being very expressive in public.

At least, when it comes to frustration.

“My decision is final and I will not repeat it. Council dismissed. Ristarion, you will stay to discuss this matter with me.”

Noldor anger, indeed. Are you sure you’re a descendent of Finarfin and not Fëanor, morconinya?

Elaniel stood, gathering her papers. As she moved toward the door, Ristarion stepped into her path, his smirk firmly in place. She met his gaze evenly and spoke quietly, for his ears alone, in accented Sindarin.

I bear ill news, ‘friend.’ He will win.

Ristarion’s expression darkened, but she didn’t wait for a response. The hallway beyond the chamber was filled with light, and as she walked into it, she felt her resolve burn brighter.

And then she felt Elrond yank her by the arm through the doorway to Gil-galad’s study.

Elrond shut the study door behind them with deliberate care, turning to face Elaniel with a measured expression.

Elaniel stood near the desk, her hand idly brushing against the edge as she gathered her thoughts. “He’s trying to make me a weapon against him,” she began, her voice low but firm. “Ristarion wants to use me to weaken Gil-galad's authority. To sow doubt—not just about me, but about his leadership.”

Elrond crossed the room, leaning casually against a shelf but watching her intently. “You are correct. Ristarion is not merely targeting you; he has now moved to dividing fragile relationships between the Sindarin and Noldor realms. if he can frame his arguments in a way that appears to question your suitability, particularly as a Sindarin woman, he believes it will resonate with those who are uncertain. And by provoking him…”

Elaniel exhaled sharply, her fingers curling against the polished wood. “And by provoking him, I risk proving him right.”

Which is why he wrangled me in here.

She turned back to Elrond, a flicker of resolve returning to her eyes. “But we must find ways to shield Gil-galad from Ristarion’s attacks, certainly? He cannot spend all his energy countering political intrigue when there are greater battles to fight.”

Elrond’s expression grew thoughtful, his fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the shelf. “Perhaps we can divert Ristarion’s attention. Give him something else to focus on, something that feels like a victory to him but ultimately serves our purposes.”

Before Elaniel could respond, the door to the study opened, and Gil-galad entered. He carried a scroll in one hand, which he smacked down on the table with a decisive gesture.

“Well,” he said, his tone dry, “Predictably, that conversation was unnecessarily difficult and accomplished nothing.”

Elaniel rose from her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What did he say?”

“He insists that Oropher and Amdir demand a palantír each to formally join the alliance and promise their warriors,” Gil-galad said, dropping into a chair with a sigh. “He paints it as a non-negotiable point.”

“A palantír!” Elaniel and Elrond exclaimed in near-unison, both shocked at the request.

Gil-galad nodded in quiet agreement, holding up his fingers. “Two.”

“It is odd that such a significant demand would come solely through Ristarion.” Elrond leaned forward, his tone thoughtful but unconvinced. “If the demand is genuine — and the probability is high it is not — Ristarion’s interference might be undermining direct communication.”

“I am surprised to hear Sindar lords are interested in any object made by Fëanor, to be blunt.” Elaniel folded her arms, staring into the flames. “Seven stones,” she murmured. “And none for any elven realms? It’s not difficult to see why that would breed resentment.”

Gil-galad turned thoughtful. “On its face, I agree. But we do not own the stones to sway how they are used. While Elendil’s stewardship of seven is…surprising, to share them with any other realms would be his choice alone. I suspect he will not agree lightly.”

“And seeing-stones can be dangerous,” Elrond admitted, his tone grave. “They reveal truths and can be used for communication, yes. But they also show half-truths, shadows. A mind untrained can be misled—or worse, fully manipulated by a powerful mind using a paired stone. It is not something every lord with a realm should have access to.”

Elaniel’s thoughts churned. “And yet you trust Elendil with this power?”

“Implicitly,” Gil-galad said without hesitation. “Elendil is wise and unambitious. He seeks no dominion, only unity and safety for his people.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the crackle of the fire the only sound. Elaniel spoke carefully, her gaze steady on Gil-galad. “What if you were to meet Oropher head on? Travel to Greenwood and speak with him face-to-face.”

Elrond shifted in his seat, his brow furrowing. “Direct confrontation might backfire. Oropher is known for his pride. An uninvited visit could be seen as an affront, as though we doubt their intentions and wish to watch them.”

Elaniel felt a surge of conviction. “The stakes are too high for miscommunication or formal dinners or emissaries. If Oropher and Amdír truly demand palantirí to join the alliance, you deserve to hear it from them directly, king to king. And if they do not, they should be told their names were used to demand them, king to king.”

Elrond looked between them, giving a small shrug. “It is a calculated risk. If nothing else, it would demonstrate your commitment to hearing their concerns.”

Gil-galad met her gaze, a flicker of approval in his eyes. “Indeed. I will make plans to go to Greenwood and speak with Oropher directly.”

Elaniel shielded her eyes from the setting sun as she gazed up at the towering structure. The stones gleamed, freshly cut and fit together with the precision her teams had worked hard to master.

“They are well on their way,” Alenya said, her voice laced with admiration. She stood beside Elaniel, her posture relaxed but her sharp gaze flicking to every corner of the tower and its surroundings. “The walls look strong enough to withstand a ravisher. Though I wouldn’t bet on those gates around the village yet.”

Elaniel followed her gaze and frowned. The wooden gates hung slightly off-center, the metal hinges not yet properly secured. “We’ll need to reinforce those hinges,” she murmured. “I can speak with the blacksmith before we head back to Lindon.”

Alenya smirked, leaning on her spear. “You’ll have to hurry. I hear the blacksmith is the kind to vanish into the pub after midday and refuse to come out.”

Elaniel laughed. “Understood.” She turned back to the village, watching as children darted between cottages and smoke curled lazily from chimneys. The scene was peaceful.

As new construction sites were built — far away from the walls of Lindon and Imladris — it made sense to plan villages nearby for the workers and their families. These villages often merged with the fortifications once they were finalized, becoming centers of trade on oft-traveled routes with stationed soldiers for protection.

“I think it’s beautiful here,” Elaniel said with a sigh. The sight made her miss worksites from long ago, friends made during a few weeks of hard work building something sturdy. “Almost enough to tempt a woman to give up soldiering, eh?”

Before Alenya could reply, a faint sound reached their ears—a distant rumble. Both women turned toward the forest.

“Did you hear that?” Elaniel asked, her voice tight.

Alenya’s expression darkened. “Yes. And I don’t think it’s thunder.”

The rumble grew louder, accompanied by the faint sound of guttural cries. The villagers began to notice, their movements slowing as they turned toward the treeline.

“Elaniel, get back to the village,” Alenya ordered, her spear already in hand.

Elaniel’s heart leaped into her throat. She grabbed the hilt of her sword, her grip tightening as the first orc ran out of the tree line, weapon raised. By her count, eight - maybe ten - orcs. A raiding band.

“I will not leave you,” Elaniel said firmly, unsheathing the short sword she carried.

“I did not. ask.” Alenya’s tone was sharp, but there was no time for argument. “Get the villagers inside!”

Elaniel turned to the nearest group of villagers, herding them toward the gates. “To the walls! Go, now!” she called, her voice cutting through the rising panic. They obeyed, scrambling toward the gates as Alenya held her ground.

A few scattered orcs came closer toward them, their cries echoing through the air.

Elaniel’s sword clashed against the first orc’s blade, the force of the blow reverberating up her arm. She grit her teeth and pushed back, trying desperately to remember the techniques she had practiced but never had to use in earnest. The creature’s twisted sword sliced her left bicep and she winced in pain. Blood flooded through her sleeve, drenching her in a warmth that cooled quickly in the twilight air. She could taste a metallic tang in her mouth as she managed to bring her sword around to strike the orc, sending him stumbling back.

Alenya fought beside her, her movements swift and precise. Her spear darted like a snake, finding gaps in the orcs’ armor. “Keep moving back!” she shouted.

Elaniel barely had time to process the chaos around her — the blood dripping down her fingers to leave splatters on the stone, the screaming as people headed for the gates, the grunts as orcs began slaughtering livestock — when a scream pierced the air. She turned to see a child hiding underneath a heavy cart near one of the cottages.

Her heart clenched. Without thinking, she broke away.

The cart was heavy, its edges splintered, and it was clear it had rested with its load for many weeks through rain. The child, still a youngling, was sobbing, his hands clutching at the dirt. He was begging for his ada.

“It’s okay,” Elaniel said, kneeling beside him. “I’ll get you out.”

She tried reaching for him first, encouraging him to come toward her, but the fear in his eyes told her she would lose that fight. She wedged her shoulder beneath the edge of the cart, straining against its weight. Pain shot through her as she pushed, but the cart barely budged.

“Elaniel, go!” Alenya shouted, her tone desperate.

“I can’t leave him!” Elaniel yelled back, her voice breaking.

The cart shifted slightly, but not enough. The child’s cries grew louder as the clash of metal drew nearer. A shadow loomed over her, and Elaniel looked up to see an orc raising its blade. Her heart stopped, eyes flicking to the hilt of the sword she dropped.

She would never reach it in time.

The orc’s blade never fell.

Alenya’s spear struck true, and the creature collapsed with a guttural cry, falling forward next to her. Alenya stumbled near, her breathing ragged as she grabbed the haft of her spear to pull it from the orc’s back. “Get the boy,” she said, her voice tight with pain. Blood dripped from a slash on her cheek, and her left arm hung at an odd angle. “Go,” she said, her voice softer now. “Please. I’ll hold them off.”

It felt like time slowed. For an eternity, all Elaniel could see was the determination on every line of Alenya’s face.

They did not speak, but both understood.

Elaniel braced herself against the cart again, making it move back just enough for her to reach the terrified child. She cradled him against her chest, her arm screaming in protest. “It’s okay,” she whispered as she ran toward the village gates, willing herself not to look back. The gates were closing, but she slipped inside just in time.

She turned to see Alenya retreating, her movements slower now but still determined. Two large orcs pressed closer, but her spear had a long reach. A volley of arrows from the village guards rained down, driving them back and felling at least one. Alenya stumbled through the gates, and they slammed shut behind her.

Elaniel ran to her in time to see Alenya give her a weak smile. “Told you,” she said, breathing raggedly. “Told you I’d hold them off.”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t,” Alenya interrupted, her voice hardened. “You did what you had to do. So did I. That is the way of things for us, ohtarwen.” She reached out, grabbing Elaniel’s uninjured forearm in a tight grip – a warrior’s grip.

Elaniel nodded, tears pricking at her eyes, her throat growing tight.

And tighter.

And as she fell to the dirt, all she could think was:

Am I fainting?

Fuck.

Gil-galad paused in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the light from the hall. “You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, his voice low but warm as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The room was dimly lit, a small lantern on the table next to her.

“I am resting,” Elaniel replied softly. “Mostly. Why are you here?”

His gaze softened as he crossed the room, pulling a stool close to the bed. “Because you are next door to my rooms and I heard you stir. The healers brought you to the palace from the village,” he said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You were unconscious.”

“Ah, so my wound is that dire, hm? Not the most unfortunate place to die, really,” she laughed, glancing exaggeratedly around the room.

