#neither of these two are mature enough for that so let’s pretend

[trashogram]

🦢🦎

Someone has put Blitzø/Stella in my head and like yeah it’s a het ship blah blah blah yeah Stella is written to be physically abusive — but I could just as easily write her not to be — and it works a lot more than Stolas/Blitzø.

At least, I think they’d have a far more interesting, earnest relationship as two ill-tempered, inconsiderate trolls and I’d prefer seeing Blitzø getting upset over how Andrealphus treats his little sister and how Stolas’s dalliances affect Stella and Octavia (“hey I have a daughter too and I’d never risk fucking some two-bit slut where she could find out!”).

It’s hard to write dialogue for Blitzø but I know he’d have so many colorful names to call the people in Stella’s life, including picking at Stolas as “clearly a repressed twink with his head up his own bird-puss”. And in this case, you don’t have to make either of them more sympathetic while villainizing the other. They’re both terrible and in love :)

[pucksandpower]

Live Like We Want To

Charles Leclerc x Wolff!Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Summary: there’s only one thing harder than keeping a relationship between two of the paddock’s most prominent figures hidden … keeping a relationship between three of the paddock’s most prominent figures hidden

Warnings: 18+ content

Based on this request

The drivers settle on the awkwardly shaped white couch, microphones clipped carefully to the collars of their shirts, waiting for the pre-race press conference to begin.

Lewis fiddles with his Mercedes cap, lost in thought. Lando and Daniel banter back and forth, Lando ribbing Daniel about his recent attempts to be artsy on Instagram and Daniel giving as good as he gets.

The moderator steps up to begin the press conference. After a few standard questions about the track and the upgrades the teams have brought, it’s time for the driver questions.

A reporter looks over at Lewis. “Lewis, you and Y/N seem very close lately. There’s been speculation you two might be dating. What do you say about that?”

Lewis opens his mouth but before he can respond, Daniel jumps in. “Oh come on, we all know Lewis is way too old for Y/N! She needs someone younger and spicier.” He winks at the camera.

Lando chuckles. “Too right, mate. Y/N deserves a fun guy who actually knows how to have a good time, not someone almost eligible for a senior discount.”

Lewis forces out a rehearsed laugh. “Hey now, I’m not that old!”

“Face it, the age gap is just too much. She needs someone closer to her own age, like me!” Lando says with a grin.

“You?” Daniel scoffs. “Please, Y/N needs a real man to show her a good time, not some baby-faced kid.”

“Who are you calling a kid?” Lando shoots back. “I’m mature for my age!”

Max, who has been quiet up until now, suddenly pipes up. “Actually, I think Y/N and I would make a great match ...”

The other drivers swivel their heads to look at him. “You?” Daniel says in disbelief.

“Why not?” Max shrugs. “We’ve got a connection.”

Lewis grits his teeth, struggling to stay quiet. He wants to tell them all to back off, that you’re taken. But he knows he can’t reveal the truth about your relationship, as much as it pains him to stay silent.

Lando laughs. “Mate, she’s way out of your league!”

“Oh yeah? I could get her if I wanted to,” Max says defensively.

Daniel grins and claps Max on the back. “Ooh, those are fighting words! You don’t stand a chance.”

Max crosses his arms. “Maybe she likes a bad boy. I’m more exciting than any of you.”

“Exciting? You?” Lando pretends to yawn. “All you ever think about off the track is sim racing! That’s not exciting, it’s dull.”

“Hey! Sim racing is very intense and takes a lot of skill,” Max says indignantly.

Lewis has finally had enough. “Alright guys, maybe we should change the subject. I’m sure Y/N can decide for herself who she wants to spend time with, without all of us bickering over her.”

Lando ignores Lewis and looks back at Max, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I bet I could get Y/N to go out with me before you can.”

“You’re so on!” Max says.

Daniel shakes his head. “Woah now, let’s leave the poor girl out of your competition. Especially since neither of you have a chance anyway.”

“Oh really? I suppose you think you’re the obvious choice?” Max says sarcastically.

“Obviously!” Daniel replies with a cocky grin.

As the three younger drivers continue with their posturing, Lewis pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. He catches the moderator’s eye and nods, signaling it’s time to move on.

The moderator clears his throat. “Alright, next question ...”

After the press conference ends, Lewis hurriedly gathers his things. As he’s walking out of the media center, Max catches up to him.

“No hard feelings about all that, mate?” Max says sheepishly.

Lewis musters up a smile. “Of course not. It was all in good fun.”

“Cool.” Max nods. “For what it’s worth, I don’t actually have a thing for Y/N. I was just messing around back there.”

“I know, I know,” Lewis says, clapping Max just a tad too hard on the shoulder before turning to go. Over his shoulder he calls out, “May the best man win!”

Max laughs and shakes his head as Lewis walks away.

Lewis enters the Mercedes garage and immediately spots you chatting with the engineers. His heart skips a beat like it always does when he sees you. A vision in a crop top and skinny jeans, your hair cascading over your shoulders as you lean over a data sheet, nodding intently.

So beautiful.

You glance up and spot Lewis. Your face lights up, a radiant smile spreading across it. Lewis grins back, the stress of the press conference fading away.

He waits until you’re done talking to the engineers, then pulls you discreetly aside. In an empty meeting room, Lewis wraps you in a tight embrace.

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, nuzzling your hair.

You cling to him. “I missed you. How was the press conference?”

Lewis hesitates. “It was … interesting.”

You pull back to look at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there were some questions about us. Our relationship.”

Your eyes widen. “What did you say?”

“Nothing! Don’t worry, I didn’t reveal anything. But the other drivers jumped in with their opinions.”

You groan. “Do I even want to know?”

Lewis runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Well, apparently I’m way too old for you. Daniel, Lando, and Max all started competing over who would be your best match.”

You snort. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know, I know,” Lewis says. “I wanted to tell them you’re mine, but ...”

“You did the right thing keeping quiet,” you say gently, taking his hands in yours. “We knew this wouldn’t be easy, keeping our relationship a secret.”

Lewis sighs. “I just hate not being able to claim you as my girlfriend in public. Having to pretend I don’t care when other guys flirt with you.”

You squeeze his hands supportively. “I know. But my dad would freak if he knew I was dating you. He’s so overprotective. And the press would have a field day if they found out Lewis Hamilton was seeing Toto Wolff’s daughter.”

“You’re right,” Lewis says. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

You smile softly at him. “Just think, one day we won’t have to hide anymore. We’ll be out and proud for the whole world to see.”

Lewis grins. “I look forward to that day.” He pauses, gazing at you tenderly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Lewis glances around quickly before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. All the stress and frustration of pretending melts away as your lips meet.

You come up for air a few moments later, both flushed. “We should get back before someone notices we’re gone,” you murmur.

Lewis nods reluctantly. “See you after quali?”

“Definitely.” You give him one more quick peck then slip out of the room, back to the bustle of the paddock.

Lewis watches you leave, his heart full.

One day there will be no more hiding. One day you’ll be free to share your love with the world.

He just has to be patient. You’re worth the wait.

***

You’re sitting outside of Mercedes hospitality between practice sessions, chatting with Mick Schumacher. Mick is eagerly telling you about his experience getting to take the W15 out in FP1 that morning when Charles Leclerc wanders over.

“Hello Y/N, Mick,” Charles says with an easy smile.

“Oh hey Charles, what’s up?” You say casually, hoping he makes this quick. Ever since that silly press conference, Charles has been popping up everywhere trying to get your attention.

“Not much. You’re looking beautiful as always,” Charles says, ignoring Mick and focusing his gaze on you.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Um, thanks?”

Mick glances between you two and starts to stand up. “I’ll give you guys some space.”

“No, stay!” You say quickly, grabbing Mick’s arm. You turn back to Charles. “Did you need something?”

“Just wanted to come say hi, see how you’re doing.” Charles drags over a chair and sits down close beside you. Too close.

You slide your chair away ever so slightly. “I’m fine, thanks. Just hanging with Mick.”

Charles nods, but his eyes stay fixed on you. “Have you given any more thought to grabbing dinner sometime? I know this great little restaurant in the city, very private and intimate.”

“That’s really nice of you, but I’ll have to pass,” you say politely. Mick looks back and forth between you two, a faint smirk on his face.

Charles pouts. “Come on, it would be fun! No pressure, just two friends enjoying a nice meal.”

You resist the urge to laugh. Does he really think you’re that naive? “Sorry Charles, but I’m going to be really busy this weekend. Raincheck?” You have no intention of ever taking him up on the offer, but maybe it will get him to back off for now.

“Playing hard to get? I like it,” Charles winks.

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying what you really think. Time for a subject change. “So, you feeling good about the race this weekend?”

Charles sighs, finally moving away from the topic of dating you. “I think the car has potential, but Red Bull are still the ones to beat.”

You nod. “Very true. They have been especially dominant here the past few years.”

“We’ll see what happens. Maybe I can get pole and shock them all,” Charles says with a smile.

You chat about racing for a few more minutes before glancing at your phone. “Oh shoot, I have to get going. Meeting with my manager.” You stand up quickly. “See you later Charles. Bye Mick!”

Charles grabs your hand as you start to walk away. “Leaving already? At least let me walk you to your garage.”

You pull your hand back, perhaps a bit too forcefully. “I’m fine, thanks. Stay and chat with Mick!” You give them a little wave before briskly walking off.

As you make your way through the paddock you hear footsteps behind you. Glancing back you see Charles jogging to catch up with you. You bite back a groan.

“Y/N, wait up!” Charles calls after you. He hurries to your side, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, I just thought I should properly apologize for being so forward back there. I don’t want you to feel pressured or uncomfortable.”

You stop walking and turn to face him. “It’s okay, Charles. I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

He looks relieved. “Good, I’m glad. The last thing I want is to upset you.” He shuffles his feet, looking down shyly. “I really do think you’re amazing, Y/N. Any guy would be so lucky to be with you.”

You soften a bit. As persistent as he is, you know Charles is a good guy at heart. “Thank you. I think you’ll find the right girl someday.”

“Well, I was rather hoping the right girl was standing in front of me now,” Charles says earnestly.

You shake your head. “Charles ...”

“I know, I’m being too bold again,” he says. “Please, just consider it? One dinner. If you hate it and never want to see me again, I’ll accept that.”

You hesitate. Maybe it would be easier to just go, let him down gently in person. But no … that’s too risky. If word got out it could compromise everything with Lewis. As much as you want to set Charles straight, you just have to keep playing hard to get.

“Like I said, just too busy right now,” you say firmly. “I should get to my meeting.”

Charles nods, looking slightly dejected. “Of course. Well, the offer stands. I’m not giving up that easily.” He smiles and heads off with a small wave.

Over the next two days Charles remains persistent, finding excuses to talk to you in the paddock and complimenting you endlessly on social media. You continue dodging his invitations, letting him down as gently as you can.

Sunday morning you’re doing a photoshoot for British Vogue, posing on the track. Charles happens to walk by as you’re finishing up. He saunters over and leans on the barrier, watching you intently. The photographer notices him hovering and suggests you take a quick picture together.

Charles immediately hops the barrier and throws an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close. You plaster on a smile as the camera flashes.

“Beautiful! What an attractive couple,” the photographer gushes.

You extricate yourself from Charles’ grip. “We’re not … I mean we’re just friends,” you mutter.

“My mistake!” The photographer says. Charles just grins.

After the photoshoot ends you try to make a quick exit but Charles catches up and falls into step beside you.

“One picture together and we’re already mistaken for a couple! It must be a sign,” Charles says playfully.

You resist rolling your eyes again. “Clearly you’re not getting the message here. I’m not interested in anything beyond friendship.”

Charles just smiles wider. “Ah, but friendship is the basis for any lasting romance. I’m happy to start as friends and see where it goes.”

You stop walking and turn to him. Time for some straight talk. “Charles. Listen to me. I do not want to date you. At all. Please stop asking.”

Charles’ smile finally falters slightly. “I see. My apologies, I clearly misread the situation.”

You feel a twinge of guilt at his crestfallen face. “It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean any harm. Let’s just forget it and move on.”

Charles nods, looking thoughtful. For a moment you think maybe he’s finally going to back off. But after a pause he says, “Well, since romance is off the table for now, friendship it is.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Is this guy for real?

Oblivious to your incredulous expression, Charles just keeps talking. “The season’s almost over, but I look forward to seeing much more of you next year when Lewis is my new teammate.” He winks.

It takes you a second to process his words. When they sink in your eyes go wide. “Wait, Lewis is joining Ferrari next season?”

“Oh, has it not been announced yet?” Charles grins mischievously. “My mistake. Forget I said anything.”

You grab his arm. “Charles, tell me!”

He mimes zipping his lips.

You groan in frustration. “Ugh, fine. Keep your secret for now.” You’ll get the truth out of Lewis later.

Charles just smiles innocently. “See you around, friend.” He strolls off with a little wave, finally leaving you in peace.

You shake your head as you watch him go. Next year is sure to be interesting with Charles around. But you take comfort knowing that no matter what, you and Lewis can get through it together.

***

The 2025 season kicks off in Melbourne. You’re wandering the paddock under the bright Australian sun, dodging TV crews and trying not to get run over by the team scooters zipping every which way.

As you pass by the Ferrari garage you peek inside, spotting Lewis talking to some engineers. He glances up and meets your eye, giving you a subtle smile before returning to his conversation.

Your heart flutters at the sight of him. It’s been nonstop media obligations since arriving in Albert Park and you haven’t had a moment alone with Lewis yet. Between his big move to Ferrari and the speculation about your relationship, you’ve been the center of attention.

You linger nearby, hoping to snag a private moment with Lewis. As you hover just outside the garage you hear footsteps approaching. Glancing over you see Charles strolling up, looking effortlessly cool in his team kit.

“Well hello there,” Charles says with a grin. “Come to wish me luck before qualifying?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling back. “You caught me. I snuck over to send positive vibes your way.”

Charles chuckles. “I knew you couldn’t resist coming to see me.”

You shake your head amusedly. Same old Charles. “Actually I was looking for Lew-” you stop yourself just in time. “Um, just wandering around saying hi to everyone!”

Charles’ eyes gleam knowingly but he doesn’t call you out on your near slip-up. “Of course. We’re happy to have Lewis join the Ferrari family. Should be a fun season.”

You nod. “Definitely. I might have to frequent the Ferrari garage more often,” you add teasingly.

“You’ll always be welcome here,” Charles says. “In fact, there’s an open seat on my side of the garage. You’re more than welcome to join.” He smiles invitingly.

You hesitate, tempted despite yourself. Before you can respond you hear Lewis calling Charles from inside the garage.

“Charles! The debrief is starting soon, let’s go.”

Charles turns back to you with an exaggerated sigh. “Duty calls. But think about my offer, yeah? Plenty of races left this season for you to cheer on your favorite driver.” He winks before jogging into the garage.

You catch Lewis’ eye as Charles brushes past him. Lewis gives you a questioning look, silently asking if you’re okay. You smile reassuringly before blowing him a subtle kiss and walking away.

Over the next few races you find yourself spending more time with Ferrari than you expected. You tell yourself it’s just to support Lewis in his first season with a new team, but a small voice in your head whispers that it’s really to see Charles.

Despite your better judgment, you can’t deny enjoying Charles’ flirty banter and shameless pursuit of you. And clearly he doesn’t intend to back down now that Lewis is his teammate. If anything, Charles seems more determined than ever to win your affection.

By the time the Chinese Grand Prix rolls around, you’re dangerously close to having a full blown crush on Charles. Sitting in the Ferrari garage watching him joke around with the mechanics, you have to refrain from staring at him too obviously.

After qualifying, you wait around hoping Lewis or Charles have time to sneak away for a bit. You spot Lewis first and flag him down. He follows you to a secluded spot behind the paddock.

“Great lap today,” you say, rising on tiptoes to kiss him congratulations.

Lewis smiles against your lips but you can tell his mind is elsewhere. “Thanks love. Listen, can we talk?”

You pull back, brow furrowing in concern. “Of course, what’s up?”

Lewis runs a hand over his face. “I wanted to ask how you’re feeling about this whole situation with Charles.”

You tense up slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And if I’m being honest … I’ve noticed some looks going the other direction as well.” Lewis keeps his voice neutral and non-accusatory.

You bite your lip. No point lying to him. “I’m sorry. I tried to ignore him at first but he’s just so charming and persistent. I swear nothing has happened between us though!” You add hastily.

Lewis rubs your shoulder reassuringly. “I believe you, don’t worry. But it seems there might be some mutual attraction there, even if you haven’t acted upon it. I think we should discuss that openly.”

You nod slowly. As nerve wracking as this conversation is, you appreciate Lewis’ calm approach. No jealousy or accusations, just honest communication.

“You’re right,” you say. “I’ve been trying really hard not to, but I can’t deny feeling drawn to Charles.” You look down, ashamed to admit it out loud.

Lewis lifts your chin gently. “Hey, it’s okay. Emotions aren’t always rational. I’m not upset with you.”

You smile gratefully. “You’re the best, you know that? What did I do to deserve someone so understanding?”

“Just got lucky I guess,” Lewis says with a wink, making you laugh. His expression turns serious again. “But we should figure out what to do moving forward. Any ideas?”

You take a deep breath. Time to put all cards on the table. “Well, there is one possibility. But it’s a bit unconventional ...”

Lewis raises his eyebrows. “I’m open to anything. What were you thinking?”

You rush out your words before you lose your nerve. “What if we brought Charles into the relationship? As in, invited him to be with us?”

Lewis’ eyes widen in surprise but he doesn’t immediately shoot down the suggestion. “You mean the three of us, together? Huh.”

He looks thoughtful. You fidget nervously awaiting his verdict. This could make or break everything.

Finally Lewis meets your anxious gaze. “I admit that’s not what I was envisioning … but I’m not opposed to at least exploring it.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Really? You’d be open to trying?”

Lewis nods slowly. “If we all discussed it openly and set clear boundaries, I would consider it. I want you to be happy, Y/N. Even if that means expanding our relationship.”

You throw your arms around him. “Thank you. You have no idea how much it means to have your support with this.”

Lewis hugs you tight. “Of course, love. We’re in this together.”

You chat excitedly about the possibility of bringing Charles into your private world. It’s risky, but maybe just crazy enough to work.

“Why don’t we invite him up to the penthouse tonight and see how the chemistry is?” Lewis suggests.

Your pulse quickens at the thought. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Lewis kisses you softly. “Alright then, it’s a date. I think you should go talk to Charles.”

Tonight will determine if you move forward as a trio or close the door on this tantalizing new dynamic. Either way, you’re grateful to be exploring it together with the man you love.

***

You smooth down your dress for the tenth time, nerves and excitement warring within you.

Tonight’s the night.

Taking a deep breath, you glance around the penthouse one more time. Candles cast a soft glow, music plays quietly in the background, and wine chills on the counter. Time to see if this fantasy can become a reality.

Lewis emerges from the bedroom looking unfairly hot, designer shirt hugging his muscular frame. He wraps you in his arms from behind, meeting your anxious gaze in the floor-length mirror.

“You ready for this, love?” He asks, lips brushing your neck.

You shiver and lean back into him. “I think so. Are you sure you’re okay with it though? We can call it off if you’ve changed your mind.”

Lewis smiles reassuringly. “I haven’t. We’ll take it slow and see how it feels. No pressure.”

You smile back gratefully. “Have I mentioned lately how amazing you are?”

“Mm, feel free to say it more,” Lewis teases, making you giggle. He kisses you tenderly. “Let’s do this.”

Right on cue, the doorbell rings. You and Lewis exchange one more weighted look before going to answer it.

You open the door to find Charles standing there, looking ridiculously handsome as always. His eyes widen almost comically as he sees Lewis over your shoulder.

“Lewis! What are you doing here?” Charles stammers out.

You bite your lip to hide a smile. “Why don’t you come in?”

Still looking baffled, Charles steps inside. You lead him to the sleek living room, Charles glancing around in confusion.

“Have a seat,” Lewis says kindly. Charles perches on the edge of the grey suede couch, visibly wondering what the hell is going on. You and Lewis sit across from him on the loveseat.

“So … is one of you going to explain what’s happening?” Charles asks slowly.

You look to Lewis. “Maybe you should start?”

Lewis nods and turns to Charles. “Right, so I’m sure you’re very confused about all this. But there’s something Y/N and I need to tell you.”

He reaches over and takes your hand. You give it a supportive squeeze.

“Y/N and I are together. Romantically,” Lewis reveals. “We’ve been dating in secret for over two years now.”

Charles’ eyes bug out of his head. “You two are … WHAT? Since when?”

“Since midway through the 2022 season,” you explain gently.

“But … but ...” Charles splutters. He looks between you and Lewis, dumbfounded. It would be comical if you weren’t so nervous.

“I know this must be shocking to hear,” you say. “We’ve had to keep it very quiet.”

Charles drags a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand. If you’re together, why am I here?”

You glance at Lewis. “Go on,” he says with an encouraging nod.

You turn back to Charles. “Well, the thing is … we’re very attracted to you too, Charles.”

Charles freezes, eyes zeroing in on you. “You … you are?” He whispers.

You nod, holding his gaze. “I tried to ignore it, but I have feelings for you. And Lewis and I have discussed exploring what it would be like if the three of us … were together.”

Charles just stares, mouth agape. You start to worry you’ve broken him.

“Charles?” You prompt gently. “Thoughts?”

Charles visibly shakes himself. “I just … I need a minute here,” he mutters. He puts his head in his hands, taking a few deep breaths.

You nod understandingly and fall silent, letting the information sink in. After a tense minute, Charles lifts his head.

“So you two want to try some kind of … polyamorous relationship? With me as your shared boyfriend?”

“Only if you’re interested,” Lewis clarifies. “We know it’s unconventional.”

Charles chews his lip thoughtfully. “And you would be okay sharing her?” He asks Lewis.

Lewis squeezes your hand. “It’s not about possessing her. It’s about all of us wanting to explore something together. I trust you both.”

Your heart swells with love for this incredible man. Charles looks touched as well.

“I appreciate you putting your trust in me,” Charles says earnestly. “This is a lot to process but … I’m open to trying.” He looks between you and Lewis. “I want this. If you’ll have me.”

Joy and arousal flood your body hearing those words. You glance at Lewis to confirm.

He smiles. “We want you, Charles.”

Charles’ eyes darken. He stands up from the couch and closes the distance between you. Gazing down at you, he brushes his fingers along your jaw. “Can I kiss you?” He asks softly.

You nod, heart hammering in your chest. Charles’ hand slides into your hair and he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is electric, your body lighting up everywhere you touch.

After a dizzying minute you break apart, flushed and breathless. Charles rests his forehead against yours, his eyes burning.

“I want you,” he whispers. “I want this.”

Your pulse racing, you turn and pull Lewis into a passionate kiss. You pour all your need and love into it, leaving no doubt that you want him just as much.

Lewis’ eyes are dark when you separate. Without a word, he stands and holds his hand out to Charles. Charles takes it immediately. They stare at each other for a weighted moment before Lewis reels him in for a searing kiss.

You can only watch, utterly mesmerized by the sight of the two gorgeous men exploring each other. They kiss aggressively, hands roaming over backs and arms. Finally they break apart, panting.

Charles turns to you, eyes blazing. In two strides he’s kneeling before you, hands on your thighs.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasps out. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I want this. I want this so much,” you affirm breathlessly.

Charles surges up to capture your lips again. Lewis moves behind you, peppering kisses down your neck and shoulders. Sandwiched between them, you’ve never felt more alive.

You have a fleeting thought that you should slow down, take things step by step. But as their hands and lips worship your body, reason melts away.

Tonight you’ll explore each other fully and forge this new bond that transcends convention. Tomorrow you can discuss logistics.

Charles kisses you hungrily while Lewis deftly unzips your dress, letting it slip to the floor. His hands glide over your newly exposed skin as Charles trails kisses down your neck to your lace-clad breasts.

Lewis reaches around to unclasp your bra, freeing your breasts to Charles’ eager mouth. You gasp and arch into his touch as his tongue swirls around one nipple, then the other.

Lewis captures your lips in a passionate kiss, swallowing your moans of pleasure. His hands roam your body, caressing your hips and rear before slipping into your panties. You keen against his mouth as his fingers find your slick heat.

Charles kisses his way down your trembling body until he’s kneeling before you. Locking eyes with you, he slowly peels off your panties. Lewis moves behind you, arms wrapped around you, hands still working their magic between your legs.

Charles parts your thighs and dives in hungrily. You cry out at the feeling of his mouth on you, the dual sensations pushing you quickly to the edge. Your pleasured screams echo through the penthouse as you come undone between these two incredible men.

They lay you gently on the plush rug, hands and mouths continuing to ignite fires across your hypersensitive skin. You reach for them frantically, needing to feel them too. Together you undress them with eager hands until all three of you are bare and flushed with need.

Lewis kisses his way down your body until his head is between your legs, stubble scratching deliciously against your inner thighs. His talented tongue gets to work, licking and sucking your sensitive bud as you grasp his braids, back arching off the rug.

Charles moves up your body to take a hard nipple in his mouth, fingers tweaking and plucking the other. The near-overstimulation makes you see stars, crying out louder as Lewis’ fingers join his mouth in driving you to euphoria.

As you come down from your high, panting and trembling, Charles captures your lips in a messy kiss. You taste yourself and your favorite body oil on his tongue as he grinds his hard length against your hip. Guiding him up further, you take him in your mouth eagerly, reveling in his groans of pleasure.

Lewis slides up behind you, hardness nudging your entrance. He pushes into you slowly, filling you up exquisitely. You moan around Charles in your mouth as Lewis sets a steady rhythm. Charles’ eyes are nearly black watching Lewis take you from behind.

Charles gently pulls out of your mouth, moving down to kiss Lewis passionately. Their tongues tangle as Lewis continues rocking into you. The erotic sight makes you clench around Lewis. Sensing you’re close, he reaches around to circle your clit until you shatter again.

As you float back down, Lewis slips out from behind you and lays on his back. You straddle him eagerly, taking him back inside your slick heat. Charles moves in behind you, grasping your hips. Feeling his tip brush your back entrance, you glance back and nod consent.

Charles pushes into your other hole slowly as Lewis praises you for taking them both so well. Sandwiched between their hard bodies, filled so exquisitely, you feel worshipped and desired. They find a synchronized rhythm, driving you higher until you’re screaming out your pleasure again.

Lewis follows you over the edge, your pulsing muscles milking him dry with a growl. Charles takes over, pounding into you relentlessly until he stills, spilling deep inside with a choked cry.

You collapse together in a satisfied, breathless tangle of limbs. Trading soft kisses and caresses, you bask in the afterglow of this new bond forged in passion. Staring into your boys’ sated eyes, you know you’ve found something extraordinary.

For now, you are content to let passion consume you, losing yourself in two sets of hands, two mouths worshipping every inch of you.

Tomorrow can wait. Tonight, your world has expanded to make room for three.

***

The new season is in full swing and your blossoming relationship could not be going better. Stealing moments alone is a challenge, but the time you spend together makes it all worthwhile.

The only downside is how difficult it is for Charles to hide his feelings for you in public. While Lewis has had practice concealing your relationship for years now, Charles is still learning restraint. His affection for you shines through in lingering looks and subtle touches that don’t go unnoticed.

During one pre-race press conference, things come to a head. You’re standing just off stage, watching proudly as Charles and Lewis field questions.

A reporter looks over at Charles. “Charles, we’ve noticed Y/N hanging around the Ferrari garage a lot this season. Any insight into why the daughter of the Mercedes team principal spends so much time with your team instead?”

Charles tenses, panic flashing across his face. Before he can respond, Pierre Gasly pipes up from the end of the table.

“She’s always welcome to spend time with Alpine too!” Pierre says with a playful wink your direction. “Our garage door is open for you anytime, chérie.”

Charles’ hand clenches into a fist under the table. You can see him biting his tongue, holding back from saying that you’re taken.

Lewis discretely reaches over and lays a calming hand on Charles’ arm. Charles takes a deep breath, the brief touch grounding him.

“Y/N is friends with many drivers, not just myself,” Charles says evenly. “She offers encouragement to everyone on the grid.”

You let out the breath you’d been holding. Crisis averted, for now. But the reporters look unsatisfied with Charles’ generic response.

One speaks up again. “Come on Charles, you two seem especially close lately. Anything you want to tell us about the nature of your relationship?”

Charles’ eyes flick towards you. He opens his mouth but hesitates.

Lewis jumps in. “Like Charles said, Y/N is a supportive friend to all the drivers. We’re lucky to have her around.” He steers the conversation to less dangerous waters and the questions about you cease.

After the press conference, Charles makes a beeline for you. Taking your hands, he searches your face anxiously.

“I’m so sorry. I nearly slipped up and exposed everything. I just couldn’t stand Pierre flirting with you like that.”

You smile reassuringly, touched by his protectiveness. “It’s okay, you stopped yourself in time. I know it’s not easy.”

Lewis joins you two in your hidden corner. He squeezes Charles’ shoulder comfortingly. “You handled it well, babe. I know firsthand how hard it is to stay silent.”

Charles sighs. “I don’t know how you’ve done this for so long. Lying about the woman I lo-” He stops himself. “About someone so important is torture.”

Your heart skips a beat. Lewis meets your gaze, equally affected by Charles’ unspoken words.

Taking Charles’ face in your hands, you kiss him sweetly. “I’m so lucky to have not just one, but two incredible men willing to go through all this for my sake. I promise, it won’t be forever.”

Charles relaxes into your touch. Lewis moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the top of your head. Charles covers Lewis’ hands with his own. The three of you share a quiet, tender moment before stepping back out into the bustle of race day.