He did not laugh in return. If anything, his frown deepened.

Not in the mood for humor, it would seem.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “A scratch, truly.” Elaniel lifted her arm to show him the bandage, her wound already nearly healed. Elves were hardy beings.

Gil-galad arched a brow, his face leaving no room for argument. “I spoke with the healers. The term they prefer to use is gash. Acquired at the same time as your dislocated shoulder. They said you were quite fortunate the blade did not strike an artery. Particularly because the blade was poisoned.”

“Yet now I am —“

“Again, to your great fortune, a healer nearby was aware of the signs and provided you and Alenya care until you could be brought here.” His voice rose, frustration blossoming across his face. He seemed to have barely – barely – restrained himself from raising his finger or his voice at her. She saw his hands twitch and he clasped them in his lap, one clenching the other.

Ah.

He is afraid.

“I am tempted to shutter the entire project and bring the workers and their families back to Lindon immediately. Clearly there are too many hazards in the area and no gift for Men is worth the risk to my people.” The anger drained from his voice quickly, leaving weariness in its place. “Or you.”

She wanted to tease him, to tell him that his phrasing made it sound as though she was not one of his people. Or to take the tone of a master stonemason and explain why one orc encounter is not nearly enough of a threat to pause a project of this import. Or to offer some of the many ways the worksites could be made safer.

But he was not speaking to her as a king.

So instead, she sighed, her smile fading. “I am safe now. I did not mean to worry you.”

“I know you did not,” he replied. He took her hand in his, careful not to disturb her arm. “Unfortunately, your intent does not make much difference. I will worry regardless.”

For a long time, they sat in silence. She could feel the anger fade from him. The concern was there, still; she could feel it in his hands after he unclenched his own to hold hers. But the intensity of his feelings shifted from bright flames to warm embers. He calmed as he brushed his thumb over her knuckles.

Elaniel found herself leaning up to meet him, their faces close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. She raised her hand to his cheek, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“I am likely to do it again,” she warned, mischief in her eyes.

A flicker of frustration crossed his face, but he softened almost immediately, his hand coming up to cover hers, pressing it gently to his cheek. “I am high king, despite how infrequently you remember,” he murmured. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I could command it.”

She smiled in return. “I’m likely to ignore your command, as well.” A pause before her voice turned teasing. “And on either account, you are the high king of the Noldor, where as I, a Sindar woman, may not recognize your claim–”

He laughed loudly, his mood lifted. “We will argue later, and I will win. Until then – ”

A knock at the door interrupted them, and a healer stepped in to check Elaniel’s bandages. Gil-galad stood and moved aside respectfully, his hands clasped as he watched the healer work.

After a few moments, a few “yes or no” inquiries, the header stepped back. She seemed satisfied. “Your wounds are well on their way to healing. I foresee no problems, and I intend to release you tomorrow morning. However,” she added, giving Gil-galad a pointed look, “you need to keep your weight off your arm and rest.”

Elaniel murmured her thanks as the healer left, stifling a laugh. Once they were alone again, Gil-galad closed the door and flipped the lock — she noticed that specifically and raised an eyebrow. He crossed the room and sat back down, regarding Elaniel with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You heard the healer,” he said. “One more night of rest.”

“I am not tired and I feel well enough,” she protested, worried the weariness in her voice would betray her.

Stay.

Gil-galad smiled and shook his head. Without a word, he kicked off his boots and removed his cloak. He slid onto the bed beside her, careful not to jostle her.

He settled against the pillows and gently pulled her toward his chest. Elaniel relaxed against him, her head resting just beneath his chin. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat calmed her.

“This is hardly appropriate behavior,” she murmured as she shimmied into place against him, sighing contentedly. “Improper. Unethical. Disgraceful. Rumors everywhere in your court.”

“I will risk the scandal,” he said lightly, his hand tracing soothing circles on her back. “I may as well live the life I’m accused of having. Sleep, Elaniel.”

“I’m not sure I can go back to sleep, now that you are here…” she trailed off, biting her lip in what she hoped was a subtle play at being coy.

Stay.

Stay stay stay with me.

Gil-galad tilted his head down to look at her. She saw amusement play across his features. Mild annoyance that she was not going to simply listen to him and fall asleep as she should. And something else.

She saw the moment she won.

“I wonder…” Slowly, he leaned forward and pulled her into a deep kiss. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic as warmth spread low in her belly. A broad hand settled on the curve of her waist; his thumb lazily moved in circles over her hip.

“Would you like help falling asleep?” he asked softly, something low and smoky in his voice. Heat lanced through her. She could smell the salt air on his skin. She wanted to taste him, to lick where his neck met his shoulder and work her way to his ear and back down his chest…

“Ereinion...” Her voice was pleading, but far off, as though she didn’t know what she was asking for.

A lie. We both know exactly what I want.

Gil-galad kissed her again, his fingers skimming down the side of her body, drawing small sounds of pleasure from the back of her throat as she began to thrum for him. She had learned she was, well, noisy when they kissed, to her false shame and to his thorough delight.

Moaning softly, she stretched into the growing warmth she felt between her legs, her hips rolling of their own accord as she flattened her body against his. She resisted the urge to hook her leg over his waist and pull him closer. But only just.

“Ereinion,” she murmured more insistently, moving against him more purposefully now.

Slowly, Gil-galad walked his fingers against her thigh, inch by inch, pulling the hem of her dress toward her waist, fingertips brushing softly against her skin. His hand came to rest on her waist once again, her skirt hiked up, legs mostly exposed. His head tilted, eyes firmly fixed on hers as he waited patiently.

For her approval, for her blessing, for her command…

The heat in her core grew. She stretched into him again, rolling against the hardness she could feel growing against her thigh. A silent invitation.

Silence did not seem to be what he sought.

His voice was low. Eager. Hungry. “Would you—”

“If you start talking to me instead of touching me, I will muster whatever strength the Valar have left me with and scream.”

He blinked in momentary surprise, the second-guesses seeming to die on his tongue. But his eyes narrowed as he hiked one of her legs to his side, her skirt falling into a pool against her waist. She gasped at the sudden movement, at the vulnerability of being so exposed against him. At the friction against her core.

“But what if my goal is to make you scream? Surely you would not let me win so easily.” Her cheeks flushed red and he laughed, soft and low.

“Efficient,” he murmured at her lack of underwear, fingers trailing down the crease of her thigh. She broke out in goosebumps at the sensation, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. Lust thrummed through her.

Effortlessly, he rolled, placing her gently on her back under him, planting a well-muscled thigh between her legs. He hovered over her on his forearms, and she craned up to kiss him again. Long brown hair fell in curtains around their faces, blocking out the rest of the world.

Elaniel bucked, his thigh providing the pressure she desperately sought. She wasn’t fully in control of the motion and that fact clearly thrilled him. She started panting softly as her body found a rhythm against him. Her hands snaked down his stomach to palm the length of him as he rutted against her hand, kissing her frantically. She sat up, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder to wrap her arms around his neck, but he groaned and pulled back.

Her eyes fluttered open, confusion on her brow, as she dropped her hands.

“You are supposed to be resting your arm, not leaning on it. And…” A faint blush rose to his cheeks, his voice so low she could barely hear him despite the keenness of elven ears. “I wish to learn which sensations you find pleasurable.”

Her eyes glinted. “If helpful, I know which sensations I will enjoy.”

All of them. Any of them. Pick. Just touch me.

He gently guided her back down to the bed and began kissing her again. Down her neck, her collarbone, her sternum, earning more noises from her as he did so.

“Mm, indeed,“ he nodded, pretending to look thoughtful, his brow furrowing as he kissed his way softly down her body, hands roving anywhere his lips did not. “You would know. Therefore, it would seem I need to learn. Hands-on experience. You’ve always been a patient and thorough instructor.”

He tugged at the neckline of her dress, gently freeing her breasts as he murmured appreciatively, fingers trailing across her exposed skin. She broke out in goosebumps again at the sensation, whimpering for him as he took one of her nipples in his mouth.

Still, despite the ache building between her legs — and the fact that she would beg for him, right now, in any way he asked her to — she managed to tease him. “If this is how you would like to spend your evening, I am happy to indulge you.”

“Thank you for the learning opportunity,” he replied innocently, stilling for a moment above her. She flushed again, suddenly shy – and keenly aware she was bared to him while he was fully dressed. She gazed up at him, biting her lip, and tugged at the hem of his tunic.

Too much clothing. Let me see you.

Seeming to understand, he straightened above her to undo his belt and tunic, ripping the tunic over his head in one smooth motion to drop it to the floor. His skin almost glowed in the firelight and she drank in the sight of him, broad shoulders, firm muscles, and gods, his arms.

He stared at her with the same appreciation, hungry brown eyes seeming to memorize every line and curve of her. Finally, he leaned down and shifted her legs above his shoulders gently, a hand wrapping around her thigh to hold her in place. Kissing his way down her legs, his head dipped between her knees. He nuzzled deeper, opening her legs more until his nose was almost buried in her curls. Her body writhed slowly, straining to reach him, desperate for contact.

She was already aching for him, wetness running down her leg. She whimpered again — a last resort. Cheating, and she knew it.

Gil-galad laughed and his hot breath fanned against her, causing another spike of desire. She almost glared at him for it. He paused to press more kisses into her skin, so close to her. So close…Elaniel swallowed, holding her breath, waiting to feel him, to feel anything. Every muscle was taut, straining for his touch. She thought she would shatter.

This time, her whimper turned icy, frustrated, and she tilted her hips up to chase him.

“Stubborn,” Gil-galad chided teasingly. His warm tongue suddenly found her, swirling softly against her clit. He brought her body closer, dragging her hips up and burying his face against her to lick her open. Giving her the friction she desperately craved.

Elaniel inhaled sharply, her hand flying to his hair. She forced herself to hold back the wild feeling thrumming through her, to not grab him, ride against him, pull him up…

He hummed against her as her hips jutted again, her body begging for more, faster, harder.

He lifted his head — she huffed at the loss of his tongue — and brought up his hand, locking eyes with her. He put two of his fingers in his mouth, wetting them without looking away from her, the thumb of his other hand still swirling lazily around her clit. He paused, waiting again for her approval.

Her eyes closed again and she murmured “yes, yes, yes,” like a melody.

He glowed under her praise, his own eyes closing as he slid a broad finger into her— oh. so. slowly. Achingly slow. She had to stop herself from chasing his hand, to let him take his time.

He added another finger, teasing her again slowly, his knuckles brushing against the inside of her thighs as he sank into her, She stifled a moan and clenched around his fingers, the aching growing deeper within her.

Softly, he started murmuring praises as he maintained a steady rhythm into her, pressing kisses inside her thighs. His voice was hoarse with want as he told her how wet and warm she was, how beautiful she was, how much he loved her, how he thinks of her — only her — when he touches himself, how he always finished with her name on his lips, how she tasted like honey and he had known she would.

Another white-hot flash bolted through her as he found some…hidden…spot…. inside her with his fingertips and firmly stroked it. She inhaled sharply, seeing white, clawing at the bedsheets. Her thighs almost snapped shut against his arm, and he used his free hand to gently tap her hip, asking her to spread legs apart again.