That evening after the race, the three of you finally have time alone back at the hotel. Lewis pours champagne while you massage the tension from Charles’ shoulders.

“What Pierre said today was out of line,” you murmur. “But you have nothing to worry about. I’m all yours, in every way that matters.” You press a kiss to his neck.

Charles twists to capture your lips. “I know. It just drives me crazy seeing other men try to take what’s mine.” His tone is playful yet possessive in a way that makes you shiver.

“Let them flirt all they want,” Lewis says, handing Charles a glass of champagne. “She only has eyes for us.”

You and Charles both smile at Lewis’ quiet confidence. Taking your glass, you raise it in a toast. “To the apples of my eye. Here’s to a long future together.”

You clink glasses and sip, eyes locking over the rims. Setting your glass aside, you take each of their hands in yours.

“I know keeping this secret isn’t easy. But it will be so worth it in the end, when we can stop hiding and be together openly. We just have to be patient a little longer.”

Lewis squeezes your hand, emotion shining in his eyes. “You’re worth the wait, darling.”

Charles cradles your face adoringly. “A thousand times over.”

Your heart swells being surrounded by such unwavering love and support. Despite the challenges, in this moment, everything feels exactly as it should.

The rest of the night is spent getting lost in each other, reaffirming the bonds between you. Fingers intertwined, bodies moving as one, you bask in the oasis you’ve created amidst the pressures of your public lives.

Tomorrow you’ll go back to pretending, dodging prying questions and curious stares. But here, cocooned in this hotel room, you’re simply three people entwined by love. Partners promising without words to stand united until the day your relationship can step into the light.

For now, secrecy is a small price to pay for a love unlike any other.

***

The azure waters of the Mediterranean glisten under the Sardinian sun as you lounge on the deck of the yacht. Lewis rubs sunscreen slowly over your shoulders, his touch sending tingles through your body.

Charles emerges from the water, rivulets streaming down his toned chest. He joins you on the loungers, shaking his wet hair playfully over you and Lewis. You squeal and swat him away, laughing.

These past two weeks sailing around Sardinia have been pure bliss. Finally you can be as affectionate as you want, stealing kisses and cuddling close without worrying who might see. You’ve explored every inch of this yacht and each other’s bodies. After keeping your relationship under wraps, it’s glorious being so free.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” you sigh contentedly.

“Soon, love,” Lewis says, pulling you close. “Just have to get through this season.”

Charles nods, trailing his fingers down your arm. “It will all be worth it in the end.”

You smile softly at them both, heart swelling with love. “You’re right. As long as we’re together.”

You while away the rest of the afternoon trading lazy kisses and caresses, basking in the sun and each other.

That night, fireworks burst bright over the inky sea. You tilt your head back against Charles’ chest, watching the rainbow sparks. Lewis nuzzles your neck from behind, arms wrapped around your waist.

“I love you both,” you whisper as gold and purple light up the sky. Charles kisses your temple while Lewis squeezes you gently. You’ve never felt so full of love and joy.

Then, you all fly to Lewis’ villa in Brazil for the rest of summer break. The days pass in a carefree blur — lounging by the pool, sunset walks on the beach, and passion-filled nights tangled together in bed.

Charles cooks dinner shirtless one evening, playfully feeding you and Lewis bites as you sip wine. Lewis pulls you into an impromptu dance around the kitchen, the three of you laughing breathlessly.

“If only this could never end,” you say wistfully, pulling them in for a group hug.

“One day, baby,” Lewis murmurs, kissing your hair. Charles rubs your back, gazing at you tenderly.

You etch every moment into your memory, from languid mornings waking up between them to romantic picnics at sunset on the beach.

If only you could freeze time and stay in this private paradise.

But of course, time marches on. Before you know it, the break ends and you’re headed to the Netherlands for the start of the second half of the season.

Walking through Zandvoort a friendly distance from Charles and Lewis, everything feels different now. You have to stop yourself from being too openly affectionate, hyperaware of prying eyes.

Lewis senses your tension. “Soon this will all be out in the open,” he reminds you softly. The secret aspect still weighs on you all, but the promise of a future without hiding lifts your spirits.

On Thursday, just a few days before the race, you’re leaving the motorhome when your phone explodes with notifications. With a sinking sense of dread, you open social media to see leaked paparazzi shots plastered everywhere — the three of you kissing on the yacht, Lewis’ hands blatantly grabbing your rear in Brazil, you and Charles making out poolside.

You stagger back against the wall, blood rushing in your ears. This is a nightmare. Your private oasis shattered, your relationship outed in the most public, scandalous way possible.

Charles exits behind you and his face pales seeing your expression. Lewis comes around the corner a second later and you wordlessly show him your phone screen.

“Fuck,” Lewis swears. “Where did these come from?”

“I don’t know, they’re everywhere,” you say shakily.

Charles peers over your shoulder, jaw clenched. “We’ll figure it out later. Right now we need to get you out of here.”

You’re confused only for a second before you hear the swell of voices and footsteps rapidly approaching. Security won’t hold the media mob back for long.

Charles and Lewis spring into action, flanking you protectively as you hurry back towards the entrance. Halfway there, the dam breaks as reporters and cameras flood the paddock. You freeze like a deer in headlights.

Chaos erupts, cameras flashing, mics shoved in your faces, everyone shouting questions at once. Charles and Lewis shield you from the onslaught, yelling for security. Two guards appear and help navigate you through the frenzy back into the Ferrari motorhome.

You collapse on the sofa, heart pounding. Lewis paces angrily while Charles punches the wall. “Fuck! We were so careful,” he rages.

You blink back panicked tears. “What do we do now?”

Lewis sits and pulls you into his arms. “We face it head on. No more hiding. We own this together.”

Charles kneels before you, clasping your hands. “I’m with you no matter what. We’ll get through this.”

You cling to them, anchoring yourself. As long as you have each other, you can survive the storm.

You’ve just managed to catch your breath when the door flies open. Your head whips up to see none other than your father storming in, fury etched on his face.

“What the HELL is going on here?” He thunders.

You shrink back against Lewis. This is already a disaster — but your enraged, overprotective father finding out like this? You brace yourself as his glare pins you in place, demanding an explanation.

Toto slams the door behind him, eyes blazing like you’ve never seen before.

“Would someone like to explain what the hell is going on?” He shouts. “Because I leave for a few weeks and suddenly my daughter is splashed all over the tabloids in compromising photos with her secret boyfriends!”

You shrink back against Lewis, tears pooling in your eyes. He wraps a protective arm around you.

“Toto, let’s all just take a breath and talk about this,” Lewis says calmly.

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” Toto snarls, pointing a finger at Lewis. “You are supposed to be teammates and instead you’re … you’re ...” He splutters, at a loss for words.

“We’re in a relationship,” Charles says firmly, taking your hand. “The three of us.”

“A relationship?” Toto looks apoplectic. “She is my daughter!”

“Who makes her own choices,” Charles shoots back. “She’s an adult.”

Toto ignores him, glaring at Lewis and you. “I trusted you with her. And this is how you repay that trust?”

Lewis squeezes your shoulder gently before standing up to face Toto. “I understand you’re upset. But our relationship isn’t about you.”

“The hell it isn’t!” Toto shouts. “I am her father!”

“Stop yelling at them!” You cry out, tears spilling down your cheeks.

Toto falters slightly seeing your distress. Charles pulls you into his arms, stroking your hair and glaring at Toto.

“Can’t you see you’re upsetting her?” Charles snaps. “She doesn’t owe you an explanation.”

Toto looks back and forth between the three of you, anger warring with confusion. Lewis takes a cautious step toward him.

“I know this is a shock,” Lewis says evenly. “But we didn’t intend for it to come out like this.”

He gestures for Toto to have a seat. After a tense moment Toto sinks into the armchair, face still thunderous. Lewis sits back down beside you.

“Help me understand this,” Toto says tightly. “Clearly this … arrangement has been going on behind my back for some time.”

You take a shaky breath. “We’ve been together since the start of the season. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, but we knew you would react badly.”

Toto drags a hand down his face. “You cannot expect me to be happy about this. My daughter dating two men at once? One of whom used to be my employee?”

“We don’t need your approval,” Charles says firmly. “All that matters is that we love each other. Right?”

He looks at you and Lewis. You both nod, Lewis taking your hand supportively.

“She’s right,” Lewis tells Toto. “We don’t need your blessing. But we want you to understand this is real, not just some fling or scandal.”

You look pleadingly at your father. “Please Vati, try to understand. I’ve never been happier than with these two.”

Toto stares back stonily. The silence stretches on. You feel Charles and Lewis tense on either side of you, bracing for Toto’s wrath.

Finally Toto sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “You’ve always been my sweet girl. My only wish is for your happiness and safety.”

He levels Charles and Lewis with a piercing look. “If either of you two hurts her, they’ll never find your bodies. Understand?”

Charles and Lewis both nod rapidly.

“We would never,” Lewis vows.

“Good. See that you don’t.” Toto turns back to you, expression softening. “This will take some adjustment. But I suppose if you’re happy ...”

“I am, I promise,” you assure him.

Toto shakes his head. “Well, try to keep the sordid details to yourself please.”

You huff out a wet laugh, wiping your eyes. “Deal.”

Toto nods stiffly and stands. Looking between the three of you, his face settles into resignation.

“I will do my best to … adjust to this,” he mutters. “But no funny business at the track!”

He points sternly at Charles and Lewis again. They both work to keep straight faces.

“Of course, totally professional at all times,” Lewis promises solemnly.

“Hmm. We’ll see.” Toto heads for the door. With his hand on the handle, he turns back.

“You’re still my little girl. I just want you safe and happy.”

You smile tearfully. “I know. Thank you.”

With a grunt and final glare at Charles and Lewis, Toto takes his leave.

The moment the door shuts, you collapse into their arms in relief. Laughing and crying all at once.

“That could have gone worse,” Charles remarks.

Lewis chuckles. “He only threatened us a little bit.”

You kiss them softly. “I can’t believe you stood up to him for me.”

Charles caresses your face. “Always.”

“We meant what we said — we’re in this together, no matter what,” Lewis affirms.

You cling to each other, coming down from the emotional rollercoaster. The worst is over. Your relationship is out in the open now. The media will have a field day, but you can weather any storm with your men by your side.

“So ...” you say with a watery laugh. “Who wants to handle the press release?”

***

The news of your relationship with Lewis and Charles has sent shockwaves through the paddock. You knew it would be a scandal, but the sheer scale of the reaction has been overwhelming.

Thankfully you’ve had each other to cling to through the firestorm. Their love and support keeps you strong in the face of snarling reporters and leering drivers.

In the Ferrari garage a few days later, Lewis has his arms wrapped around you, placing gentle kisses to your hair as you discuss weekend plans. Charles is in the engineering room, focused on prep for the upcoming race.

The two of you are in your own world together when Lando sheepishly approaches. "Hey mates, can I talk to you both for a sec?"

You tense instinctively and Lewis’ arm tightens around you protectively. But Lando’s face is regretful, not leering. “What’s up?” Lewis asks calmly.

Lando shuffles his feet. “I just wanted to apologize for all the times I hit on Y/N and crossed the line. I feel proper ashamed about it now that I know she was with you two. You deserve better from a friend.”

You and Lewis share a surprised look. Before you can respond, Pierre joins Lando, gazing at you repentantly.

“I want to also apologize,” Pierre says. “It was wrong of me to overstep boundaries and disrespect your relationship. I’m sorry.”

You bite your tongue, holding back what you really want to say. As usual, they’re ignoring you and directing apologies to Lewis instead.

Sensing your reaction, Lewis speaks up. “We appreciate you owning up to it, but I think Y/N deserves your apologies more. She’s the one you objectified and disrespected with the unwanted advances, after all.”

Lando and Pierre have the decency to look abashed. “You’re completely right, that was thoughtless of me,” Lando says. “I’m truly sorry for ever making you feel uncomfortable or pressured, Y/N. It won’t happen again.”

Pierre nods. “Please accept my sincere apologies as well. I should have been more considerate of your feelings and respected your privacy.”

You give them a stiff smile. “Thank you. Just please think about how your words and actions affect women as fellow human beings, not just as conquests or property.”

Lando and Pierre both nod earnestly before excusing themselves. As they walk away Lewis kisses your temple. “Well handled, love. How are you feeling?”

You sigh heavily. “I appreciate the apologies, but it still stings that they only considered your feelings initially, not mine.”

Lewis makes a sympathetic noise and hugs you close. “You deserve so much more respect. I’m sorry this has all been so ugly.”

You cling to him, drawing strength from his unwavering support. “As long as I have you and Charles, I can face anything.”

Lewis is about to reply when footsteps approach again. You tense, but it’s only Charles this time. His smile fades seeing your expression.

“Everything okay here?” He asks, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You explain what just happened with Lando and Pierre. Charles’ eyes flash. “They are lucky I wasn’t here. I would have had a thing or two to say about them disrespecting you like that.”

You smile softly, touched by his protectiveness. “My heroes. However would I cope without you two defending my honor?”

Lewis tickles your side playfully. “We have to protect our lady’s virtue!”

You swat him away, laughing. Charles kisses the top of your head. “Joking aside, you never have to tolerate that behavior again. Not with us here.”

“I know,” you reply, snuggling into them happily. "My gallant protectors."

***

“Home sweet home,” you declare as the car pulls up the long driveway to your family’s sprawling Swiss estate.

Lewis lets out an impressed whistle from the backseat. “This is incredible!”

“Just wait until you see inside,” you grin at him in the rearview mirror.

You had kept putting off bringing Lewis and Charles here but it was finally time for them to see where you grew up.

They grab your bags as you lead them inside the grand foyer with its sweeping marble staircase. Lewis and Charles gaze around, taking in the ornate moldings and priceless artwork adorning the walls.

“I know it’s a bit ... much,” you say self-consciously.

“Are you kidding? This place is amazing!” Lewis crows, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.

You give them a brief tour of the endless sitting rooms, home theater, indoor pool, and your father’s meticulously organized garage housing his impressive car collection.

Finally you bring them upstairs to the family bedrooms. With a deep breath, you push open the door to your childhood room.

Lewis and Charles follow you in, peering around with interest at the spacious suite with its canopy bed, plush seating area, and panoramic mountain views.

You watch nervously as Lewis wanders over to your bookshelf and Charles admires the view from the French doors. Waiting for their judgment, you feel self-conscious about your privileged upbringing.

Suddenly Charles points to your wall and turns to you with a grin. “Well well, what do we have here?”

You follow his gaze to the life-size posters still occupying prime real estate on your wall, relics from your starry-eyed teen years. A young Lewis from his early Mercedes days gazes broodingly down, next to a smirking teenage Charles in his Prema race suit from back in F2.

“Oh god, I can’t believe I forgot those were there!” You groan, covering your rapidly reddening face.

Lewis chuckles, coming over to wrap you in a hug. “Aww, someone had a little crush, did they?” He teases.

“It was years ago!” You protest through your fingers.

Charles pries your hands away, smiling affectionately. “It’s cute you were our fan. Never be embarrassed for having good taste in drivers,” he winks.

Lewis kisses the top of your head. “Don’t worry love, we won’t give you too hard a time about it,” he says magnanimously.

You snuggle into his embrace. “How lucky am I to have manifested my crushes into reality?”

“The lucky ones are us,” Charles murmurs, stroking your hair and kissing you tenderly.

Lewis tips your chin up to meet his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. You cling to each other, the outside world fading away.

Eventually you lead them hand-in-hand to your massive bedroom balcony overlooking the mountains. The summer air is fragrant with the smell of wildflowers.

Settled together on the cushions, you snuggle between Lewis and Charles as they take in the stunning panoramic views.

“It’s so beautiful and peaceful here,” Lewis sighs contentedly. “Thank you for bringing us with you.”

You squeeze his hand. “Thank you for wanting to know every part of me.”

Charles wraps an arm around you, meeting your eyes sincerely. “Of course we do. Your soul is what we fell in love with first and foremost.”

You have to blink back tears at his words. Being with them has taught you that real love runs far deeper than surface trappings.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you pull them close, kissing each with all the love and gratitude overflowing inside you.

As the sun dips behind the mountains, setting the sky ablaze in stunning hues of orange and purple, you curl up safely between the two men who see, know, and love the real you. The only home you’ll ever need.

***

The warmly lit dining room of your family estate is filled with the clink of silverware and hum of conversation as you share an intimate dinner with your father, stepmother Susie, younger brother Jack, and your loves.

Despite your anxiety, the evening has gone smoothly so far. Toto seems impressed with Lewis and Charles’ maturity and devotion to you. Susie dotes on them like a surrogate mother. Only Jack seems bored, pushing food around his plate.

During a lull in the conversation, Toto turns to Lewis. “It’s remarkable what you are accomplishing at Ferrari this season. Good to see you on top of the podium again.”

Lewis smiles. “Thank you, Toto. It’s been incredible.”

“Still, I was surprised when you first told me you were leaving Mercedes,” Toto remarks. “I didn’t fully understand what prompted such a sudden departure.”

He levels Lewis with a probing gaze. You freeze nervously, grasping Charles and Lewis’ hands under the table. You’ve managed to avoid telling your father the real reason for Lewis’ change in teams. But it seems that reckoning has arrived.

Lewis meets Toto’s scrutinizing look evenly. “Well, as you know, Mercedes has strict rules against relationships within the team. It began impeding my personal happiness. So I sought more freedom elsewhere.”

Toto’s eyes narrow, glancing between the three of you. “And when exactly did this personal happiness begin?”

You hold your breath. Lewis says simply, “During my third to last season with the team.”

There’s a long, fraught silence. Jack glances around confused while Susie presses her napkin to her lips, no doubt hiding a small smile. She’s always been your most enthusiastic supporter.

Toto’s face slowly turns an alarming shade of eggplant purple. He points an accusatory finger at Lewis. “You! You were already involved with my daughter during your Mercedes contract?”

Lewis nods calmly. “We couldn’t be public about it then. Your rules left us no choice but secrecy.”

Toto turns his glare on you. “So while I was managing Lewis’ negotiations, you were ... were ...” He seems unable to form the words.

You lift your chin. “Yes, Vati. We’ve been together since mid-2022. I’m sorry we couldn’t be honest about it at the time.”

Toto looks back and forth between you and Lewis, jaw clenched. The whole table is frozen, awaiting the eruption.

Finally Toto thrusts his chair back and begins pacing angrily. “This whole time ... right under my nose! With my star driver, in clear violation of team rules and ethics!”

He rounds on Lewis. “I treated you like family! Supported your career, fought for your contracts. And you betrayed me by sneaking around with my daughter behind my back!”

Lewis faces Toto’s tirade calmly. “I apologize for any perceived deception. But we couldn’t deny our hearts.”

He takes your hand, gazing at you adoringly. Charles clutches your other in solidarity.

Toto drags a hand down his face. “Unbelievable. I thought I knew you, Hamilton.”

Finally you can't stay quiet any longer. “Vati, stop,” you implore. “I know you’re upset, but don’t blame Lewis. We fell in love, simple as that.”

Toto sighs, looking between your determined face and Lewis’ sincerity. His anger slowly deflates.

“Bärchen, you will always be my little girl,” he says gruffly. “I just want to protect you.”

He turns back to Lewis and Charles. “But I can see you both genuinely care for her. That’s all that matters in the end.”

You smile hopefully. “So you’re okay with this?”

Toto holds up a hand. “Let’s not get carried away. I am still adjusting to the idea.” He narrows his eyes at Lewis and Charles. “No messing about, you hear me? My girl deserves the utmost love and respect.”

“Of course,” Lewis says seriously as Charles nods in agreement.

“Good. See that it stays that way.” Toto sits back down with a huff. An awkward beat passes before conversation resumes again.

Later, as you all say goodnight, Toto pulls you into a hug. “They really make you happy, hmm?”

You nod, eyes shining. “Beyond words.”

Toto pats your cheek affectionately. “Well then, I suppose that’s what matters.”

You kiss his cheek in gratitude. No matter how overprotective your father can be, you know he just wants you safe and loved. With Lewis and Charles by your side, you always will be.

***

Seven Years Later

The Ferrari garage is buzzing with activity as race day gets underway at the Italian Grand Prix. You stand with Lewis among the controlled chaos, keeping one eye on your enthusiastic children weaving through the mechanics’ legs.

“Be careful, Lou!” You call out as your daring five-year-old Louis takes a corner a little too sharply, his Ferrari cap nearly sliding off his wild wavy hair.

Lewis shakes his head in amusement. “He’s as spirited as his Papa.”

You grin proudly at your son, the spitting image of Charles, as he zooms around mimicking pit stops. Your little three-year-old Helene clings shyly to her daddy’s leg, peering up at the action with wide brown eyes that are the mirror image of Lewis’ own.

Charles emerges from the engineering briefing and makes a beeline for you. Sweeping you into his arms, he greets you with a passionate kiss. After over seven years together, the sparks between you still ignite instantly.

Pulling back, Charles grins at your slightly disheveled state. “Hello to you too,” you laugh breathlessly.

He winks before turning to give Lewis a tender kiss. Your unconventional family drew some skepticism at first, but your extraordinary love has proven unshakeable.

The kids chorus “Papa!” and attack Charles’ legs. Laughing, he scoops them both up, kissing their heads. “Are you ready to cheer for me, my little racers?”

Their enthusiastic cheers draw amused glances from the team. You soak it all in — your little family, together forever.

Charles reluctantly sets the kids down to focus on pre-race prep. You feel a phantom flutter in your belly, though you know it’s still too early for it to be real. Grasping Lewis’ hand, you share a private smile. Baby number three is on the way.

The race begins in a blur of excitement. Charles aces the start, quickly pulling into the lead. Louis abandons all decorum and just starts screaming “Go Papa!” at the top of his lungs. Chuckling, you and Lewis take turns occupying your hyperactive son so as not to distract the crew. Shy little Helene contents herself hugging a Ferrari-themed teddy bear, peering intently at the screens showing her Papa as he speeds around the Autodromo Nazionale Monza.

The laps tick by, Charles fending off the competition masterfully. As he crosses the finish line to claim victory on home soil, Louis and Helene are jumping and cheering loudly. The passion for racing already runs strong.

Back out in the paddock after the podium celebration, you and Lewis balance the kids on your hips as reporters head straight for the two of you. The questions are familiar after years in the spotlight.

“Lewis, what’s it like spending almost every weekend at the track despite your retirement five years ago?”

“I love it,” Lewis smiles, bouncing a giggling Helene. “Getting to support my husband and spend time with my family, it’s very fulfilling.”

“And Y/N, how do you manage the kids and your husband’s demanding career?”

You grin. “We make it work. We’re so proud of Charles and feel lucky to be by his side through it all.”

On cue, Helene pipes up “Papa is the best racer!”

The reporters chuckle. One asks, “How do you feel seeing Charles continue to build his legacy with Ferrari?”

“I couldn’t be prouder,” Lewis says, genuine emotion in his eyes. “He’s taken the team to new heights and really made his mark. Seeing him succeed means the world.”

Louis suddenly grabs the mic, yelling “Are we done yet?” You have to stifle your laugh.

“I think that’s our cue to wrap up,” you grin sheepishly, gathering the rambunctious children in your arms. Blowing kisses to the laughing media, you make your exit.

Back in the privacy of the motorhome, your unconventional but beautiful family shares celebratory hugs and kisses. Charles rests his hand gently on your belly, his face lighting up when you confirm the news.

“Baby number three on the way!” Lewis crows, sweeping you into an excited embrace.

Louis and Helene cheer, demanding another sibling immediately. You laugh giddily, leaning into Charles and gazing at the pure joy on your husbands’ faces. Your hearts swell with love.

This life you’ve built together has faced skepticism, but your extraordinary bond conquers all. Gazing into their eyes, you know without a doubt you were destined for each other. Hand in hand, side by side, forevermore.

***

18 Months Later

You finish strapping a squirming Cosette into her car seat, smoothing down her hair that is the spitting image of your own. “There we go, my little princess. Time to go see Opa Toto!”

Cosette babbles happily, waving her chubby fists. At just over a year old, she is the perfect blend of you and Charles, with your lips and nose and his vibrant green eyes.

Louis and Helene are already buckled into the backseat, their patience for the short drive to your father’s house wearing thin. “Hurry up!” Louis cries. “I want to show Opa my new race car!”

“We’re coming, hold your horses,” you laugh, sliding into the passenger seat beside Charles. Lewis is meeting you there after stopping at home to grab a few extra toys and changes of clothes for the kids’ overnight stay.

During the short drive, Charles keeps resting his hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing distracting circles. You try your best to keep your breathing even. After all these years together, just the slightest touch from your husbands can still ignite that spark instantly.

You pull up the long driveway to find Lewis’ car already parked outside the stately lakefront home you grew up spending summers in. Before you can even unbuckle, the front door swings open and Toto comes striding out, arms open wide.

“My lieblinge!” He booms as Louis and Helene barrel into his embrace.

You lift Cosette from her carseat and Toto takes her gently, eyes crinkling with delight. “And there’s my littlest liebling,” he coos, nuzzling her soft curls.

Lewis joins you all outside, greeting Toto with a warm hug. “Thanks again for watching the kids tonight, Toto. We really appreciate it.”

“Of course, of course! They’re my grandbabies, it’s my honor,” Toto declares, ushering everyone inside.

Soon the kids are happily playing on the living room floor as you and Susie chat over tea. Lewis joins Toto out on the back patio, no doubt talking about the current state of the team as always. Charles wanders in from the kitchen and comes up behind you, massaging the knots from your shoulders in that way he knows you love. You have to bite back a moan, not wanting to scar your family. Susie just smiles knowingly into her tea cup.

Too soon it’s time to head out for your rare adults-only evening. You pry Louis away from showing Toto his toy car collection and scoop up a sleepy Cosette. Helene hugs you tightly around the legs.

“We’ll be back to get you tomorrow, sweetheart,” you assure her, kissing the top of her head.

Lewis takes his turn hugging the kids while Charles checks his watch. “Reservations are in 30 minutes, we should get going soon.”

You pass a sleepy Cosette to Toto and he cradles her gently. “We’ll hold down the fort, you three go and have an enjoyable evening.” He gives Lewis and Charles a stern look. “But not too enjoyable, hmm? Keep it respectable.”

Lewis just grins as Charles steps up and claps Toto on the back. “Oh don’t worry, we’ll be very respectable. Just having a nice dinner while we discuss when to start working on baby number four.” He winks cheekily at Toto while you and Lewis have to stifle your laughter at the mortified look on your father’s face.

Charles dodges Toto’s half-hearted swat and pulls you and Lewis in close. “Come on, our romantic evening awaits.”

You bid one more goodnight to the kids before letting Charles usher you out the door, his hand resting possessively on your lower back. The drive to the restaurant passes enjoyably, laughter and teasing flowing freely. For one night, you have the rare opportunity to just be yourselves, simply three lovers.

At the upscale restaurant, you’re shown to a cozy corner table lit by flickering candles. Charles orders an expensive bottle of wine while you and Lewis peruse the menu. His foot trails slowly up your leg under the tablecloth and you have to resist the urge to jump him then and there. After years together the flames still burn hot, stealing passionate moments whenever you can.

Dinner passes enjoyably, full of laughter and flirty touches. Afterwards you stroll hand-in-hand along the lakefront, the starry sky reflected on the rippling water. Lewis pulls you into a dance right there on the path, the three of you swaying and giggling drunkenly together. Passersby stare but you’re oblivious, caught up in your own private world.

Eventually you make your tipsy way back home, shedding clothes on your way up to the master bedroom. They lay you down reverently in the middle of the expansive bed, hands and mouths immediately reacquainting themselves with every familiar curve and hollow of your body. Soon you’re panting and writhing between them, their dual caresses pushing you rapidly towards euphoria.

“Need you ... both ... now,” you manage to gasp out. Without hesitation Charles is kissing you hungrily while Lewis repositions himself behind you. You cry out as they join your bodies seamlessly, swiftly bringing you to the peak again and again. Their stamina and synchronicity even after all these years together never fails to leave you awestruck.

Much later, sated and pleasantly sore, you rest comfortably sandwiched between your husbands. Their hands caress you languidly as you all come down from your highs together.

“We certainly made the most of our kid-free night,” Lewis chuckles, dropping a kiss to your shoulder.

You hum contentedly. “It was heavenly. But I can’t wait to get our babies back tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Charles agrees, trailing his fingers down your arm. “Our family is everything to me.”

You smile softly at him, heart swelling. “Our lives turned out pretty perfectly, didn’t they?”

Lewis nods, his eyes drifting around the bedroom that over the years has become a shrine to your shared journey — photos of race wins, kids’ drawings, and candid shots of your unlikely love filling every surface.

“Beyond anything I could have dreamed,” he murmurs. “Being with you both, raising our babies together ... it’s more than I ever imagined was possible.”

Charles kisses you tenderly. “We’re so lucky to have this extraordinary love.”

You cling tighter to them, emotion welling in your chest. “Every day I’m grateful we followed our hearts and created this life together.”

They hum contentedly, holding you close between their warm, solid bodies. No more words need be said. After so many years, your souls are intertwined seamlessly by the incredible bonds of your love.

Come what may, you know without a doubt that you were destined for each other. And you would choose this unconventional but beautiful life with them every single time.

[luvjunie]

— sleepover

pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader

contains: fluffff! jeff and rio being realistic parents, miles being stubborn per usual

summary: miles’ parents finally agreed to letting the two of you have a sleepover, on one condition. however, miles was never the best at following directions. wc: 1,630

New york. The city that never sleeps.