As soon as she did for him, his head dipped, tongue twisting into her again, wet and hot and silky. His hand joined his tongue again and mercifully he kept a steady pace this time, fingers curling upward again as his mouth moved over her. Soft hair brushed against her legs, adding to the ocean of sensations she was drowning in.

She clawed at his forearms, his shoulders, clinging to him, holding him in place as she finally came, heat cresting over her. She sang for him without thought to how loud she was — shuddering as the hot, swollen ache inside her turned into silken relief around his fingers, coaxing her through each wave until she lay panting. Her muscles trembled from the strain and release, heart hammering in her chest.

Her mind slowly floated back into her body, a tingle coursing through her, every nerve overstimulated and simmering and satisfied.

Gil-galad reverently moved her legs to rest on the bed, arranging her limbs with a very self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. She felt him crawl up next to her, his weight shifting her slightly. He faced her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to his chest, still mindful of her wrapped arm. He sighed as she sank against him. “And now, perhaps you will sleep.”

Even in her blissful, half-asleep state, she could not stop herself. “High King, I urgently request your counsel. I have been lied to.”

Gil-galad chuckled as he arranged the blankets around them both, ensuring she was covered and warm. “Your king is at your command. What manner of lie have you been told, my Lady?”

She nuzzled into his chest, her eyes drifting closed as she took in the scent of him, his heartbeat still thudding. “That was not the work of an unlearned elf,” she teased. “Far too good. Experienced,” she mumbled in an accusatory tone, gently poking a finger into his shoulder.

A small, light laugh. “No, not experienced. But…perhaps I learned from a book, mmm?” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone, drawing a sleepy laugh from her.

“If that was the attempt of a novice, then I am most eager to help you master your craft…”

He shushed her gently. “Sleep. Tell me when you wake.”

As she drifted off, his hand lingering on hers, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. She knew he would stay by her side.

They will face tomorrow together.

Author’s Notes:

Regarding the laws and customs of the Eldar: How I am skirting it.

A.K.A How Elves Get Down

Many a writer out there *waves arms broadly* working with elves in Tolkien’s universe may feel the need to write them as a pretty straight-laced race of beings: no open lust, no sex outside marriage, unbreakable oaths. These are aspects aligned with the way Tolkien portrays elves, and so many fics featuring some of our faves will pair elves with OCs who are their betrothed or intended or spouse – a relationship that fits within the provided framework of elven marriages. Sometimes writers will make some complex (and cool!) rationales to allow this character to enter a relationship that way with x character despite abc reason.

Love these fics. LOVE THEM. Give me all the betrothal and intended and sneakylink hijinks you can. ….but don’t keep these lovely people sexually repressed unless you want to.

I will have a separate post on this that I'll come back and link, but my big work-around is "The document says bodily union. Define that for me."

✨ Star and Stone: Complete Chapter List

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

You are here -> Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Ch. 9: Wherever the Need is Greatest

Ch. 10: Where He Dwelleth, None Can Say

Ch. 11: Of Whom the Harpers Sing 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 12: Last High King of the Elves of the West

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

#gil-galad #the rings of power #gil galad #gil galad x oc #trop fanfiction #lotr rop #gilgadaddy #star and stone #high king gil galad #Erienion Gil-galad #the silmarillion #sindarin vs noldor FIGHT #laws and customs of the eldar #elrond peredhel #elrond #gilgalad

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fishsticksloser · 1 year ago

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If RoTTMNT requests are open, can I request a fluff Future Leo x Male Reader? Getting one for my bestie teehee, he is a simp :³

Fine Wine

F!Leo x male!reader

Warnings: playful banter, kissing, flirting, swearing, a tiny bit suggestive...

A/N: I had... Maybe a bit too much fun with this. To be fair, you left it open so don't judge me! 🫵 I hope your friend enjoys this. I don't blame him for being a simp... Have you seen my posts (or even my reblog account?)

You walk into Leo's room, he's sitting on his bed. His back against the wall, a book in his hand. "What're you doing?" Leo asks, setting his book on the table nearby.

"Ah. Just checking the fermentation that's going on in here." You tease, leaning against the doorframe. You smile brightly at Leo as he seems to get more comfortable. "You aging more like a fine wine or sauerkraut?"

Leo raised an eyebrow at your comment, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, I see how it is. Comparing me to sauerkraut now, huh? Well, I'll have you know, I age like a fine wine, sweetheart. Full-bodied and just a little rough around the edges." He chuckled, his voice dripping with playful arrogance. "But hey, if you're into that tangy, fermented goodness, who am I to judge?"

You step into his room, standing next to his side of the bed. "Mmm..." You hum softly, gently cupping his cheek. "I'd say a very fine wine." Leo's eyes widened slightly at your touch, his smirk fading into a more genuine smile. He leaned into your hand, enjoying the warmth of your touch.

"Well, well, aren't you full of compliments tonight," he responded, his voice softer now. "Guess I must be doing something right if I've earned your praise." He paused for a moment, his gaze meeting yours. "You know, I could use a taste tester. Care to join me in sampling this 'fine wine'?" he asked, his tone suggestive.

"How could I possibly say no?" You laugh softly, feeling Leo pull you closer. "Think I'm drunk already..." You whisper as your faces get closer. Leo's expression turned more serious as he pulled you closer, his gaze locked with yours.

His voice dropped to a low, husky tone. "Drunk on what, sweetheart? The taste of adventure? The thrill of danger? Or maybe... just maybe... the intoxicating presence of a certain red eared slider?" His lips brushed against yours in a teasing manner, his tone laced with a hint of mischief. "Either way, I'm more than happy to be your drink of choice tonight."

"Oh? Are you dangerous?" You ask, smiling as your lips brush his. Your other hand cups his other cheek, noses bumping. Leo's eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and desire as he felt your hand cup his other cheek. His lips curled into a mischievous grin.

"Dangerous? Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea." He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "I've battled countless enemies, faced down the Kraang, and survived against all odds. But the most dangerous thing about me?" His voice lowered to a seductive murmur. "It's the way I make your heart race, the way I make you crave more." His lips claimed yours in a deep, passionate kiss, his arm wrapping around your waist.

You kiss him back slowly, cupping the base of his skull. Your lips meld and mold against his. Leo's chest rose and fell with a mixture of desire and frustration as he pulled away from the kiss, his eyes locked with yours. "Damn... You'd make a pretty fine wine..." You mumble breathlessly.

He chuckled softly, his voice husky. "Well, sweetheart, I could say the same about you. Fine wine or not, you've got me craving another taste." He leaned in once more, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing manner before he pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But let's take it slow, shall we? We've got all night to savor the flavor."

Leo's lips lingered against yours, a hunger evident in his eyes. He chuckled softly, it's low and gravelly. His missing arm reaching out to you, but he leaned in once more, capturing your lips in another passionate kiss. Leo's arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you onto his lap as your lips melded together. He lost himself in the taste and feel of you, his body responding instinctively to the closeness. His tongue teased against yours, exploring and savoring the taste of you, his body pressing against yours with a raw, desperate desire. His hand slid up your back, his touch firm yet gentle as he deepened the kiss, your tongues dancing in a passionate rhythm. In this moment, there was no past, no regrets, only the intoxicating connection between two souls. The world outside ceased to exist as he focused solely on savoring every touch, every breath, and every moment of blissful escape.

You slowly move your kisses to his jaw and neck, wanting him to feel loved and wanted. You gently bite his neck, humming softly. Leo's breath hitched as your lips and teeth grazed his jaw and neck, a shiver coursing through his body. "Good year..." You tease lightly, still keeping up the playful banter.

He chuckled softly, his voice laced with desire. "Oh, a connoisseur of fine wines, are we? Well, I must say, this year is particularly exceptional." He tilted his head back slightly, giving you better access to his neck, a low growl escaping his throat as you gently bit down. "But I must warn you, sweetheart, once you've tasted the best, there's no going back." His tone was filled with both amusement and longing, his body responding eagerly to your touch.

"Don't I know it... But I wouldn't have it any other way..." You whisper, biting his bottom lip and tugging it slightly. "Can't get enough..." Leo's eyes darkened with desire as he felt your teeth graze his bottom lip. He let out a low growl of pleasure, his body responding to your touch.

"You know, I've always been one to indulge in the things I can't get enough of. Believe me, sweetheart, the feeling is mutual," he murmured, his voice husky. "It seems I've found something truly irresistible." His hand trailed up your back, fingers grazing along your spine, as he deepened the kiss once more. The taste of you, the feel of your body pressed against his, ignited a fire within him. He couldn't get enough of you, craving the intoxicating passion that flowed between you.

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ashprince-of-bel-air · 6 months ago

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Reading by firelight.

AN: a short Gale oneshot, I typed this on mobile so please forgive any errors or formatting.

Summary: Gale watches Tav read by the fire.

The sun was setting softly over the camp, casting a warm orange glow over the horizon. This had always been Gales favourite time of the day. The cool afternoon breeze sweeping through the camp as he again started to prepare supper over the campfire. It wasn't the silence that he enjoyed, as the rest of his campmates retired to their tents for a while, to rest their battle weary bodies, it was the fact he could watch Tav. Their afternoon ritual of sitting by the campfire after battle, engrossed in a large tome left him utterly speechless. The way the light from the fire flickered against their soft skin, still a little grimy from the days adventure, causing shadows to dance over their visage was like a drug to him; more often than not he had to remind himself to focus on making sure the stew in the pot didn't over boil or burn. He never had a problem serving perfect meals when he first joined the delightfully weird selection of comrades he now had, but now the amount of spoiled food was becoming suspicious to the group as they all tried to create conspiracies surrounding this new phenomenon. The current favourite conspiracy coming from Astarion claiming "Maybe Gale is going senile in his old age, either that or the tadpole has helped itself to a few two many braincells". Wyll was ever the gentleman and always suggested that the days adventuring were getting harder, that it wasn't fair to put such undue pressure on him. Lae'zel would just tut at the rest of the camp and eat whatever was given to her, warriors were not afforded the constant luxury of exquisite food.

Gale would look longingly at Tav as they read, they were completely absorbed with their book every night so he wasn't scared of being caught, he'd imagine their long slender fingers stroking against his skin softly as he watched Tav gently stroke the pages of the book many a night, yearning to feel their delicate touch along his body and tangled in his hair, wanting to know what it would feel like for Tav to massage away his aches at the end of a long day or even relieve his frustrations.

Every night he would tell himself mentally "Come on Gale, go talk to them, you don't shut up any other time." He would try to gear himself up, he'd even thought of a good pick up line to use, yet in every scenario he thought up, it just didn't come out right, mentally cursing Astarion and his charm for raising the bar impossibly high; jealous of the way the pale elf could seemingly flirt and seduce with ease.