The faint murmuring of bustling cars and the habitual honking of horns seeped through the tight seal of the shut apartment window; ironic in the way it somehow lulled you. An imperfect melody you welcomed—also the same one deemed a nuisance by those foreign to the chaos that naturally assimilated to comfort the longer you remained in Brooklyn. It usually helped you slip into a slumber with ease—but now— was succeeding in its attempt of doing the exact opposite.

And when you heard Miles expel a weighted, disgruntled sigh; you were led to believe the two of you had more in common with each other apart from the fact that you both lived here.

After weeks and weeks of begging, and endless explanations as to why exactly he needed his girlfriend to sleep over when they wouldn’t even get to utilize the time spent together because they were supposed to be asleep, Miles had finally convinced his mom and dad to let the two of you have a sleepover.

Fun, right?

Yeah, well you thought it’d be. Until his mom insisted the two of you bring your pillows and blankets and fantasies of your life as a matured couple to the living room and sleep out there. Six feet away from each other. You guys were practically social distancing like it was 2019 all over again.

The curt reasoning she offered included something about her not wanting the two of you in his room alone at night; not that she thought her son would actually be dumb enough to do anything along those lines with her in the house. You loved Mama Rio, but even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. This was her house, and that meant you had to follow her rules. The fact that you were even able to come over as much as you did was a blessing in itself, so you took everything else in stride.

Miles let you take the couch of course, and he was currently sprawled out on his back on the floor, a pillow tucked beneath his head as he studied the minuscule cracks in the ceiling as if they truly interested him. Scrolling through his instagram timeline had gotten old fairly quickly, and at 1:00AM in the morning, neither of you were really motivated enough for conversation.

You were more than grateful to spend a night with your boyfriend, but this wasn’t necessarily how you expected it to go. Whenever you guys would hang out during normal hours of the day, you’d always end up in his embrace, curled and cuddled into each other comfortably. Whatever movie or tv-show you’d put on in the background begging for the same attention you’d give each other. After growing used to such a routine, that was really the only way you could fall asleep at his house.

But alas, holding your pillow close to you instead of him would have to suffice, you decided, as you let your eyes close once again.

“Baby?” Miles called out into the darkness, lip chewed in anticipation.

Silence.

He’d said only a word but you knew better than to engage. A conversation would end up with the two of you in trouble in the morning, so you pretended to be asleep.

“I know you’re awake. I counted exactly three seconds between your last two breaths and when you’re asleep it slows down to five.”

You stifled a laugh, ultimately blowing your cover. “Okay, now that’s just creepy.”

“People who are asleep don’t laugh!” he quipped.

A smile snuck onto your lips and you hadn’t the heart to reprimand it, lids peeling back open to stare up at the same ceiling he was.

“Yes, Miles?”

“Can you not fall asleep either, or have I become an insomniac all of a sudden?” The question came with a sigh, long arms spread to their full wingspan as he tried to count how many full rotations the ceiling fan made in a minute. That was how bored he was.

You sighed disappointedly, toying with the frayed tassels on your blanket. A moue on your face. “No, I can’t fall asleep either.”

“I think I know why.” he sung the last word in suggestion, hands absentmindedly drumming against his abdomen.

“Miles,” you warned, letting your head fall to the side so you could stare at the top of his head and address him directly. “Your mom gave very specific instructions, and personally, I would like to return home to mine with my head still on my shoulders.” grumbling your response, you shoved down the urge to invite him up there with you like your mind was telling you to.

He propped himself up on an elbow at that, eyes immediately making contact with yours. Your first mistake was not looking away, because those pretty pools of hazel were already starting to convince you and he hadn’t even opened his mouth yet.

“But how is that fair?” he complained, sounding exasperated. “We take naps together all the time when you’re here, I just wanna cuddle with you.” he sulked, as if you were the one who’d come up with the rule. Never in a million years would you submit the both of you to this kind of torture. You loved falling asleep in his arms.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Well, yeah. But that’s during the day, when she can check on us anytime she wants to. I don’t think your mom wants us that close to each other at night for,” The last part of your sentence faded to a jumbled murmur as your gaze traveled back to the ceiling. “…obvious reasons.”

He impishly raised a brow as if he didn’t know what you were referring to, chin resting in the palm of his hand. With only the faded lights of the city to illuminate the living room, the cheeky smile on his face went unnoticed, though you could hear it in the tone of his voice, loud and clear.

“And what reasons are those?” Miles asked, feigning innocence. His long lashes blinking at you.

Hand smacking to your forehead, you recited a silent prayer, a plea for strength. It was beginning to look like you weren’t going to get yourself out of this. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

His hand gestured to the air, plainly. “Well obviously. But still, we’re not dumb. That’s why I always take you to the roof when we—“

“Miles Gonzalo Morales do not finish that sentence!”

He snorted at the squeak of your voice and you used your pillow to hide your heated face.

“This is not going to help us fall asleep.” your irritated statement was muffled from the fabric of the pillowcase.

He hummed. “Exactly, meaning there’s only one thing left to try.” Slow to catch on, you didn’t realize what he meant until you felt the couch dip from the weight of his knee.

A hand trickled up the exposed skin of your thigh and it stopped when it met your sleep-shorts clad hip, the pillow snatched from your face and tossed onto the floor where he previously resided just a second ago.

“What are you—?”

He hovered over you, one hand pressed into the cushion beside your waist to hold himself up. Your question fell short when he swiftly parted your legs with his other hand and comfortably slotted his body between your thighs. A relieved sigh escaped him, his cheek nuzzling into the soft of your chest when he laid on top of you. His favorite way to cuddle.

“Shhh, trying to sleep.” murmuring a dismissive answer to your query, he let his eyes flutter to a close and snaked his arms around your waist, forearms cradling the curve of your back.

Contrary to the fight you were putting up just a minute ago— your arm curled over the expanse of his shoulders, fingers idly twirling at the baby curls that dusted the nape of his neck, something you always did to help him fall asleep faster. He let out a low, satisfied sound and relaxed into you completely, his hold on you tightening. While a part of you wanted to protest, an even bigger part wanted to remain under him like this. His weight was comforting; made you feel secure in the way a weighted blanket did.

“Your mom is not going to be happy with us.” you reminded him, stretching your other arm down enough to grab your blanket and pull it up over the two of you.

“It’s worth it. I’ll happily take the blame,” he drawled sleepily, snuggling in closer to the kiss that grazed his forehead. “I love you…” The laggard pace to his words let you know he was already dozing off, and you smiled, fatigue finally catching up with you too.

“I love you, Miles.”

— extra scene

Jeff stood in silence, arms folded over his broad chest and lips puckered awkwardly. Rio occupied the space next to him, hands perched on her wide hips, fingers tapping against them and her jaw clenched in disapproval. Her expression was everything but amused at the scene in front of them. He stole a tactful glance at his wife every two seconds, silently trying to gauge how irritated she was without having to ask her.

Sometime during the night you and Miles had switched places, and now his lanky legs were draped over the arm of the small couch and you were on top of him, clung to his body like a wet T-shirt, face barely visible seeing as it was nestled into the crook of his neck. With his mouth hanging slack as he loftily snored, Rio felt her eye almost twitch while she stared down at her stubborn son, who seemed to have magically teleported from his assigned spot on the floor and into yours instead.

“Well, I coulda told’ya that would happen.” Jeff said quietly with a laid-back shrug, to which Rio responded with a back-handed swat to his chest.

“Ow!”

Through her aggravation she still kept her voice low as to not wake the two of you, eyes narrowed at her husband. “I am going to strangle this boy, Jeff. Dios ayudame. ¡Tu hijo nunca escucha! (God help me, your son never listens!)” she griped, gesturing towards Miles’ arm that was loosely circled around your waist. She tramped down the hall, hands tossed up in defeat while she grumbled something incoherent under her breath.

Lips downturned into an offended frown, Jeff coddled his chest with his palm and followed after her, voice kicked up an octave like a nagging child. “Why is he only my son when he does something you don’t like? We made him together!”

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms!

likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated 💗

[thru-the-grapevine]

Deep End

Pairing: Choi Soobin x fem!reader

Summary: Soobin thinks you could be the most dangerous thing to ever happen to him, if he let you (or: not even the ambience of a city rooftop can distract Soobin from you).

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags/Warnings: mature content (minors dni), pwfwp (porn with feelings without plot), public sex, established relationship, man is a simp

Author’s Note: the lovely @chanis-banani has allowed me to post the birthday gift I made for her 🥰 I played myself by writing it for her because now I’m kinda nuts about him too. Whoops.

Soobin has never been a particularly possessive or territorial person before, so he’s unprepared for how it feels to see you in his shirt.

He watches you in the reflection of the hotel elevator, mesmerized. The shirt is a button-down, oversized even on Soobin. He’d helped you roll up each sleeve four times just to give your wrists some breathing room, and from how it fits on you, it gives the appearance that it’s the only thing you’re wearing at all. He’s trying very hard not to stare at your bare legs, focusing in on your little painted toenails to try and stay respectful. He’s not sure if it’s working. Nothing feels respectful about the way he looks at you these days.

The two of you are on a weekend trip to the city together, seizing the opportunity for quality time alone during a rare time when neither of you have anything in your schedules. You’d suggested pretending it was a fancy weekend, and Soobin had taken you at your word and sprung for a nicer hotel than usual, particularly because of how your face had lit up at the idea of a rooftop pool.

The two of you are on the way to this pool now, and instead of wearing normal clothes over your swimsuit, you’d insisted on borrowing one of his shirts. He’d agreed without really thinking about it, and once the sleeves were rolled up you’d declared it was perfect.

Soobin can’t disagree, either, because he can’t stop looking at you in it. Something about it being your idea makes it even better. He likes the way you look in it, but in a way he didn’t expect. Some sort of base instinct in his gut is glowing, seeing you in something of his.

Then again, you’ve always fascinated him, even before the two of you began seeing each other. You’ve always lit up every room he sees you in, something about how you carry yourself drawing the klutzy moth of him to you like flame. He’s never wanted to know so much about another person before. He loves learning every little thing that makes you laugh, that makes you chatty, that incites reactions in you.

He can’t believe he convinced you to say yes when he asked you out, amazed you allowed him to keep coming back for more. He feels like a naturalist who got outrageously lucky enough to get close to their favorite beloved wildlife, like he has to drink in and take note of everything he can get of you in case you spook and flee. Like he can puzzle out the mystery of you if he studies you closely enough.

You catch him staring in the reflection and make a silly face. He grins and makes one back, shifting closer to you and watching his reflection drape an arm over your shoulders. He’s realizing recently how often you draw him in, how he’s always looking for reasons to be as close to you as he can. If he really was a moth, he’d be scorched to a crisp by now.

He can feel you practically vibrating with excitement as the two of you step out onto the roof. There’s a huge grin on your face as you gaze around with eyes so big that Soobin knows you wish you had more of them to take it all in.

“Not too shabby, then?” He asks, charmed at the way you flit from place to place, exploring.

“What do you mean, not too shabby? It’s perfect,” you gush, gesturing from thing to thing and bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Look at the view, ugh, it’s so—and the pool? It’s perfect, the water is so pretty, it’s all so pretty here at night, look at all the other buildings lit up, I’m just—!”

You take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, face still aglow. “Okay. Calming down.”

He grins, making his way to a chaise lounge near the pool and sitting. “That’s the spirit.”

“Why is it so empty up here on a night like this?” You wonder, staring up and around at the nearby buildings and night sky.

A private smile twitches at the corner of Soobin’s mouth. “Yeah, seems way too nice out not to be up here.”

“Definitely nice enough to swim,” you muse, turning to him and batting your eyes once. “You’ll swim with me, right?”

It was never a question that he would, but Soobin feigns uncertainty. “Hmm...”

“Just for a little bit,” you insist, shoulders slumping, and he can’t help laughing.

“’Course, that’s why we came up here.”

You pout at him, making your way over to his chair. “Rude.”

He watches you approach, endeared at the little frown line between your brows when you pout, how it makes your lips even more distracting. “You’re just easy to bother.”

You make a face at him. “Just for that, you can have your shirt back.”

His mouth goes a little dry when your hands go to the top button, fiddling.

“Oh no, please, anything but that,” he tries to deadpan, but his voice rasps.

You roll your eyes, amused, as you pop the first button. “Perv.”

He can’t even refute you. It’s like erotic torture, watching you unbutton the shirt—his shirt; god, that really is doing things to him. The buttons are on the opposite placket than you’re used to, which means you move slower, and Soobin watches in an agony of lust as inch after inch of your skin is revealed.

You shrug the shirt off when it’s finally unbuttoned, tossing it into his lap and wandering to the edge of the pool. He tries to get himself back under control, but your swimsuit leaves so much less to the imagination than anything else he usually sees you wear that it’s impossible.

You look back over your shoulder at him, pausing on the steps descending into the water. “You coming?”

He nods, dazed.

You raise an eyebrow, smirk teasing the corners of your mouth. “You good?”

That depends heavily on what “good” means. He considers saying this, knows you’ll enjoy the philosophical banter, but when he opens his mouth his throat is too dry to speak. He shuts his mouth and clears his throat, giving up. “I...yeah. Great.”

His face feels hot when you wink at him, tip of your tongue between your teeth. Jesus.

He watches you wade down into the pool and tries to think of boring things, like taxes and bylaws and coding instructions, anything but how breathtaking every inch of you is. It doesn’t work, especially when you dip beneath the surface briefly, then come back up, swiping your hair back from your face more flawlessly than any model.

“Water’s fine,” you murmur, and something in your expression makes him think you’re fully aware that he’s wrapped around your little finger.

Maybe the water will clear his head. He grabs the scruff of his shirt and yanks it over his head. “Coming.”

He doesn’t bother with the steps, heads straight for the deep end and hops in. The cool water is a welcome shock to his system, as well as the muted quiet of underwater. He lingers near the bottom, waiting until his lungs ache for air to push back towards the shallow end.

When he resurfaces, you’re floating on your back, gazing up at the night sky. He swipes his hair out of his face and rises to his full height, angling to see you better. You have your mouth pursed in a specific way to keep from inhaling water, and your hair splays out around your head in the water in gentle, undulating waves, Medusa-style. There are little twinkling reflections in your eyes of the world you’re drinking in above you. Bliss in your face.

Oh no, a voice in the back of Soobin’s mind says, and looking at you feels like he’s made of glass and is being shoved off a high ledge. But Soobin can’t bring himself to be frightened, can only concentrate on the pleasant swoop in his stomach as he plummets. He thinks he might enjoy being shattered by you.

You jerk in surprise when you catch him watching you, a thrash of water. “Jesus.”

He feels a grin tugging at his lips. “Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all.

“Why are you just standing there staring, you weirdo?” You move upright again, and your mad scientist hair flattens into a streaming curtain down your back. Pale blue pool light reflects in little waves over your skin, and Soobin would believe someone in this moment if they told him you were a water goddess.

He can’t tear his gaze away from you, still grinning like a fool. “You’re interesting.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing smile back on your face.

“Interesting, huh.”