"Hey Tav, I'm an open book too... and you can read me any time you like." Gale shuddered at the thought of him actually trying to say that, in each made up scenario he always came across as awkward and stuttering, then Tav would look at him like he was a creep. Tonight, he told himself that he actually would talk to them, it didn't matter what it was about, hells he would talk about crop rotation or the rising 'wizarding insurance' prices in Waterdeep, he just needed to talk to them. He could talk to them out in the road but could never bring himself to speak when it was just him and Tav alone. For a man who had a propensity towards verbosity, he was always rendered speechless when alone with them.

Gale checked the cooking stew, making sure it was simmering and wouldn't over boil again, for what would be the 5th time in a fortnight. He ran his now clammy hands through his hair in the hopes to make himself more presentable, although, considering he hadn't had chance to change from his grubby blood stained robe, he didn't think Tav would be offended if his hair was a little messy. His mouth began to open and form words as he stepped towards you until Astarion burst out of his tent and called out.

"Mmm Darling." His voice as it's usual delicate purr. "Something smells delicious." Astarion takes a seat by Tav, their shoulders and knees touching in an overly friendly manner, his eyes flitting between their face and their neck."and I definitely don't mean the food." Astarions voice dropped into a lower more lustful purr as he admired Tav's long and slender neck.

Gale was stopped dead in his tracks by the interaction and stepped back towards the pot of stew, his head slumped down in disappointment, watching through a contemptuous gaze as Tav closed their book and began chatting energetically with Astarion. "It's always that damned vampire" Gale cursed to himself, wondering jokingly if he could find a pointy stick in the woods to acquainte Astarion with. He shook his head to clear away those thoughts, tonight was not his time, but maybe tomorrow it could be. "No, it would be." He told himself sternly. He promised himself that he would speak to Tav tomorrow. But for now, he would have the memory of their soft and slender hands to take back to his tent with him, it was always a welcome thought on these lonely nights, forever wishing he had more than his imagination.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #gale x tav #baldurs gate 3 gale #i want to make it very clear #the book tav is reading every night is the filthiest smut you can imagine.

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bonefall · 1 year ago

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mmm would it be possible for Mistystar and Leopardstar to fight/met during the BOTTE? or was Leopard already fed up with Tigerstar, his batshit insane plans and her status reduced to 'Tiger's another lackey' (like Darkstripe and many others) to really care about revenge? if she ever thought about it, that is.. im assuming she would be pretty pissed about being killed (there was a post about Mistyfoot first trying to poison her and Leopard realized it and instead decided to take her on a solo patrol to.. deal with a rogue i think? and then Misty gave her a rock appointment) and might had thought about making Mistystar pay, but it's been soooo long before BOTTE that she might had.. moved on? or just decided she had better things to do, not sure.

I have a BIG rule for the BOTTE, an unmoveable object, which I will abide by like a solemn vow;

NO spirit will be killed by the same cat twice.

I already changed it so Yellowfang doesn't get Brokenstar (he's not even present) and Brambleclaw doesn't get Hawkfrost, so I certainly wouldn't have Mistystar do it to Leopardstar!

I have some ideas but first; context.

The Killing of Leopardstar

Mistyfoot was sloppy.

Leopardstar recognized the way that Mistyfoot had poisoned her food, because she'd done the same thing to Crookedstar before her. Not enough to make it quick, just enough to weaken.

The emotion that licks at her is frustration.

Is this what her life has come to? Dramatic irony? Is this some kind of cosmic joke? To die just like her predecessor, wasting away for a few seasons in the darkness of this musty den, before solemn mourning and empty platitudes from her underhanded murderer.

What should she even do about this? Reveal Mistyfoot in front of everyone, exile her, she plots against her from the safety of another Clan, some kind of rebellion, rah rah rah we just dealt with this.

It's boring. It's so boring it's offensive. This will be the state of RiverClan forever, deputies poisoning leaders and taking power quietly until the end of days. No honor, no nobility, just treachery until the sky dries up and its rich blue becomes a crackled pale-brown.

If she is to die, she will not go out in the slow and painful way she killed crookedstar without a fight.

So she smacks the limp fish aside and brushes past Mistyfoot with a snarl, not even caring enough to drink in the way her traitorous deputy's ears flushed pale, knowing she'd been caught.

Leopardstar calls for a rushed meeting, telling them all that there's actually 40 - 50 feral rogues on the border right now and she saw them all last night or something, so she's taking Mistyfoot to go confront them right now. Don't follow us.

(Something that the more astute members of the Clan immediately recognize as Leopardstar setting up cover for a death match, including Misty's brother Swansong. She snaps at him when he runs to stop her, Don't Follow.)

Once they're a fair distance away, at the southern delta that divides WindClan and RiverClan, where the cliffs will hide them and the wet stones will not catch the scent (and where Reedwhisker will die, someday), Leopardstar lays it out.

No more tricks. No more schemes. If one of them is to die, it will be with honor.

"You want my lives?"

(Boss music fades in. Misty sees the health bar appear lmao)

"Come and take them."

After she came and took them

Leopardstar is kind of obsessed with the final battle of her life. That fight was everything she hoped for, except that she didn't win.

She wants it again, and she will triumph this time.

Hawkfrost is easily able to twist it into, "You lost only because StarClan shone upon her with that stone. It wasn't real skill. Join our cause and we can get you that rematch, we will defeat Mistystar, win back RiverClan, and dethrone the Stars!" But at the end of the day, it's an excuse.

Same sort of excuse Leopardstar came up with when she believed she wanted an honorable battle, rejecting the guilt and fear that clawed at her to think about dying the way Crookedstar did.

She does this a lot. Dodging feelings of remorse or regret by substituting power fantasies, avoiding any hard lessons. She says she wants revenge, but what she's actually doing is avoiding taking an L. Shame is a vagrant in Leopardstar's heart; she will never let it stay for long.

But...

That's really hard to do when Tigerstar is actively using her and speaking over her in every interaction. Being here, in the Dark Forest, taking the SAME advice she once groomed into Hawkfrost to only look at the positives of Tigerstar's legacy and ignore atrocities, is embarassing.

It's HUMILIATING.

She had her starshine BASHED out of her with a rock and went to the hell she'd been downplaying since she "regrettably" tore down the Bonehill. Being Tigerstar's stooge. Reducing the proud, ferocious leader of RiverClan into a goon.

Towards the end, she will have a scene with Hawkfrost, proud warriors that they are as mentor and apprentice, and vaguely address this. As far as Leopardstar's ego will allow, of course... the shame of it.

It's an important moment, because it's as much about Leopardstar and Hawkfrost as it is about Hawkfrost and Ivypool.

Leopard is too set in her ways to change, even if she is capable of brief glimpses of self-reflection, of which this is one. Hawkfrost, however, is seeing his mentor and himself in a different light. How she'll let herself be humiliated over and over as long as she can cling to her ego... and how by doing Tigerstar's diplomacy work, Hawkfrost is doing the same.

And he's dragged his OWN apprentice into it, too. She accidentally double-killed her friend, Antpelt, but he killed him more by bringing all of these trainees here to begin with. How Ivypool gets pitted against Tigerheart because TigerSTAR is playing mind games, how it's destroying her bond with her sister, how much fun and joy in the Dark Forest he's missing out on by not giving the afterLIFE a chance...

How much he's thrown away for this, before and after his death.

I'm not sure yet if it's the LAST stop before the BOTTE, but it's close to the end of Hawkfrost's redemption arc. Recognition of self through the other. He is part of a cycle he has a choice to break.

But anyway... back to Leopardstar.

She wants to fight Mistystar, but I don't think I'll let her have that satisfaction. She has already gotten nearly everything she ever asked for and can't even acknowledge that she did.

I think it's most fitting for SWANSONG to finally get what he craves; a chance to take a burden off his sister.

Leopardstar allowed TigerClan to STRIP his brotherhood from her because they don't share blood. Forced him to pretend like Rippleclaw meant anything to him, as if Oakheart hadn't been his proud baba as long as he could remember. Stonefur, Mistyfoot, and Swansong are the kits of Graypool; and he's not gonna let this golden FART ignore that ever again.

So my idea is that when Leopardstar meets Mistyfoot in the Second Wave of the BOTTE, she pounces onto her for her rematch, but Swansong BURSTS out of the crowd in response and rips her off, allowing Mistystar to go back to defending their Clanmates

"I don't want YOU," Leopardstar spits, "My battle is with Mistystar!"

"Tough titfeathers! It's MY turn to get a hit in for Stonefur!" He bristles with equal parts fury and excitement, lunging towards a fight he's dreamed of for years.

Still subject to change, though! And I'm not sure if Swansong dies here, or in the 3rd Wave, or if maybe he succumbs to injuries after the BOTTE is over.

It would also be fitting if he got a whack on Mapleshade though... since Maple doesn't even consider him Applekin and won't curse him. It would be neat for him to get angry about that lmao. "What do you MEAN my siblings are haunted by a demon? But NOT ME?? What ELSE am I getting left out of???"

EDIT: I'm currently planning to kill him in the 2nd Wave

#better bones au #BOTTE #BB!Leopardstar #BB!Mistystar #BB!Swansong #BB!Hawkfrost #BB!OOTS #I say this about a lot of BB characters (because I love this project) but man I really like Swansong #Context btw because he hasn't come up in a while: Swan is the adopted brother of Stone and Misty. His biosibs were faders.#Beloved golden retriever coming up for his fake ear medicine to suffer as Part Of The Family #Oak was only going to ask Gray to suckle Misty and Stone for him but then they were like #''Hey wait. Ripple was only an honor sire anyway. This is super convenient wanna parent together?''#And BB!Oak is such a DUDE he was like ''Yooooo ABSOLUTELY I'd LOVE another baby with a friend!!''#Oak cannot walk 5 foxlengths without making a friend. He's just like that.#Sqweezy type grindset #They never really told the kits about Ripple because he wasn't relevant + Queen’s Rights anyway #But everyone else knew Ripple was Swan's biodad because he's the river's reflection of him. and the other two are literally blue.#The three of them were the last to know.#But Swansong is great because he's such a happy kind of angry when it comes to defending his family #He's like ''We have to hide a body? Girlie SAY NO MORE I have already compiled a list of top 10 places they'll never look''#''No we dont need to hide the body..'' ''Ah. Well. Ok that's fine too. Anyway. What is our cover story let's get the details straight''#She couldn't make him deputy because he's too aggressive and supportive lmao #He's actually a lot like a meaner and smarter Oak. He was super close to their dad.#Also he's the mate of Moss instead of Frog because I put it to a vote and we collectively said so #Fixing a minor inconsistency where Moss has more kits after Frog is supposed to be dead #Also Frog was a sleaze where Swankit from the Missing Kits was a blank slate.#Slaps the roof of the RiverClan this bad boy can fit so many blorbos in it #Between Hawk and Leopard and the entire Applekin family I really adore it

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theplottdump · 11 months ago

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ＳＩＤＥＰＬＯＴＴ - ＰＵＲＥＨＥＤＯＮＩＳＭ - PART 2 🔞 - 𝙶𝚎𝚗 𝟼: 𝚅𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚍 -

heat level: 🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶 (It's Smut with a Plot) content warnings: simdick, choking, graphic depictions of gay sex, I'm literally warning you now!!