“Mhm.” He starts wading your way at that dreamlike pace water always demands. Moth, meet flame.

“Me, or my tits?”

“I—that wasn’t what—” Soobin stammers. “What—I hadn’t even looked at—”

And he hadn’t, truly. Except of course they’re now at the forefront of his mind, now that you’ve mentioned them, and invisible magnetism keeps tempting his gaze down, a losing fight with the thought of them right at the top of his brain, and now he’s noticing your chest, half-submerged, the gleam of soaked skin and droplets in tantalizing places, noticing the wet cling of swimsuit fabric to curving soft skin. He wonders how it might feel to glide his hands over and under and around, whether you would feel cool or warm under his mouth, and his mind hadn’t been on this track two seconds ago, it really hadn’t...

He hears you snort, tears his gaze back to your face, schoolboy guilt bunched in his stomach.

“Mmhmm,” you say, unbelieving. Your pleased little grin eases the shame, a balm on his heart.

“Yah, I really wasn’t,” he protests. “...but now that you mention it...”

Your snicker is cute, everything about you is so cute, and when did this happen, how did this happen, how did you become the most irresistible thing in Soobin’s world without him catching whiff of it before?

You surprise him when you lunge for him when he’s close enough, your arms flinging around his neck, soft mouth covering his. Like kissing him is a relief, like to you he’s something special, something to look forward to. He’s not going to question why, even if his own appeal to you puzzles him, just pulls you closer with his hands on your hips and kisses you back.

You pull back far too quickly, and he frowns, missing you already. He’s immediately distracted, though, at the delicate feeling of your fingertips ruffling in the soggy strands of his hair.

“Thanks for springing for this place,” you murmur, grateful little smile on your face. “I love it.”

“’Course, baby,” he hums, trying not to feel too smug for nailing it. All of it was worth it just for this.

Your gaze follows a droplet of water traveling down his neck and over his chest. One of your hands leaves his hair, tracing the wing of his collarbone gently.

“You’re really hot when you’re all wet,” you admit, floating off your feet and hooking your legs around his waist.

Your positioning immediately stokes his carnal interest. He blinks, dazed grin spreading slowly over his face.

“Only when I’m all wet?” He teases, hands on a slow glide from your hips to cup beneath your thighs, holding you in place.

You tsk at him, fingers still playing in slow, hypnotic patterns through his hair and over his chest. “Fishing for compliments? Don’t tell me you don’t hear them all the time. We know what you look like.”

He loves watching your mouth when you talk. The shape of your lips is something he’s constantly cataloguing for long-term memory, both from looking at and feeling them with his own.

“I only ever want your compliments,” he says absently, thumbs drawing little circles on your thighs, completely mesmerized. “They’re the only ones that count.”

He can see the reflection of the flickering surface of the pool in your eyes. Something thrills in his chest when the edges of your smile turn a little shy.

“Flirt,” you murmur, leaning in closer.

He blinks, drawing the tip of his nose along yours slowly. He can’t remember what he said. He should try to remember, should take it down to use later, but you’re quite literally hanging all over him and you’re all wet in a swimsuit and your mouth is only inches away and he is not God’s strongest soldier, after all.

He leans down and fastens his mouth over yours, kissing you like he has all the time in the world. It’s quickly becoming one of his favorite things to do, finding all the ways your mouths can fit together. He teases the tip of his tongue along your lower lip, heart racing when you sigh into his mouth and open for him. God. The taste of you, mingled with pool water and the lip balm you’d borrowed from him earlier, is enough to turn off all the thoughts in his brain.

Mouth still playing over yours, he wades slowly backward, inching towards the pool steps, crouching as the water gets shallow to keep you both weightless in the water. His heel knocks against the bottom step and he stumbles back, kiss breaking as he sits down hard.

Your little giggle goes straight to his crotch for reasons he can’t decipher. He grins, sheepish, lifts himself up to sit on the next-highest step, reaching for your hips and reeling you back in. You straddle his lap without him even having to ask, more proof to his mind that you’re perfect, and when he tilts his chin up you meet him halfway.

Everything about you in his arms feels right, and Soobin feels something unidentifiable deep within him settling into place. All his senses are honed in on you, on your mouth moving with his, on the gentle chaos of your breath, on the soft suppleness of you relaxing into him as he kisses you with slow, consuming ardor. His hands slide in restless patterns over you, and eventually his mouth parts from yours and drags along the line of your jaw.

“For the record,” he murmurs, pausing to nip softly at your earlobe, “you’re really hot when you’re all wet, too.”

Your laugh is breathless, a bolt of heat to his gut. “Only when I’m all wet?”

“Especially when you’re all wet,” he whispers, nuzzling against the hollow beneath your ear, savoring how you shiver.

Your skin is cool beneath his mouth, and he makes it a personal mission to warm it again, openmouthed kisses gliding smooth and wet and hot along the expanse of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, the wing of your collarbone. He feels you hum and relax further into his lap, tension in your muscles melting you closer against him, candle wax near open flame. He marvels innocently at how incredibly silky you are, even over firmer places, how there’s a hint of you behind the chlorine on your skin, and he needs more of it, feels an itch in his brain for more you in his senses.

“Hey,” you protest halfheartedly as he fumbles with the ties of your swimsuit top. “This is a public pool, someone could come up.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, hearing the words purely at a sound level, feeling the ties come loose in his hands with a slithery tickle. He nuzzles into the inside curve of your breast, nudging fabric away from wet skin, mouth slipping along the plush undercurve. Pure fascination wins out as he opens his mouth wider, bites, sucks.

He feels you twitch in surprise at the feeling, soothes his hands along your back in half-apology, laser-focused on the feel, the taste of you in his mouth. You’re sensitive here, not as excruciatingly sensitive as your nipples, but that just means he doesn’t have to be as careful, can let his curiosity at the feeling of you win unrestricted.

He continues nibbling and sucking in that spot, slides a hand around to your front and tugs the now-loose top away, tossing it behind him blindly. He feels your hands tighten on his shoulders when he settles his hand back on you, cupping your other breast. He eases the pad of his thumb in gentle circles over your areola, mesmerized at the way the skin puckers and tightens to a point under the lazy caress. He hears you swallow back a moan, feels one of your hands slide up and weave fingers through his hair, and that base instinct deep in his gut puffs its chest knowing that he affects you like this.

He lifts his mouth from your skin with a crude pop, other hand sliding from your back to brush a thumb over the hickey. He knows you love when he leaves them on your neck, but it still makes him shy to know other people will see them and make assumptions about what your love lives are like. This one, however, on this pillowy curve of skin that only the two of you get to see, is right up his alley. Satisfied with how dark it is already, he nuzzles your breast and settles his mouth over your nipple.

The little noise you make is adorable, and Soobin finds himself smiling against your skin. He traces his tongue over the budding peak, unhurried, takes your other nipple between his fingers and pinches until you gasp. He can’t resist rolling it slowly between his fingers, twisting one way and then the other as he circles the other in lazy circles with his tongue.

He hears a frayed whimper in your throat, the helpless wriggle of your hips against his inflaming him further. He’s never been addicted to a person before, but he’s hooked on you for sure, wants to take inventory of every inch of you, every reaction he can incite, every texture and scent and movement. He drags his mouth to your other breast and kisses your poor abused nipple gently, massages it better with his tongue as his hand takes over the one he left behind.

All of you drowns his senses—the cool slipperiness of your skin, the little whines you sigh out, the way you keep cinching yourself closer to him, burying your face against his hair, agonizing friction in your laps. He can’t stop himself from groping your ass and tucking your hips in tighter against his, fascinated by the feeling of your muscles twitching and contracting with desire.

He makes a noise of surprise when your hand in his hair tightens and yanks, angling his face up to yours. You crush your mouth over his, and his hands are immediately all over you, roaming restless paths over every inch of you he can reach, urging you closer. He wants to drown in you, be consumed by you, devour you with all five senses at once and then more.

It’s not enough. He wrenches his mouth from yours, panting, tapping your hip.

“Up,” he pants.

You hesitate only a second before moving off of his lap. He stands quickly and takes your hand, sloshing his way up the remaining steps and out of the pool with you in tow.

You seem to be on the same wavelength, to an extent, matching his pace as he makes his way over to the chairs with your things on them. He guides you in front of him, a twinge of fondness in his chest at the sight of your arm attempting to cover your chest, as if that doesn’t just make them look especially sumptuous, and he wants his hands back on you, wants to test how squishable—

“Down,” he pants, hand nudging your shoulder until you sit on the chaise, then nudging again until you lie back. His other hand is already untying your swim bottoms, one side and then the other, gaze laser-focused as he leans in and presses a kiss low on your abdomen, parting your legs.

“I—wait, ‘Binnie,” you protest, hand coming to his head. “Stop—we are outside, someone could look out a window and see—”

“Don’t care,” he mumbles against your skin, mouth already gliding along the inside of your thigh. The looming buildings nearby, the vague hum of city life stories below, the night sky, the pool, everything is in a foggy haze in Soobin’s mind. His only focus is you, on how downy soft you are, how you shiver as his tongue darts out to catch at water droplets on your skin.

“Easy for you to say, you’re still wearing someth—ah,” you squeak as Soobin yanks your now-completely untied bottoms away, balling them up absently in one hand and hurling them to oblivion. “Wait, I’m serious, Soobinnnnnnngh.”

He groans into the apex of your thighs, mouth open wide and tongue flattened along as much of you as possible. God, yes, this is exactly what he’s after, concentration and essence of you overwhelming his senses. Slowly, he curls the tip of his tongue, dragging his mouth up, the motion gently parting wet layers of inner softness. You slap a hand over your mouth, moaning as the tip of his tongue laves over the sensitive crest at the very peak, and he lingers there for a moment, leaving an openmouthed kiss.

Blindly, he fumbles above him, finding your arm and pulling your hand away from your mouth, anchoring your wrist to the chaise. He feels your other hand tighten hard in his hair as he continues leaving wet, sucking kisses all over the sensitive tucks and pleats of flesh, working you up with ruthless patience.

He daydreams about this more often than he cares to admit, even more so when the two of you are apart, and he’s determined to learn and implement the way you like it best, the way that makes you lose all sense of shame. Admittedly, he gets a little carried away in part because you’ve told him your former partners were merely passable at eating you out. His competitive streak, combined with this growing obsession with you, make him determined to be extra attentive whenever you grant him this opportunity.

It’s difficult to stay focused, though, the hot and wet feel of you on his mouth, the taste of you on his tongue, enough to make him delirious. He easily gets lost in the savoring, mapping every inch of you under his tongue, lingering in places just because it makes you tremble and whine like you’re desperate for him, and he wants you just as desperate for him as he feels about you.

He hums into you, delighted, when your legs close in around his head as he closes his mouth over your clit and sucks. Everything goes muffled, even the little moans of his name you’re trying to bite back, but it hardly matters when he can feel your limbs shaking, feel you hot and throbbing against his mouth. You start trying to buck your hips into his face, and he slides his free arm over your abdomen and pins you down, steadying you both. He tongues over you in wet, languid strokes, feels the clenching flutter of the entrance into your body. Pure fascination drives him again, and he strokes you there again, stiffening his tongue and driving it into you.

Oh, god. The tight, blistering heat of you, the taste, nearly unmans him. He moans into you, guttural, and nearly loses his mind at the way he can feel your inner muscles fluttering and clenching rhythmically on his tongue like a heartbeat.

The overwhelming need to make you come slams into him like a tidal wave. He’s determined now, anchoring you in place and delving his tongue into you in delicately aggressive thrusts, nuzzling into you deeper and deeper. He can hear you whining even with your thighs muffling his ears, the sound increasingly desperate, and he wants to give you anything in the whole world that you want, would roll over and bark if you asked, so he doubles his efforts and slides his mouth back up to suck and tongue at that most sensitive bud, wringing sensation like raw honey from the comb.

He wonders for a brief moment if he could come just like this, completely untouched with his face buried between your legs, moaning into you like your pleasure is his own, and if that makes him a munch then so be it. And then you tense and tighten against him for a full moment and the pleasure uncoils, your whole body arching and shuddering in euphoria. He shoves his tongue back into you and moans, lightheaded at each of the siphoning ripples of fulfillment pulling him in deeper, drunk on the little sobs of pleasure you make.

God. He’s never wanted anything as much as he wants to be wrapped up in you right the fuck now. He eases you through the quaking pulses of ecstasy and starts fumbling with the drawstring of his swimsuit, taking care not to touch himself for fear of blowing his load in his pants like a teenager. Raw need claws at his insides like a rabid animal, desire to make sure everything is perfect for you warring against his impatience, his craving to skip over things like a condom and gentleness and—

Condom. Oh. He remembers reminding himself to grab one, remembers seeing the box of them tucked into his bag and knowing one would be needed, and yet here he is, empty-handed. Fuck.

“We have to go back to the room,” he groans, leaning back and mopping his chin with the back of his hand. “Now. I need to be in you more than I need to live another day.”

Through your pleasured exhaustion, a lazy smile forms on your lips. You shake your head, glancing over and gesturing at his dress shirt you’d borrowed.

“Don’t need to go back downstairs,” you breathe, and fuck, your post-orgasm voice is devastatingly sexy. “Get the shirt, I brought a condom.”

He blinks at you, once, twice, not comprehending. “You...”

Color flushes over your skin prettily. “I...I thought it never hurts to be prepared. For anything.”

Soobin is trying to process that you’ve had a plan for being up here that involves a condom. Dazed, he glances over at the neighboring chaise, reaches for the shirt.

“Is there a condom...in the shirt...?”

Your breathless giggle ties his insides into little knots.

“You didn’t notice the weird shape in the breast pocket earlier?” You ask, eyes crinkled in mirth.

Through the haze of oh my god she wants us to fuck, Soobin finds it in him to be indignant again. “I wasn’t looking at—I was trying not to look, you know, at...”

He huffs a sigh as he extracts the condom from the shirt pocket, unable to stay annoyed even as you keep giggling at him.

“Here I was trying to be respectful,” he tsks, smiling even as his ears grow hot.

You snort. “Ah yes, the respectful boyfriend that strips his girlfriend at a public pool and commits sex acts on her where anyone could stumble in on them.”

“No one’s going to stumble in,” Soobin breathes, trying to make his hands dry enough to tear the condom packet open.

“What do you mean?”

“Pool’s closed,” he says, giving up and tearing at the packet with his teeth.

“The pool is closed? Are we going to get in trouble for—”

“It’s not really closed,” he says. “I just paid the front desk to tell the rest of the hotel guests that it’s closed.”

You stare at him for so long in stunned silence that he starts feeling a little antsy. “You bribed the hotel...so you could have sex with me?”

“I would bribe anyone with anything to spend even five platonic minutes alone with you,” he protests, fumbling the condom out of the wrapper.

He stills when you grab his wrist, arresting him with your stare. There’s something at work behind your eyes, something he doesn’t know the name for.

“What?” He whispers.