Forward: This scene is something that I wanted to write anyway for the main plott eventually, and the PG-13 parts will end up popping up again in the main storyline - but for Valentines smut sake I thought it would be fun to jump ahead and take way farther than reasonably necessary. Godspeed. Don't say I didn't warn you.

PART ONE: ( The One with the Plott, Rating PG ) PART TWO: ( The One with the Smut, Rating R )

~ continued from part 1 ~

Leanne nodded a goodnight to her boys and left the room as wordlessly as she entered it. They might have taken the time to actually notice her departure if their eyes weren't fiercely locked on one another, both mentally preparing for the battle to come.

"Valerian, you're overreacting again." "Kindly explain how." "You're sure you want to do this right now?" "I'm not afraid of you darling."

Ask any couple about the secret to a long happy relationship and they'll likely explain the importance of communication and compromise. Sure, the two had their fair share of arguments and disagreements over the years, especially when it came to raising their baby girl-

-but they communicated and compromised just as much as any successful normal domestic relationship.

The only caveat: their communication and compromise skills often presented themselves in more… explosive manner.

And it was at this point as Chad studied Val's practiced stony expression that an idea started to take shape.

Tonight, he wasn't going to compromise. Oh no, Tonight he was going to 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙝𝙞𝙢.

Chad rested his forehead against Val's temple, looking up at him like a fox playing with it's next meal.

"We don't have to make it into a big deal, just some friends and family on the beach." "I don't have friends."

"You'd get to dress up, Sexy lil suit, Sunny can be our flower girl... I'd only have a few demands."

"Demands?" Val studied him, attempting to predict his partner's next move. It was like a mental game of chess, but if all the pieces spelled out 'this man is going to eat you.'

“I want a cake animation that doesn't work, flowers we forget to use-“ “Okay, fine.” “I want to try that mod that lets HANSEL walk down the aisle with a bouquet” “Maybe.” "And I want Poppy there." "No." "I want 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 to walk me down the aisle." "I said no."

Chad snaked his arms around Valerian's waist, pulling him to his hips, effectively closing any distance between them that might have led Val to believe he was getting out of this easily.

"I believe is what you actually meant to say is 'Yes Chad. Whatever you want my darling.'"

"You're delusional if you think I'm going to let that woman anywhere near my happiness. She would just poison it like she poisons everything good in her life." "You're just mad because she read you like a book. I do the same thing Val." "Yes, but I actually like you."

"Mmm, yes, I can tell." Chad slowly starting to grind his hips against Val's thigh, slipping two fingers into the waistband of his joggers and giving them a quick 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘱.

Val's eyes darkened again as they fought, rain against fire- Chad smile grew as he observed his favorite little cracks starting to form on Val's evil mask of concentration.

Yes, the Agent decided, this was going to be quite fun for him indeed.

"You're being ridiculous-" "Then tell me to stop." Any lightness in Chad's tone had been completely lost, leaving only a deep predatory growl in its place.

Val raised a hand to protest, his partner snatching it from the air without breaking eye contact, holding him close. Chad continued on in his low growl, "But know this 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳. If you concede, 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗻."

"Those rules hardly seem fair."

Val's demeanor had retained it's cool quality so far, but the cracks in his facade were growing deeper and more fractured. Through the gaps between the pieces, Chad could see his beautifully soft overgrown edgelord, and feel the prize for all his coercing stiffen against his leg.

He slowly brought Val's captured wrist to his lips, keeping a dedicated eye on the man's face. Chad wanted to watch his favorite part of their little dance. Mouth met it's target as tongue tasted heartbeat- villainous mask falling to the ground, leaving Val vulnerable once more.

His heart, which Val professed died long ago, was beating deliciously faster than the man wanted to let on. Persona broken, Chad earned an involuntary shiver from his beautiful, overzealous, and positivity fucked supervillain.

"Oh my love, you know I never play fair."

( concluded on Pillowfort - explicit content ahead 🔞 )

#sim spice #side plott #valerian plott #chad chinsley #spice level: absolutely fucked

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obsidiancreates · 1 year ago

Text

He Was A Dwarf, He Was A Hobbit, Can I Make It Anymore Obvious

How can I be more obvious?

Thorin should probably be listening to the meeting more intently, but his mind can't help it's focus elsewhere.

He's given Bilbo armor of Mithril, not only a metal more valuable than any other single item in the treasury, but a piece of light weight and easy maneuverability, such as fits Bilbo's methods of fighting and defending.

He did so in front of the whole company, and professed that he trusted only Bilbo of all of them. Perhaps these were dismissed by the hobbit as acts of pure madness, which would be... more than fair, but Thorin had reiterated Bilbo's deserving of the gift many times after The Battle, to prove the act genuine.

He defends Bilbo at every turn, against any who dare question his place in Erebor. He's had plants and books and cookware and even soil itself brought over from Hobbiton specifically, after learning of the various Shire settlements. He's asked Bilbo about his family history many times, always prompting Bilbo to go on when the hobbit worried he'd become too long-winded.

Mahal knows those times were near brain-melting, with how each family branch came with several stories, and those stories came with stories, and how the family tree was really more a twisting vine that kept merging and then splitting off and merging again with other vines.

But he'd paid attention, and made sure to let Bilbo know by referencing some of those stories sometimes. And it always made Bilbo smile brightly, gleam brighter than any jewel, than even the Arkenstone itself.

And yet, Bilbo seems to remain under the impression that the only intent is friendship.

Even when Thorin asks him to weigh in on "Matters of the royal family". When Thorin says he considers Bilbo apart of the family.

So obviously, the question occupies him often.

How can I be more obvious?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bilbo angrily shoves another pie Bombur's way. Bombur looks at him.

"Not that I'm complain', Bilbo," he says, grabbing his fork. "But this is the third one, you know."

"Well aware," Bilbo huffs. "But the meat's too dry again. I'm still struggling with adjusting to cooking so far below ground."

"Is it that different from your smial?"

"You've no idea," Bilbo grumbles, rolling out more dough. "It may be under dirt, but under dirt is very different from under stone. Not to mention cooking with coal instead of wood. And the difference in grain types, herbs, even the texture of the meats are different."

"Can't get it to taste like home?"

"I'm not trying to make it for myself, I'm trying to perfect it for Thorin."

Bombur grins. "Really?"

"Mmm, he mentioned once the texture he prefers his meats to be in pies, and I haven't been able to get it right yet. If I was at home, it'd be perfect every time, mind you."

"Why're you so focused on that, then?" Bombur hopes this means Thorin will finally stop with his shameless and, frankly, desperate flirting.

"Trying to court him, obviously. But don't you dare tell him I said so!"

Bombur chokes on the pie. "What?!"

"No way to start a courtship, asking outright like that. Makes a bloody scene of everything," Bilbo mutters as he puts the new pie in to bake. "The things I would hear about Primula after she asked Drogo, just out in the open like that, ha! Good for them that it worked out, but I'm too old to risk that kind of humiliation now."

"Humiliation?"

"The gossip." Bilbo's tone is so somber that Bombur wonders if perhaps 'gossip' means in Hobbiton what 'beheadings' means in Erebor. "Everyone knowing you're trying to start a relationship with someone, it always breeds misery."

"How?"

"Well," Bilbo starts with a rueful chuckle, "Angry competition, for one! If everyone knows who everyone's after so obviously, things sour quick. Attempts to ruin the courtships, mainly. The lies Prim had to deal with, just unbelievable, all to try and drive Drogo away from her."

"There's that little respect for courtships?"

"On the surface, there's plenty. Behind one's back, though, that's when it becomes a dreadful business. Not to mention the risk of rejection. Better for a quiet one where nothing goes anywhere and things can stay amicable. If it's public, well." Bilbo shakes his head. "That always gets messy."

"You think Thorin would you reject you?"

"I've no idea. Which is exactly how I want it." Bilbo sits down. "As long as I continue with this path, Bombur, I might never have to have my heart broken."

"And... what if he doesn't know you're trying?"

"Same result."

"And you'd just never ask?"

"Nope."

"... How do you think dwarves court, then?"

"I heard something about gifts, I think. Three of them, right?"

"Usually, yeah." Like a Mithril shirt, for example. Or moving almost the whole of Hobbiton into the mountain. As to if that counts as one gift or as many, that depends on who you ask.

"And something about braids and beads, I believe."

"Right. Has Thorin asked to braid your hair?"

"No, of course not. I don't know if he could, actually." Bilbo frowns suddenly, and touches his hair. "It's a bit too short for dwarven braids, isn't it?"

"He could make do."

"Mmm... but we're talking as if he'll return the affection."

"What would he have to do, then? To return it?"

"Usually it's done quite slowly. Having something to give back when food is brought over, like having a tart ready at the table. Checking if they're low on anything, as well, which basically amounts to sharing one's kitchen. Offering to mend things that may need mending in return, and then after a bit insisting it's no trouble and no return needed. And sharing, that is what really makes it official. Especially if in public."

"Really?"

"Sharing a pie in public is as good as shouting it from the top of the hill."

"Never would've thought Hobbits to be subtle courters."

"Please," Bilbo huffs again. "If we were anything but, I assure you idle gossip sessions would end up more like what happens here after insulting someone's metalworking in the forges."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"That's the problem?" Kili groans and plops his forehead down onto the table. "Uncle's been going mad, and Bilbo's been flirting right back the whole time!"

"Why don't they just ask each other about courting rituals?" Fili says, throwing his hands up. "We're the ones suffering watching all of this!"

"Tauriel and I talked about all this ages ago," Kili says into the stone tabletop. "How has Uncle not realized Bilbo has no way of knowing Dwarf courting?"

"Should we tell him?"

"Someone has to, he'll never figure it out at this rate."

"Should someone tell Bilbo, also?"

"Can you imagine? Bilbo learning Uncle has been very publicly trying to court him this whole time? He'll die of shame!"

"He won't ever figure it out either, though."

"You tell Bilbo then, Fili. I refuse to watch him turn to smoke and ash when he finds out the whole mountain knows about this."

#the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #thorin x bilbo #bagginshield #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic

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stari-hun · 4 months ago

Text

Limbus Maxxing

My live rambles on limbus company as I play (I like Mili so imma play for them).

Prologue rambles under the cut

TRUCK KUN?!

Ok Kaalaa Baunaa ass

Oh great so our name is Dante and we just made a pact with some unknown entities who are vaguely ominous and homosexual

Faust: Wassup dawg ur now leader of the squad

MC: what squad??? WHO ARE YOU???

Faust: Not the people killing you

OH GOD WHY DOES THE BATTLE MECHANIC LOOK SO SCARY-

Oh god I’m not understanding shit. Can’t wait to overlevel and just be op

Panther: 0 stars on Yelp, shit theatre kid performance, will not be going back

Ah yes a clock with a time gimmick very unexpected much wow very woah

The CG art is so cool, fully how it’s different than the sprites

MC is fr deciding trust purely off vibe checking people

MC: why is everyone calling me Dante?

Faust: It’s your name

MC: Nuh uh

Faust, ignoring MC: You’ll get used to it

Gregor: ay Buddy just to start off with, I’m not judging with anyone’s representation and what they decide to do with their head yk? Your body ur choice

Mmm delicious immoral actions and expectations from a higher organization in control the group is forced to rely on. I eat it up every time. Constantine would thrive in this world

Ishmael: All of your introductions are disappointing as hell. You do know this is us introducing ourselves to a superior right? We’re working right now.