After a long moment, you swallow. “Nothing. I just...no, nothing. Here, let me.”

You keep eye contact as you slip the condom out of his hand, and he shivers when your other hand brushes down his abdomen. His breath stutters when you take hold of him, and he feels himself twitch in your hand after going so long neglecting himself.

If he doesn’t redirect his attention he may still finish before he can even get inside you. “People might—might still be able to see from windows,” he stammers as you roll the condom on, spreading your legs.

You shrug a shoulder, abashed smile still on your face. “If they see, they see,” you breathe.

Sometimes you make him breathless.

“Remind me not to believe you,” he murmurs, settling himself between your legs, “when you say you’re too shy to do this out in the open.”

You laugh as he drags his tip over you, catching on your entrance. “Don’t push it, this is a special ca—ohh.”

Ohh, indeed. Soobin moans and drops his forehead against your temple, feeling what little remains of his sanity obliterating the further inside he eases into you. You’ve been intimate like this before, but no matter how prepared Soobin thinks he is, every time feels like the first time all over again. Nothing ever truly prepares him for the scalding hot, wet glide into unimaginable tightness, for how even when you’re relaxed, he has to bully himself into you inch by inch. He’s shaking with the effort to be gentle, nudges his hips slowly until bit by bit, all of him is enveloped snugly inside.

“How can you feel this perfect,” he groans, most of the willpower left at his disposal exerted on lasting, good god he needs to last even just to feel you around him like this for longer—

You laugh again, breathless, and the way that feels when you’re connected like this is sinfully good. “I try.”

“No you don’t,” he gasps, rocking his hips gingerly into yours. “You just are.”

You whimper as the angle of his hips drives him into a sensitive place inside of you. He grinds into the spot again, careful, his restraint threadbare but hanging on.

“Please,” you pant, hitching your knees further up, and the adjustment of angle forcing him even deeper.

Soobin nearly chokes on his own tongue. Fuck. He thrusts like he’s afraid of himself, mantra of don’t come don’t come don’t come flooding the forefront of his mind, sheer force of will.

“I won’t break,” you plead, voice so breathy and fucked-out it belongs in high-end porn. Sweet merciful god, he can’t do this.

He feels your mouth drag along his shoulder, and then a flash of sharpness. His body reacts to the bite before his mind can catch up, hips surging hard against yours, strangled noise punching out of his throat. Your legs tighten around him, intimate muscles clenching in that way that means hell yes, and the groan from deep in his chest is inevitable as he snaps his hips again. Fuck.

Yeah, okay, he can do this for you. That base instinct in his gut purrs like a feral dragon at the way you can no longer hide your moans, being fucked like this. His new goal now is to build stamina, he’s determined, needs to be able to do you exactly how you want it for hours without stopping. He thinks he might be moaning too but he can’t hear, so preoccupied with drinking in every clench of your muscles around him, every little pleasured expression on your face, addiction to every part of you wrapped around him like this so intense he feels lightheaded.

He can’t tell if you’re shaking or he is, only knows you’re pulling him in like you aren’t already as close as it is humanly possible to be, like that somehow isn’t enough, like you can meld yourselves into a singular being if you try hard enough. Your fingernails dig hard into his shoulders, your breath stuttering in that way that tells him just what’s coming next, and then you shatter around him.

You become impossibly tighter around him, bearing down with rhythmic spasms luring him deeper inside, as if that’s even possible, like he hasn’t been working himself as deep into you as he can go, purely for selfish reasons. He never wants to leave, would live inside you if he could, and he loves that you get like this with him, loves the way you go soft and pliant when the release begins ebbing, god, he loves—

His release hits him with no warning, no buildup, hard as a bullet train. Fuck. It feels like nothing that’s ever happened to him before, and a stab of panic electrocutes him through the feeling. His ears are ringing, alarm bells tolling danger in his bones, and he feels out of control, completely gone, glass making impact at last and shattering into far-flung pieces, impossible to gather again. It’s all he can do to gasp for breath, clutching at you like handfuls of sand that keep slipping away, hips rocking into you, slow, rhythmic, with a mind of their own.

Your arms slide around his back, warm pressure like an anchor point, and just with that, with your tight embrace and each deep breath you take, you’ve found each piece of him, binding him back together. Only now the essence of you fills in the cracks, the healing balm, each sinew of him now limned with your glow. A moth made of flame.

Soobin tries to take as even breaths as possible, tries to sound calm, rests his face against the chaise next to your face and feels a hot stinging drip from his eyelashes.

He knows what that look in your eyes was earlier, he realizes. The unidentifiable emotion. He knows because it’s clicking for him right now, the knowledge that he feels that way, too.

Admin Ellie’s Masterlist

[sanjisboyfie]

∞ SNSTV : first year, first mission

this is the first chapter of my series "sensitive" (SNSTV = sensitive). since it's a series, this first chapter is going to be pretty "boring" in terms of romance, but it still full of satosugu interactions with reader...but probably not favorable ones as you'll see soon lol. anyway ! stay tuned for the next chapters because i will have a lot of fun fleshing this out hehehe

first year satosugu x male reader

-> prev

( if u squint )

“since shoko is a very valuable sorcerer, she must refrain from participating in highly dangerous missions,” the only girl in the room smiled at the information, sneakily flipping off her male classmates. satoru was annoyed, suguru was indifferent, and [name] seemed to be the only one with half a mind to care for the woman’s safety.

“her abilities are quite special,” he compliments, making yaga hum in agreement and shoko wink at him in appreciation.

satoru pretends to barf in his mouth.

“that leaves the three of you, [last name], gojo, and geto — this mission is going to be your first one without supervision. it should show to be easy enough. you are to simply monitor and oversea a specific section of the closed down mall and exorcise any curses that are roaming. it has been closed down far too long and kids are starting to wander in there without any idea of what they’re walking into. for the safety of the people and the community, you must exterminate every curse that dwells there. you are all permitted in using any cursed tool, if you wish, but we highly encourage you learn to harness your abilities as soon as possible.”

satoru pretended to barf in his mouth again. doing things for “normal” civilians was never his most ideal way of spending his time. but unless he wanted to hear a nagging from yaga, he had to suck it up. formal missions were hard to dodge, anyway. meanwhile, suguru hummed in understanding, seeing why this would need an urgent team.

and [name] was just excited to finally get his hands on his cursed tool again.

the three were escorted to the abandoned mall via their driver, who told them to call him if anything were to happen and they needed immediate assistance.

“i don’t get why crybaby over here had to come,” satoru huffs, looking at the mall with disinterest. it’s unclear whether or not he’s talking to himself or his other classmate. either way, it got a reaction from [name] who was within earshot.

“why don’t you just go fuck off gojo,” [name] snarled, holding onto the scythe in his hands with a tight grip. he expertly twirled it around, using the weight of it and basic understanding of gravity, to make it so that the sharp blade was pointed right at gojo’s neck.

hiding his surprise at the sudden action, gojo just smirked and glared at [name].

“you’re just scared because you know i’m right. the moment things go to shit, you’re gonna go running with your tail in between your legs like a poor puppy. and i’ll be there to laugh,” gojo said with a taunting cackle, the ugly sound rising from his throat making both suguru and [name] cringe.

“i’ll slice your throat open, i mean it.”

“love to see you try, piece of shit!”

“alright! enough fighting, the both of you! seriously? are we on a mission to exorcise some curses or is it my personal responsibility to babysit the two of you?” suguru sighed, rubbing his forehead in stress, “can we all just do this and go home? i think it’s obvious neither of you want to be here any longer,”

satoru rolled his eyes at suguru’s “nice guy” perona, internally calling bullshit on his entire personality. god, satoru hated those type of guys the most. the ones who think they’re superior just because they’re more mature. it pissed him off that suguru had an ability so strong too...talk about waste of potential!

well, too bad for both [name] and suguru because the one who was most superior was obviously him! he was gojo satoru, after all.

“whatever, weaklings. why don’t you sit back and just let me take care of this? there’s no need for your abilities when i could exterminate every curse in the vacinity,” satoru was confident when speaking his words, but if you were to tell him to actually do that…he might not have been able to.

hey! he was a first year and just recently allowed to go completely “ham” on using his powerful abilities. he didn’t have the bestest grasp on control or output, but he did know that his technique easily overpowered the other twos’.

“hm, to make it interesting, why don’t we have a competition?”

the competitive side of [name] and satoru shone bright after suguru said that. taking their perked up heads and attentive ears as a sign to continue on, he proposed, “whoever exorcises the most curses won’t have to do chores around the dorm for a whole week and all that responsibility will fall onto the losers.”

“a whole month,” [name] bargained, earning a shrug of approval from suguru. and satoru laughed that obnoxious laugh of his again, shouting a “bring it on” before putting on his sunglasses.

“you two are going down!”

“what does cockiness get you besides hateful stares, gojo?”

“geto-san’s right, you gojo bitch! bite your tongue and choke on your own blood, fool!!”

on the count of 3, the three students were setting off into separate directions of the mall and finding as many curses as possible to exterminate. for how vast the entire property was, this could take as long as a couple of hours…if the three students were normal jujutsu sorcerers.

but when you put a narcissist, someone with a superiority complex, and a hot-headed individual in a high stakes competition, you get the mall that was full of curses being free of said curses in under two hours (an hour and ten minutes, to be exact. to cover a 800,000 square feet land full of extremely lower grade curses).

at the beginning of the competition, [name] would lure out the curses by simply baiting them with his “naivety” of them being there. they’d pounce to attack, happy to find an unsuspecting prey, before [name] would slash them across their forms and kill them with his cursed tool. he imagines by the end of the hour, he had already taken care of over a couple dozen very low grade curses.

just as he was about to maneuver around and slice another one up, something had already took care of the problem.

“gonna need to try harder than that, crybaby,” satoru taunts, smirking from a floor above as he easily blew up the curse that was about to attack [name]. the man grits his teeth in annoyance while the white haired individual just shrugs in pride, “you can’t even look out for yourself, need me to save you, huh?”

“fuck off!” [name] sent a strong gust of wind satoru’s way via swinging his scythe towards satoru, creating almost a slash of air. his tormentor only laughed at the attempt in attacking him, flipping out of the way and then walking past [name] with a smug grin.

as he disappeared from [name]’s sight, he felt himself get more and more annoyed and angry at his predicament. of course, he had to be stuck in an abandoned place with his bully and not be able to leave until the ending of their mission. [name] huffed, feeling an unfair amount of tears reach his eyes.

at least satoru wouldn’t be around to see him cry like a pathetic loser, he thought to himself. he shook his head a couple of times, forcing the tears down with a clearing of his throat and rough wipe of his face. it was a pain to live such an emotionally unstable life — as if he had any control over things like that.

“so you really are a crybaby?” suguru’s voice broke his silent sobs, making him whip his head up and glare at the man approaching him. seeing his obvious apprehension to him being there, suguru put his hands up in surrender to show he meant no harm, “there’s no reason for you to be crying, why are you crying?”

“obviously i know i have no reason to cry, idiot, how annoying do you think it is for me to have to do it when i have no reason to?!”

suguru blinked, confusion panted on his face, “you have to cry?” putting emphasis on ‘have’ it was obvious suguru didn’t see a point in such a thing, especially right now.

“you wouldn’t get it, so just leave me alone,” [name] said, waving his hand and turning around to look for more curses. suguru had an odd look on his face as he watched [name] walk away, an unreasonable amount of cursed energy surrounding the previously crying man.

the ravenette truly wondered what his life story was, he was just so intriguing. a sorcerer coming from one of the strongest clans in the jujutsu world was walking away from him with his head held down, shoulders shaking, and tears dripping onto the floor.

“what’s his deal,” suguru hums to himself, flicking his wrist in the direction of a miniature curse that was coming towards him and easily eliminating it from the picture.

[name] continued expertly swinging his scythe around whenever he saw a curse coming towards him, not flinching as it died in front of him each time. it was obvious he was most comfortable with such a weapon, despite it being a couple times larger than his smaller frame. with how easily he handled it, though, it was somewhat obvious that he had been training with the weapon for a long time.

“oiii!!! i finished up on my part of the mall,” satoru shouted, his whiny voice echoing in the empty walls.

“same here!!”

[name] looked down at the pathetic curse that was shyly standing far away from him. it had an odd figure, a spherical body that was being held up by skinny blue legs that were wobbling from the abnormal amount of weight that they had to hold up. it was muttering some stuff about the fitting room and how the clothes weren’t fitting, making [name] believe it probably formed from the stuff people would feel about themselves in the fitting rooms.

he sighed, walking ahead and crouching in front of the curse. the scythe remained unmoving as it was leaning against his shoulder, weakly swinging in the air at the heavy weight of the blade hanging behind his head. he kept it secure with his arm over the handle portion, making sure that it didn’t fall over.

the curse reached its arm out to touch him, but with a simple shifting of his head into the opposite direction, [name] stopped the possible contact. instead, he just put his finger to the pudgy flesh of the curse’s body, grimacing at the feeling. and with a simple “shot” coming from his fingers, the curse began to flail in pain and agony. until it turned into nothing but ash and dust, being blown away by a passing breeze.

“hey, what was your total count?” satoru’s voice taunted from behind him, not really reading the energy in the room. [name] stood up, a completely dead look in his eyes. it almost shocked satoru enough to shut him up, but it would take more than a miserable face to ever make him close his loud mouth.

“i came up to about 60,” suguru said, “a bunch of small insignificant ones, really,”

“and i got to the eighties,” satoru grinned, roughly shoving his shoulder into suguru’s. the black haired man only rolled his eyes, “what about you? i doubt above thirty, am i right?”

in reality, [name] had killed more curses than the two combined. but he susposes that he had an advantage, wielding a cursed tool rather than using his actual technique. well, except to kill that last one. plus his high sensitivity in reading where the curses were gave him an advantage in finding the prey faster than the other two.

but instead of telling the truth and gloating, like he should have done, he just shrugged, “i didn’t keep track — i guess you win, gojo,”

that made the strong sorcerer pump his fist into the air, chanting about how [name] and suguru were going to be stuck doing his laundry for a month. he was too caught up in his celebration to notice how sunken in [name]’s face really looked.

it wasn’t just his eyes that appeared dead, but it was as if the color drained from his face, his eyes turned bloodshot, and he was weakly walking towards them.

suguru noticed, though. and it intrigued him as he peered behind [name]’s subtly limping figure, catching a pile of ashes that was blowing in the wind. he couldn’t connect the dots completely, but he did know that the two things he noticed were connected in some way.

“feeling alright? losing sucks,” suguru asked, trying to talk about more light hearted things in the face of his incredibly sullen classmate.