Also Ishmael: I’m Ishmael

LIKE LMAOO????? All that and she also gives an informal introduction. Also the similarities in the way the intro cards treat Sinners and how Arcanists are treated in hit game Reverse 1999

Heathcliff: Yeah I don’t care about trying to please you or fitting in (proceeds to give one of the only proper self introductions)

HELLOOOO???? If he gets angry we contact HR lmaoooo

Ok Tsukasa move it on

Ah yes, the token autistic member, I see you Hong Lu

Ignoring that lady-

Ah another autistic, this time one with an unfortunate but definitely gendered name. Love me a character who just wants to do their job then clock out

Oh ew Dante is French /silly

MC: wow Meursault you’re really one of the polite people here :)

Meursault: This is the normal reaction for this situation

MC: :)

MC’s thoughts: Something’s deeply wrong with him.

Outis going on this long chuunibiyou like rant to MC while they have no clue what’s going on still

Outis: I vow to serve you with unrivaled devotion, Executive Manager. My blade is yours to wield.

MC: here I thought you’d be one of the normal ones….

MC: I mean I want my head back but eh….. eH

Vergilius: smh, I tell you to go to hell and you hesitate? Smh.

Imagine losing ur head and memories and non-binary company takes you, dies, gets revived, and tells you to literally go to hell

Faust: Ur strategy game is clearly shit so let me tell you how to improve

Vergilius: enough useless chatter

No???? Knowing how to revive people is actually incredibly useful?? I need to know how to be doing that

WE HAVE A FUCKING SANITY BAR??? NOOOOOOOOOOO

Oh god the designated driver is a speed demon-

Yeah Kagamine Rin, speak ur truth

Vergilius is such an antiyapper. Get bro some noise cancelling headphones with the way he hates background dialogue

Charon: Damn. A missed chance to run someone over.

AYYYYYYY MILI SONGGG WRAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Oh damn it really is a bus and not a train- though to be fair it is like the outer look of a train just compressed into one car

#honeystar #yapping #limbus company #complete shitpost of no value

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pocketfullofpearlies · 4 months ago

Text

RISE OF RED: A TALE OF HEADS AND HEARTS

(Descendants: Rise of Red Fan fiction/Re-imagining)

Chapter 3

Clothes? Check.

Shoes? Check.

"Chloe!"

Skincare and makeup? Check.

"Chloe!"

Jewelry? Check.

Interior decor for room? Check.

Devices? Check.

"Chloe!"

Extra notebooks and journals?

Extra notebooks and journals!

"CHLOE!"

King Charming's raised voice jolted his daughter out of her thoughts and she blinked at him, putting her sword down at her side.

"Dad..why'd you stop?"

"Maybe because you zoned out for almost three minutes there, hon. If this had been an actual battle ground, you'd be long gone by now,'' King Charming said, walking over to a table at the side and grabbing a glass of water.

Chloe groaned and itched at her neck awkwardly.

''I'm sorry, Daddy. I know I got you out here so I could do some sword training with you to get my mind off of things, yet here I am still stressing over the fact that I might not have enough notebooks for the semester.''

''I doubt that'll be an issue, Chloe,'' a calm, soft, lightly accented voice spoke, causing both Chloe and the King to turn round.

Queen Cinderella walked in to meet her husband and daughter, looking elegant in a simple yet stunning day gown that was silvery-white but shone with a blue hue when hit by the light. The dress complimented her gorgeous brown skin and went well with her honey blonde hair, done up in braids and held in an intricate fish-tail plait.

Chloe loved the way her mother's bedazzled crown was placed on her bed of glorious hair, although she already looked like royalty regardless of it.

''If you run out, which I doubt you will,'' she continued, ''the school has more than enough that you can use, ma cherie.''

''I never once carried a book at the beginning of a new semester,'' the King said, going up to meet his wife.

''And yet he always managed to pass excellently well,'' the Queen said, leaning into her husband's arms.

''What can I say? I am charming,'' he said, giving her a soft kiss on the lips.

''Mmm....that's debatable,'' she teased.

Chloe rolled her eyes playfully.

Her parents were never shy in expressing their love for each other.

Her phone buzzed from a pocket in her pants and she pulled it out only to see yet other text from her older brother.

AP Tip #765: Compliment the lunch lady and she'll give you the Bayou Special like we had at Queen Tiana's restaurant last time we visited.

''Qui est-ce, bébé? (Who is it, baby?)'' the Queen when she noticed Chloe typing back a reply.

''It's just Chad, Mum,'' Chloe answered. ''And now he's video calling.''

She picked and raised her phone up immediately greeted by her brother's smiling face.

''Bonjour, baby sis,'' he said, shaking his golden curls out of his face.

Chad had inherited his features from their grandfather, having fair skin, hair the colour of a wheat field and eyes like a tropical waterfall.

Chloe, on the other hand, had combined their parents looks, with her skin that was a perfect light brown, deeper toned blonde hair like their mother and eyes like a flickering fireplace that matched their father's.

''I assume the pink thong on your lamp doesn't belong to you?'' she whispered back.

''H-how did that get there?'' Chad laughed awkwardly, moving his phone so it wouldn't show.

''Tell Audrey I said hi,'' Chloe said, still in a low voice.

''Yeah, well, she's out getting her hair done so I'll see her much later.''

''Are you talking to Chad, baby? Bring the phone over!'' Queen Cinderella said, gesturing for Chloe to come.

''Mommy! Pops!'' Chad said immediately the Queen took the phone from Chloe.

''Chadwick, mon fils!(my son!)'' the Queen gushed.

''How you doing, bud?'' asked the King.

''About to finish getting ready for the tourney match. You still coming?''

''Of course! Your mum's gonna drop Chlo off, help her settle down and join us there.''

''Really wish I could be there with you, Chloster, but Jay has been on everyone's asses about the game-''

''-Language, Chadwick!'' his mother scolded.

''Yeah, watch your tone around your mama, college boy,'' the King warned, his voice strict, but giving his son a wink through the screen.

''What happened to your manners, your royal blondness?'' Chloe teased.

Chad made a face at her and was about to continue talking when Chloe's phone started beeping and buzzing.

''What's that?'' he asked.

''The alarm I set so mum and I would leave the castle on time,'' she replied, tapping her phone screen to deactivate it.

''I think we'd better head out now, ma cherie. It's a two hour drive to Auradon if we don't run into any traffic,'' the Queen said.

Chloe nodded but her brother noticed how her face fell slightly.

''Hey, it's gonna be okay, Chlo. Auradon Prep is the-''

''-the best, I know,'' she completed. ''And it's even more special because mum and dad went there and so did you.''

''Exactly! It'll be a breeze. Don't be such a worry wart like mum.''

''Very funny, Chadwick," the Queen said sarcastically, but with a small smile on her face .“I’ll see you when I’m done at AP.”

“See you soon, Mummy,” Chad said. “Bye, Dad. Eat rocks, Chlo. Love you.”

The call went off and Chloe sighed, pocketing her phone.

“I guess it’s time to say the final goodbyes,” she said, looking at her dad.

“Aww, hon.”

King Charming wrapped his daughter in a big hug, resting his head on top of her blonde curls.

“I’m gonna miss you, mouse,” he said.

“Me too, Daddy.”

Chloe inhaled his clean, woody scent, knowing she wouldn’t get to smell his cologne for the next few months.

“My princess,” the king said, when he released her from the hug, admiring her features that were so similar to his own.

Queen Cinderella watched them, blinking rapidly to avoiding tearing up.

“Your Majesty,” a servant said, bowing as he stood in the doorway. “All the princess’ bags have been loaded into the car.”

“Thank you, Mithius,” the Queen said. “My loves, I’ll be in the car too.”

She kissed her husband again and stroked Chloe’s face lovingly.

“You can put any last minute things from your room in your rucksack,” the king said as she walked away, “including a new pair of shoes your mum and I got for the semester.”

That made Chloe light up and she beamed.

“Really?”

“But of course. Our baby can’t start school without some new kicks. It’s like a family tradition.”

“Now I’m gonna miss you more than ever.”

“I know, I know. What can I say? I’m amazing.”

“Daddy!”

The king chuckled. “Your mum and I will come visit you regularly, mouse, don’t worry. Plus I’m sure you’re gonna make so many new friends; you won’t ever be lonely.”

Chloe laughed with him. “Yeah, sure.”

“I mean it. Now, go on. You don’t want to keep your mama waiting.”

After one last hug and a trip to her room to pick up some notebooks and her new shoes, Chloe was seated with her mum in their cream coloured limousine.

“This is it, Cherie. You’re on your way to a bright and beautiful future,” Queen Cinderella said, smiling sweetly at her daughter.

“Is that how you felt on your first day?”

“You mean my first day in a new school in a whole new country with step-sisters that hated my guts? Absolutely not.”

“My bad; you definitely had it worse.”

“Well, it’s not a competition, dear. And my greatest joy is that you and your brother have never faced any of the difficulties I did.”

“Do you think grandmere and grandpere would’ve wanted you to attend Auradon Prep? Grandpere was a lord, right?”

“He was, and the title was supposed to be passed onto me when he died, but my step-mother had other ideas and I didn’t have the power to go against her. When we moved from France down here, the only reason she put me in school at all was to avoid suspicion, and even though my step-sisters literally wanted to die at the prospect of me being in the same school as them, she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone thinking she couldn’t afford the best money could buy for even someone as lowly as me.”

“And as chance would have it, you met a French prince that swept you off your feet, and your life has been a fairytale ever since.”

“That’s why I want you to go there and find your own. We can’t keep you hidden away in Cinderellasburg forever. The world deserves to meet you, and you deserve to experience it all.”

“You make it all sound so dreamy, but I don’t know, I’m still scared. I hope I can live up to the legacy you, Dad and Chad have set…..okay maybe just you and Dad’s legacy. You get what I mean, though.”

Queen Cinderella laughed at Chloe’s expression, reaching out to arrange her curls.

“Just be yourself, Chloe. Be true to who you are; don’t compromise. You’re perfect. Okay?”

Chloe smiled gratefully. “Merci, maman.”

Her phone buzzed and she looked at the screen, brightening up immediately.

“It’s Dizzy. She’s asking if we’re on the way,’ she told her mum as she began rapidly typing out a reply.

“Tell her we’ll be there in half an hour, and that her mum can only use a vacation as an excuse to not call back three times before it gets sus.”

“I am not telling my cousin that you just used the word ‘sus’.”

“I know for a fact that I used it within the right context.”

Chloe bit back a snort, raising her eyes from her phone briefly to see her mum’s nose in the air sassily.

It was from moments like this that one could tell where Chad got some of his whims from.

“Ooh, Dizzy says Aunt Faye’s going to be at the Welcome Ceremony today.”

“Yes, she’s officially handing over the role of Principal to Uma today. The ceremony’s going to be incredible.”

“Wait…Uma the pirate? My Principal? Okay, now I can’t wait to get to school.”

The minutes in the car seemed to fly away as a comfortable silence washed over mother and daughter.

Before Chloe knew it, they were driving over the smooth, cobbled paths of Auradon Prep.

The car was parked in the designated spot for the Charmings in the parking lot and the Queen and princess came down.

As usual, there were bows and greetings directed to them the moment they were sighted.

Chloe smiled politely in return as they walked the path together, only to hear an ear-shattering squeal that made her smile double in size.

Dizzy, her step-cousin, ran up to meet them, wearing a green, silky romper with reddish brown hair styled atop her head in space buns that were both childish and mature at once.

“Hey,” they chorused as soon as she got to them and they shared a hug.

“It’s so good to see you again, Chloe. You look sooo cute. And Aunt Ella, ravishing as always. Is that a custom design?”

“But of course. I designed it specially for my baby’s big day.”

Dizzy observed the dress closely, nodding in awe and approval.

“The stitch work is phenomenal.”

“I know. The mice really outdid themselves on this one.”

“I’ll definitely come round the castle sometime to check out your new work. But for now, I need to get Chloe settled it.”

Chloe then noticed the bedazzled ear-piece Dizzy was wearing and the clipboard and pen in her right hand.

“I’m still on the clock right now, but you can just join the line over there to meet my girl Celia. I’ve already picked out the perfect room for you in the system beforehand, so all you have to do is sign in with Celia and pick up your dorm key, okay?”

“Okay,” Chloe said with a nod.

Dizzy gave her step-aunt and cousin one last smile before she walked past them to continue welcoming new students.

“You ready, angel?” Queen Cinderella asked.

Chloe took in a deep breath and released.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

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aishangotome · 7 months ago

Text

Minamoto No Yoritomo: Chapter 24

Chapter 23

♡———♡

As I looked at him longingly, our breaths mingled...

In the darkness with my eyes closed... our lips softly met.

Yoshino: Mmm...

(I like him)

(I like Yoritomo-sama)

The core of my head tingles, and I forget everything else.

Before I know it, Yoritomo-sama's tongue slips in and tickles the inside of my mouth.

Yoshino: Nn... ah...

My skin grows hot at the sweet sound that escapes unconsciously.

Our lips part with a fleeting watery sound... and Yoritomo-sama lets out a faint breath.

Yoritomo: You're having a melting reaction, aren't you?

Yoshino: I'm not...

Yoritomo: You are. Or are you not aware of it?

Yoritomo: Then I can make you aware of it.

Even though he's saying teasing words, Yoritomo-sama's eyes are filled with unconcealable heat.

It's embarrassing, but it's also unbearably joyful and makes my chest ache.

(But I've been...)

I knew deep down that my body was showing the exact reaction he was teasing me about.

Yoshino: It's not fair... You're the only one who's so composed, Yoritomo-sama.

(I'm already overwhelmed...)

Yoritomo: I'm not particularly composed.

Yoritomo: I've wanted to kiss you like this for a long time.

Yoshino: Is that so...?

Yoritomo: Yes.

(...I didn't know being loved with the same intensity could be so fulfilling.)

Happiness fills me as I'm held tightly and his face is buried in my shoulder.

Yoritomo: But...

Yoritomo: Now that I've kissed you, you're even more enticing than I imagined, and I don't know what to do with you.

Yoshino: ...That's not true.

Yoritomo: It is. You're a troublesome one.

His breath tickles my neck, and I squirm.

Yoritomo: I guess I'll have to teach you properly after all?

Yoshino: Ah...

His lips touched my pale skin, and my shoulders jumped in surprise.

Yoritomo: Look, what's wrong?

Yoshino: Ah... wait a moment... ah...

Yoritomo: I can't hear you.

A soft touch trails down my neck, and wet kisses are dropped.

Each time, a sweet shiver runs through me...

(...I feel strange.)

(Is this what happens when you're touched by someone you truly love?)

Even if I had the strength, I definitely couldn't escape his embrace.

Yoritomo: You're cute.

The large palm that was supporting my back suddenly loosens its grip...

(...!)

Helplessly, my vision flips, and I'm gently lowered onto the bedding.

Yoshino: Yoritomo-sama...

Yoritomo: What is it, Yoshino?

My voice, which had called out his name in desperation, melts into a whimper.

Yoritomo: ...I can't take it anymore.

Yoritomo: That face that says "do whatever you want with me."

His intense gaze falls on me, and my skin flushes with shame.

Yoritomo-sama's hair, which covers me, sways softly.

Yoshino: I... but...

(When you look at me like that... touch me like that, I can't help it.)

Yoritomo: ...You're truly an unmanageable woman.

Yoshino: ...Nn...

His lips lightly press against mine, silencing my protest, and then quickly parts.

He then gently bumps his forehead against mine...

Yoritomo: It's a shame.

Yoritomo: If you were in perfect health, I'd take you right here, but...

(Take...!)

Yoshino: ...Please don't say such things.

Yoritomo sits up, chuckles lowly, and gently strokes my cheek.

Yoritomo: Don't worry.

Yoritomo: I intended to savor the pleasure after settling the war anyway.

Yoritomo: When everything is over, I'll torment you to my heart's content... and cherish you.

Yoshino: That's not reassuring at all!

If he touches me any more than this, I'll surely melt with happiness.

I look up at Yoritomo, completely at a loss.

Yoritomo: Then don't be reassured.

Yoritomo: Remember what I said and be adorably nervous.

(Oh no...)

Yoritomo: Understand? When this battle is settled, I'll claim you.

Yoritomo: You can pretend to forget and resist from scratch, but I won't stop next time.

(...Even if he doesn't say it, I'm already his.)

With just a little touch, I was easily made aware of that fact.

Yoshino: ...Mean.

I turn away, and instead of replying, I gently grasp Yoritomo's hand.

Yoshino: You're a terrible person, Yoritomo-sama.

Yoritomo: Have you come to dislike me?

(No way.)

Yoshino: It's too late for that now.

Hearing my answer, Yoritomo laughs contentedly above me.

Yoritomo: Then sleep a little longer.

Yoritomo: If you can eat, I'll bring you some food later.

Yoshino: Yes, thank you very much.

Carefully wrapped in a blanket, the heat from her body, which had been fanned just a moment ago, gradually changed into a comfortable warmth.

The feeling of being cherished made her feel a little ticklish.

Yoshino: I'll recover quickly... so I can be by your side again.

Yoshino: You'll be back on the battlefield tomorrow, won't you?

Yoritomo: Don't rush.

Yoritomo: You're the only one who has the power to counter Yoshitsune and Kurama's curse,

Yoritomo: But Morinaga and I have already discussed a plan in case you don't recover in time.

(Yoritomo is being considerate.)

(But I still hate not being useful... so I need to rest my body.)

As Yoritomo-sama gently stroked my hair, I began to doze off.

Yoshino: I'm sure I'll be able to get up tomorrow.

Yoritomo: I want to see Morinaga and the rest of the soldiers and make sure they're okay.

Yoritomo: You idiot. You're the one who needs to be checked on.

Yoritomo: Everyone was so worried about you. Put their minds at ease.

Yoshino: Y-yes...

Her eyelids grew heavy, and she slowly drifted off to sleep.

(Hmm... It's bright.)

I slowly opened my eyes to see the morning light filtering through the tent.

(What happened yesterday? Yoritomo-sama is...?)

I looked around with a hazy head,

Yoshino: Ah...

Yoritomo was sitting with his back lightly against a pile of luggage, his eyes closed.

(Sleeping in a place like this... Did he stay with me the whole time?)

As I got up from the bedding, she felt a slight dizziness.

(I'm still not back to normal. But I can move properly.)

Yoshino: Thank goodness.

After a sigh of relief, I slowly walked over and knelt in front of Yoritomo-sama.

(What a beautiful face.)

The morning light softly illuminated his masculine face with its high nose bridge.

(I'm really in love with this man...)

Suddenly feeling embarrassed, I tried to stand up when,

Yoshino: Ah!

My arm was grabbed.

Yoritomo: Yoshino.

(Yoritomo-sama...!)

His navy blue eyes, instantly filled with a strong light, reflected my image.

Yoritomo: Good morning. You're already up?

Yoshino: Ah... Good morning.

Yoritomo: There's still time before the battle. You can rest a little longer.

His slightly hoarse voice was the only indication that he had just woken up.

Yoritomo: How are you feeling?

Yoshino: Thanks to you, I think I'm fine now.

Yoshino: Even though I'm still dragging around the lingering fatigue of a cold, yesterday, my body had felt as heavy as lead, but that all feels like a lie now.

Yoritomo: Is that so? That's good to hear.

Yoshino: Yes!

(Oh, but...)

Yoshino: If Yoritomo-sama doesn't sleep properly in bed, his fatigue won't go away...

Yoritomo: I'm used to it. I slept plenty for a battlefield.

Yoshino: Well, if that's the case, then it's fine...

(...That's right!)

I look around and see that my luggage has also been brought into the tent.

I search through it and take out some pills I had prepared beforehand.

Yoshino: Here you go, Yoritomo-sama.

Yoritomo: Hm?

Yoshino: It's a tonic. It's effective in relieving fatigue.

Yoritomo: What are you talking about?

With a slightly exasperated look, Yoritomo slapped my cheeks.

Yoritomo: You're the one who needs nourishment. Your face still doesn't look good.

(Ugh...)

Yoshino: Of course, I was planning to take it too, but it would definitely be better for you to take it, Yoritomo-sama!

Yoshino: You have an important body that leads everyone.

Yoritomo: --I understand.

Yoritomo casually took the pill and put it in his mouth...

(Huh?)

He pulled my neck towards him and kissed me.

Yoshino: Hmm... uh...

(Wh-Why?)

A deft tongue delivers medicine, a faint bitterness spreading in the mouth.

Yet the lingering sensation of departing lips is unbearably sweet.

Yoshino: Just a moment, Yoritomo-sama...

Yoritomo: Here.

Water is handed over before any complaint can be voiced.

(Geez, really...)

Reluctantly swallowing, a resentful gaze is directed at Yoritomo.

Yoritomo: There, there. You were so good at drinking it all up.

Yoshino: I can drink by myself, you know!

Yoritomo: Is that so?

Yoritomo: I can't.

(......)

His long fingers pick up the pill and it touches my lips.

Yoritomo: Let me drink it, Yoshino.

(...Yoritomo-sama is really sly.)

I can't refuse his sweet teasing because I've somehow grown to love his mischievous smile.

Yoshino: Mmm.

I obediently take the medicine and hesitantly press my lips against Yoritomo-sama's.

(His face is hot.)

Even after the short kiss ends, the slight fever in my skin doesn't subside.

Yoritomo: Thank you for your effort.

Yoshino: But... Yoritomo-sama, aren't you embarrassed?

Yoritomo: Not at all.

Yoritomo finishes drinking his water with a cool expression.

Yoritomo: Why should I be embarrassed to kiss a woman I'm in love with?

Yoshino: We only became lovers yesterday?

Yoritomo: It took quite a while to get to this point. I'm allowed this much, right?

Yoshino: That's going a bit too far... I think your reasoning is a bit forceful...

Yoritomo: You're not used to it, are you?

(The truth is, I don't mind it at all, so it's troubling.)

Yoritomo gives a small laugh at my pursed lips.

Yoritomo: Before I went into battle today, I wanted to kiss you.

Yoritomo: ...Would you believe me if I said that?

Yoshino: ...Is that true?

Yoritomo: Who knows. Decide for yourself.

(Oh, come on!)

I give a resentful look at Yoritomo as he calmly begins to get ready.

Yoshino: Even though we're lovers now, that part of you hasn't changed.

Yoritomo: What part?

Yoshino: The part where you enjoy teasing people.

Yoritomo: That's right.

Yoritomo's eyes sparkle with amusement as he looks at me.

Yoritomo: Give up. You'll be teased by me for the rest of your life.

Yoshino: For the rest of my life...

Yoritomo: Yes, for the rest of your life.

His arrogantly declared words pierce the center of my chest and melt softly within.

Yoritomo: So live, and let's return together.

(Ah...)

I remember the words Yoritomo-sama said to me yesterday as he led a small number of soldiers and survived the battlefield.

*flashback*

Yoritomo: Yoshino, I will definitely bring you back alive. No matter what.

Yoshino: I... want you to live too.

Yoritomo: Don't be cheeky.

*flashback over*

At that time, Yoritomo didn't give me a clear answer when I wished for him to live.

(Probably... because Yoritomo looks ahead and acts accordingly, he didn't say anything uncertain.)

(But now, he said we'll return together.)

My feelings turn into determination and rage through my body like a storm.

Yoshino: I... want to live with you tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and forever after that.

Yoshino: I want to live and see the world you create.

Yoritomo: Yes. I promise you.

Yoritomo: When this battle is over, I'll be by your side.

Yoritomo: And then... I'll dedicate the victory we've won to you and the Kamakura shogunate.

Yoshino: ...Thank you.

(I'm not afraid of anything anymore.)

The light of Yoritomo's will was surely imprinted on my heart through our exchanged gaze.

A while later... I finish getting ready and head outside with Yoritomo-sama.

Morinaga: Yoritomo-sama, Yoshino!

Yoshino: Morinaga-san...

Recognizing us, Morinaga-san runs over with a big smile on his face.

Yoritomo responds with a slight wave of his hand.

(It feels like it's been a long time since I've seen Morinaga-san.)

(Maybe it's because so much has happened in such a short time.)

My chest tightens at his familiar smile.

Yoritomo: What is it? Were you waiting for us?

Morinaga: I was just about to go greet you.

Morinaga: I was worried about Yoshino, you know.

(Morinaga-san...)

Morinaga: Yoshino, you're able to get up now. Are you alright?

Yoshino: Yes! Um... I'm sorry for worrying you.

Morinaga: Don't worry about it. Yesterday was tough, wasn't it? I heard from Yoritomo-sama.

Morinaga: Please forgive me for not being able to get there when you were suffering the most.

He bows his head with a serious expression, and I hurriedly shake my head.

Yoshino: Don't say that!

Yoshino: I heard you guys were also unable to move. It was tough for both of us, wasn't it?

Morinaga: It was my lack of strength that made it difficult to deal with the enemy.

Morinaga: I couldn't even grasp the fact that the main unit was in such a dangerous situation.

Yoritomo: Don't get the wrong idea, Morinaga. Your mission was to hold back Benkei, not to protect me.

Morinaga: No.

Morinaga: Ever since we shared a life in exile in Izu, it has been my job to protect Yoritomo-sama.

Yoritomo: You're talking big.

Morinaga sighed deeply at Yoritomo, who shrugged his shoulders.

Morinaga: I'm not joking.

Morinaga: The thought of losing you sends chills down my spine.

(I've never seen Morinaga-san like this...)

Yoritomo: I was aware of the danger. I was prepared for the worst.

Yoritomo: But I knew that if I could just get this far, I could turn the tide of this battle again.

Yoritomo's fist tapped Morinaga's chest.

Morinaga: Yoritomo-sama...

Yoritomo: We don't have time to regret.

Yoritomo: We need you to work, Morinaga.

After staring at Yoritomo's bright eyes, Morinaga smiled happily.

Morinaga: As you wish.

(Seeing these two makes me feel at ease...)

Yoritomo: Yoshino. I'm sorry to ask this of you when you're just recovering from your illness, but I need your help too. Are you ready?

Yoshino: Of course!

As we walked, we arrived in the middle of the camp, which was bustling with preparations for battle...

Soldiers: ....!

The soldiers, recognizing Yoritomo, straightened up in unison.

Yoritomo: Thank you for your hard work, everyone. Continue your preparations.

Soldiers: Yes, sir!

(Oh, there are people from the same unit as yesterday!)

I'm relieved to see that they're safe.

(...But they seem to be looking at me strangely.)

I'm startled to realize that I'm being looked at with a clearly different gaze than yesterday.

Yoshino: ...! Um, Yoritomo-sama.

Yoritomo: Hmm?

Yoshino: Um, about me using the fox spirit's power yesterday...

Yoritomo: Ah. Some of the soldiers saw you.

(I knew it...!)

Yoritomo: If you had just taken the curse power in the midst of the chaos, no one would have noticed.

Yoritomo: But you did it so conspicuously. It couldn't be helped.

Yoshino: But...

Yoritomo: For now, I've hidden the fact that Tamamo is a yokai and just explained to them that you have mysterious powers.

Yoritomo: I've made sure they won't pry any further, so don't worry.

Yoshino: Thank you...

(But, those looks... I guess I creeped them out.)

Morinaga: Oh. They're coming this way.

Yoshino: Huh?

The soldiers, who had been cautiously approaching, knelt on the ground and greeted Yoritomo-sama.

Yoritomo: It's fine. Relax.

Soldiers: Yes, sir!

The soldier who seemed to be the leader spoke up on behalf of everyone.

Soldier 1: With all due respect... we have something we would like to convey to Yoritomo-sama and Yoshino-sama.

(Hmm? Yoshino-sama?)

Yoritomo: You may speak.

The soldier's expression relaxed as if relieved, and he continued speaking.

Soldier 1: First of all, Yoshino-sama... thank you for saving us with your divine power yesterday!

Yoshino: ...! Divine power...?

(I just borrowed curse power from Tamamo...)

I noticed that the other soldiers were also looking at me with sparkling eyes.

Soldier 2: Your power is our hope.

Yoritomo: That's what they say, Yoshino.

Morinaga: Amazing. You were already being thanked on the battlefield for your work as a healer,

Morinaga: but at this rate, the day you become known as the shogunate's priestess may be near.

(That would be a problem!)

I frantically think while trying to find the right words.

Yoshino: Um... first of all, please stop calling me "-sama." I'm just a healer.

Soldier 2: But...

Yoshino: My power isn't that great.

Yoshino: I was just desperate at the time... I couldn't do anything in normal battles.

Yoshino: So, I think we were able to get this far thanks to Yoritomo-sama and all of you.

Soldier 3: Oh, you're too kind! We didn't do anything...

The soldiers looked at each other in a flustered manner.

(I'm happy to be thanked, but this praise is too much for me.)

A warm hand was placed on my back as I hesitated.

(Yoritomo-sama?)

Yoritomo: It wouldn't be fair to stubbornly refuse their gratitude.

Yoritomo: What Yoshino did has that much value.

Yoritomo addressed the soldiers once again.

Yoritomo: May I ask you a question?

Soldier 1: Yes, anything!

Yoritomo: Then...

While speaking in a friendly manner, Yoritomo's eyes thoughtfully observed everyone's faces.

Yoritomo: Her power yesterday was the result of pushing herself to help us.

Yoritomo: Do you understand that miracles don't happen twice?

Soldier 1: Of course. That's why we're even more grateful,

Soldier 1: and now we want to protect Yoshino-sama... Yoshino, with our lives.

(...They were thinking that...?)

Yoritomo: I see.

Yoritomo's voice took on a slight softness that wasn't artificial.

Yoritomo: Yoshino, their feelings seem genuine. How do you respond?

Yoshino: Yes. I gratefully accept your feelings...

Yoshino: Thank you very much. Let's end this war together.

Soldier 1: ...Yes!

After bowing their heads deeply once more, the soldiers straightened their posture again.

Soldier 1: We would also like to express our deepest gratitude to Yoritomo-sama once again.

Soldier 1: It is thanks to Yoritomo-sama's leadership that we are here.

Yoritomo: You're getting ahead of yourselves. You can thank me when we return to Kamakura, right?

Soldier 1: I apologize! I wanted to express my gratitude as soon as possible.

The other soldiers nodded nervously.

Soldier 2: Of course, I have always respected you, but my desire to serve you, Yoritomo-sama, has grown even stronger.

Soldier 3: Seeing Yoritomo-sama's back as he continued to fight in the face of adversity inspired me many times!

Soldier 3: I'm ashamed of myself for always being so cowardly. In today's battle, I will definitely be of use!

(Everyone's faces are completely different from before...)

The words Tamamo said when Yoritomo left the mountain temple with them crossed my mind.

*flashback*

Tamamo: It's not just a matter of physical condition. If you only gather those with weak hearts, it will be difficult to win the battle in the first place.

Tamamo: Moreover, the influence of the yokai should make the soldiers even more discouraged than usual...

Tamamo: Yoritomo, are you going to lead those people alone and fight through?

Yoritomo: .....

*flashback over*

The faces of the soldiers in front of me were now filled with determination.

(Everyone has changed too. By seeing Yoritomo-sama's back.)

Yoritomo must have sensed it too, as he smiled faintly.

Yoritomo: I will also gratefully accept your feelings. I'm counting on you, your active participation.

Soldiers: Yes, sir!

As I watched everyone's faces light up, I realized something.

Yoshino: Um, is everyone feeling better now?

There must have been some people who were possessed by yokai during the battle with Yoshitsune-sama.

(Everyone seems to be injured, but not affected by the curse power...)

Soldier 1: Yes. When we arrived here and started talking about the two of you, our bodies felt strangely lighter...

Yoshino: Is that so...? That's good.

(Does that mean...?)

After that, while facing Yoritomo-sama and Morinaga-san at the headquarters, I shared my thoughts.

Morinaga: The soldiers stopped being affected by the yokai because they had a strong resolve?

Yoshino: Yes.

Yoritomo: It's not impossible.

Yoritomo: Tamamo said that those with weak hearts are easily possessed by yokai.

Yoritomo: But if their hearts are filled with strong wishes or hopes for some reason...

(No matter what difficulties they face, I'm sure those people will be alright now.)

Morinaga nodded as if impressed.

Morinaga: You mean the soldiers' hearts grew by seeing you two fight firsthand?

Morinaga: If that's the case, it's a tremendously good story.

Yoritomo: It's an unexpected miscalculation. On the good side, of course.

Yoritomo, who seemed to be thinking about something, smiled.

Yoritomo: ---Now I can make a move with confidence.

Yoshino: A move?

Yoritomo: Yes.

Yoritomo: It's time to turn the tide of the battle.

Chapter 25

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