“yeah, it’s whatever, i guess,”

there was definitely a difference. less colorful choices of vocabulary were being used and suguru thought that was the most noticeable change in [name]’s demeanor. he wasn’t cursing satoru out for being an egotistical piece of shit with the biggest ego in the world. he was just blankly walking past the bragging man with not a care in the world.

suguru bit his lip, stopping himself from asking more questions and instead reaching into his pocket to contact their original driver to tell them that the job was done. and while suguru was theorizing all of these things to himself, it was obvious satoru didn’t even spend a second thinking about it. if anything he welcomed the new, depressed [name]. it made for perfect bullying material for him!

that sadist, suguru grimly thought in his mind as he listened to the phone ring. he informed the driver to come pick them up before turning back around to watch satoru and [name] interact with one another. with how off he was acting, it was a surprise to see satoru still adamant on tormenting [name]. wasn’t it obvious already he was not himself? couldn’t gojo just give him a break? but then again, why wasn’t [name] sticking up for himself? he wasn’t a little kid that needed suguru’s saving, but at this point, he might as well.

“c’mon, gojo, quit it already,” suguru spoke up, lightly slapping the man’s shoulder. satoru didn’t like that, though, obnoxiously stomping over to stand toe-to-toe with suguru.

“hah? c’mon, geto, you’ve got to see that this is a real pathetic scene, isn’t it? he can’t do anything in his life but constantly lose. it makes you wonder how it’s even possible for us to exist in the same world as him; the strongests and the weakest standing to be in the same jujutsu class? what a joke,”

suguru grimaced, pushing satoru backwards to create some space in between them, “that’s not even funny, what’s your issue, gojo? can’t you just shut up for a couple of seconds? would it really kill you?”

satoru pretended to barf, glaring at suguru, “oh, c’mon, don’t tell me you’re one of those righteous folks that sticks up for the weaker people?”

“i don’t have to explain shit to you — i don’t even know you,” suguru mumbles, not wanting to entertain him further. creating an argument would only make their moods worsen and become more bitter towards each other. in the midst of his annoyance, suguru glances towards [name] and scoffed to himself.

it was a bit pathetic of [name] to not even speak up for himself, he’ll admit that. but he wasn’t going to bully him just for that. he just wished that he had spoken up for himself in this moment, it would’ve at least been a sign to satoru that he wasn’t to be messed with. that he was strong, to some extent. but instead the man just stood there and took all the insults.

it made suguru both annoyed and angered.

why couldn’t [name] stand up for himself now? he was doing so before so easily and naturally. but now, it was as if all the energy was sucked out of him…

the ride to the jujutsu high was silent. and [name] seperated from the two the moment they stepped foot onto the school grounds. suguru remained stoic as he watched [name] walk away while satoru next to him only hummed in disinterest.

”i’m telling you, suguru, to not waste your time defending him. he’s got no place in the jujutsu world, weak sorceres like him that prove to be useless have no place standing next to us — or even shoko for that matter. she may not have fighting prowess, but her natural ability is remarkable. with [name]…there’s nothing remarkable about him. it’s as if he’s a normal human, he’s ordinary and dull. don’t waste your breath with him.”

that was all satoru said to suguru before walking off, his hands behind his head as he walked in such a lax position. suguru stood silent for a couple of moments before snapping himself out of his stupor and going to his room.

he looked at the room a couple of doors down from him, [name]’s room, and his lips were drawn into a thin, straight line. he entered his comfortable room without wasting another second.

he didn’t know that behind [name]’s door, the man had his knees brought up to his chest as he sobbed his heart out on the floor. the screen of his small tv was blaring back at him in the dark room, the screen being the only source of light. he was watching his favorite show, one that made him laugh and happy. but tears streamed down his face as he had to choke back on his sobs.

he tried forcing a smile on his face, making an unsettling expression a couple of times before he gave up.

he always hated this part.

but he had to persevere. he moved to his small music player at his bedside, grabbing the headphones that worked alongside them and falling onto his bed. he put the flimsy over-ear devices on, sighing as he looked up at the blank ceiling. soon, a compilation of his favorites songs filled his ears and he tried to be content with the feeling.

‘immerse yourself. and you’ll be okay in the morning.’

it was a mantra he repeated to himself until he felt himself fall into sleep.

he really hated his innate cursed technique.

-

sorry if u hate emotional mcs...this guy is gonna be one. but for explainable reason, trust! he's still going to be strong, too, though, so look forward to that! i can't wait to make him go #insane <3 but other than that, really fun to write since it shows the dynamic i imagined satosugu to have in their first years of jujutsu high !!! since the whole incident happens in their second year i rlly wanna focus on building the relationships in the first year and stuff, so things might be a lil slow to start, but when it starts ... it'll start, trust. tysm for being os patient w this even if it is short affa. i look forward to writing longer, more deeeeeep chapters in the future. much love <3

[itstheghostofmypast]

Meow (Ch-4)

Choi San x (f)Reader

Summary: He had spent an entire millennia in solitude, waiting for her to come back to him, bearing this curse that was a constant reminder of his ignorance, his mistake, and his guilt. He had forgotten how fate had always been cruel to him, punishing him for all he had done, and so be it, meeting her in the 21st century should have brought him joy- there was only one problem, his love for her may not have decreased a drop, but she may love Poofy more than she ever loved him.

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 15k

Est Read Time: 1 hr 15 min

Warnings: death of a major character, abuse, war, PTSD.

Rating: Mature

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @san-network

Masterlist I Chp-3

He watched her walk out of the room, making sure to close it behind her, giving him some form of space, though he could hear the way she let out a sigh, so she was still afraid- no, perhaps uneasy at best. Well, he did leave some impression on her, invading her home, taking up her private quarters for two weeks, having her take care of him, such carelessness, San, it was not like you to burden such a delicate flower- visibly scoffing at the train of thought he huffed, laying back down as his head collided with the soft pillow breaking the blow, honestly, he had wanted it to hit hard enough to knock him out, for the way the Moon had fated him with a human was as exhausting as the time she had blessed him to be the protector of this land. However, he now preferred the latter any day. The more important and disturbing question that lingered at the back of his mind was the fact that neither of his brothers had looked for him during this time. Well, usually, he wouldn't let them wander around alone, especially in unknown areas that Yunho had not mapped, but he did feel like they could've sent the wolves to look for him. Or maybe they did and he didn't know? What if they couldn't find him?

The door slid open, causing him to close his eyes, and pretend he was asleep, he was still cautious of her, she had yet to prove her innocence. She may have been only taking care of him to gain a favour or his trust, only to exploit him later, or worse, ambush him, betray him, shattering the heart that had now begun beating for her- oh this was going to be a problem, he huffed, trying to keep his eyes closed and expressions relaxed.

She walked in with the tray, mindful of her robes, glad she had worn the light pastels with the gold highlights, a good first impression is important. Making her way around the bed she placed the tray on the small table, turning to face him, only to find him asleep.

"Oh...my, he must still be tired," she whispered, leaning closer to expect the damage, her original plan was to change the bandages after he finished eating, but since he was asleep now, she could just do it whenever he woke up. Her ears picked up his little huff, eyes flickering from his shoulder to his face, was he in some form of pain? Shifting ever so slightly she moved a bit closer, closer to his head, with deft fingers she brushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes, noting the shift of expression when she gently carded her fingers through his hair, actually she was trying to aim for his kitty ears, but she needed to take it slow.

He bit his lower lip at the gesture, trying to control himself, his body had begun to respond to her actions, it was no longer following his will and that scared him. He knew that around your other half instinct would often take over but she was not aware of their 'fated relationship', what if he ended up losing complete control and giving into his desires, one which were infatuated by his heart and burning passion for her. Perhaps he should open his eyes and scare her away again, the further she stayed the bet- a loud purr emitted from his throat, causing his eyes to snap open as she froze, fingers still in his hair, giving him a sheepish smile- though the fear swirling in her eyes almost gave her away- almost.

"What...are you doing?" A strained whisper broke past his lips, finally shattering the silence as he tried to even out his breathing, his purrs growing louder when she began to scratch below his ear, petting him like a cat, "My apologies...but you have really cute ears...Poofy."

Clearing her throat she slowly pulled back, praying to the Moon that he did not notice her flushed face, truth be told she had never laid eyes on a man more beautiful, so alluring and charismatic. He intrigued her, made her turn back to the curious little girl she was, the same girl who found Yuyu hiding behind the bushes at their home, who brought Yuyu to meet her mother and forced him to become her playmate- but there was something different about Poofy, the way his piercing gaze lingered on her, she could feel the way he was scanning her, sizing her up, drinking in her presence when she had first introduced herself, it was...different.

He gripped her wrist whilst she was about to pull back, maintaining eye contact, admiring the way her face was near his, pretty sure with a tug he'd have her fall on top of him- perhaps another time. Slowly bringing her hand back to his head he placed his hand on top of her, letting out a quiet purr before closing his eyes, "You may proceed, tiny human."

Smiling at the gesture, she tried to ignore the tingling sensation of his hand on hers, he was so warm, she'd never really held hands with anyone before- technically this wasn't holding hands, well in a sense, oh god, this intimacy was going to driver her insane. Was it common for his kind to be this physical, Yuyu would always hold her hand too, well then, Yuyu was Yuyu, he was different, he was sweet and playful, and he was one of the few important people in her life- was.

That night she found herself sitting on the futon, back pressed against the wall, her fingers in his hair, playing with the strands, caressing his ears, with his head in her lap- truth be told she didn't remember how or when he'd way onto her lap. Still, he was snuggling closer and his loud, soothing purrs were lulling her to sleep, it had been long since sleep had come to her on its own, often she'd need to drink her sleep-inducing drops, prescribed to her ever since that day, without them she would lay on her cold, large bed for hours, listening to the silence, letting the bitter reality of her meaningless existence prick at her bones, tempting her to take matters in her own hands often. Still, then she would remember the promise, too afraid to take any action that might ruin the chances of her ever reuniting with Yuyu. Her fingers danced across his hair as she looked down at him only to find him staring back at her, causing her breath to him, he was...so...shameless, not an ounce of unease swirling within his brown orbs, staring up at her shamelessly, like he had every right to do so, he was doing it again, he was trying to read her, study her. She didn't want to break eye contact, but she was amazed and appalled by his audacity, the proximity and intimacy had her heart hammering against her ribs, bouncing around, yet, he was so calm, so relaxed and so warm, her eyes flickered to his lips, not wanting to look at him anymore, only to notice his lips slightly quirk upwards, before he spoke, "You think a lot, tiny human, your thoughts keep you awake and they're keeping me awake."

"You really are rude, Poofy." She huffed, only to squeak when he nuzzled his face in her lap, trying to push him off but he glanced at her, "Is this how you treat your patient, Princess of the East?"

Princess? She never told him- how? What?

"How do you...know?" She whispered, only for him to sigh, reaching for her hand that had stopped on his head, gently shaking it causing her to jerk out of her daze, she never knew she stopped it, only to start again when he sighed sleepily, "A conversation for tomorrow, Princess of the East, for now, tend to my wounds."

She could only shake her head in response, he really was something else, so closed off yet so clingy, like they had known each other for millennia, maybe if they had, things might have been different for her, for Yuyu, for her mother.

The Moon really did give her another Poofy.

.

The next morning, she had woken up by a loud snore, eyes snapping open at the volume, how could someone snore so loud- oh heavens. Her face warmed up at the thought of it, unfortunately, she couldn't even blame the sun, squinting at the light as she made her down the vast field. With her basket in hand, she was busy making her way to the other end of the field, near the trees, in need of some willow catkins, his wound was healing but the inflammation was still there, which is why she had made her way out of the cabin early in the morning, well because of that and the fact that if she had continued to lay on top of his chest, she would have combusted- not only was it extremely unladylike of her do to so, she has no memory of snuggling up next to him, all she remembered was him falling asleep in her lap and she had rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes for just a second.

A rustle from behind the bushes had her freezing up, she slowly turned her head to glance at whatever hid behind, only to let out a small squeak when a giant brown bear slowly walked out, though his eyes bore a form of gentleness she had barely seen before. She had no plans of getting mulled by a bear today, so she followed what all the books on survival she had read taught her, stay still, and pray to the Moon that the beast lose interest in her and leave. Though after ten minutes of standing there, unmoving she felt the sudden urge to sneeze- oh no. With an ungraceful sneeze, she fell backwards, the flowers cushioning her fall but before her, the bear stalked towards her slowly, and like the scared little girl she was deep down inside she sat there, closing her eyes, hoping it’d be quick. Though it never came, cracking open an eye she found its head stuffed in her basket, and that’s all it took for her to decide that this was the best time to escape.

Slamming open the door to the cabin she ran inside, not even bothering to close it, only glancing behind her to make sure it wasn't following her, then colliding with another body, with a squeak followed by a loud thud she gasped, pushing herself up on her hands, only to come face to face with a frown.

"I admire your brave advances Princess, but I believe I am not your type." He smirked, fingers twitching to grab hold of her, though he held himself back. Truth be told he had been looking for her as soon as he had woken up, and although he couldn't find her, he had decided to do something else, snoop around.

Unfortunately, if one were to break in, they'd find nothing out of the ordinary, other than the fact that this belonged to a peasant, a peasant woman, which is why mid-searching his goal had changed, to find all the places someone could break in from, especially given the knowledge that a woman lived here alone. This was not a safe arrangement for any woman, let alone one of her statures. Eleven, in total there were eleven places within this cabin where someone could break in, he needed to talk to her about it.

Apologising she slowly moved off him, only to lay on the floor, trying to calm herself down as she stared at the ceiling, lying next to him, she was too scared even to register his joke, too scared to ask him how he was feeling or how he had even moved? There were no bears in this part of the forest, hell, there were almost no predators in this part of the kingdom, that's why they had moved her here right? Not only because they wanted her to stay away from political matters but because it was safe too, right? They'd never...harm her?

He sat up quietly, turning his head to find her blankly staring at the ceiling, well, he could hear the little voices, squeaking around, but he was unable to make out any form of coherency, perhaps he still had a lot to learn from Hongjoong and Yeosang, the two could read thoughts, probably knit a whole gown with them and the person wouldn't have picked up on it- if he had actually listened to Hongjoong's lectures he could've plucked out these thoughts feeding off her life force, draining her serotonin- alas, that was not a trait he possessed and using words was always a quality possessed by Yunho or Wooyoung, but if he were to try...for her...just for her- wait, why should he try for her, what has she ever done other than saving him? More importantly, she is a mere mortal and royalty at that, a proper, spoiled, pompous and arrogant creature, of course, she would be no different from those who had visited their temple, demanding the land and its beauty- pitiful creatures of ignorance,  starting a war to take back what was never there's, this false sense of power than consumes them disgusted him, they disgusted him and she disgusted- his eyes flickered to meet her meek gaze, to notice the rosy hue spreading across her cheeks, licking her lips as she sat up, staring at him, before mumbling, "Are you...hurting, Poofy? You're scowling?" 

Truth be told she had stopped thinking about her family problems as soon as he had gotten up, somewhat proud of her medicinal skills, he was healing and he was healing quickly, sure, his supernatural powers had helped speed up the process but she was glad that she could be of use, of use to someone at least. Another new occurring issue however was the way he'd look at her, his eyes would be so serious and cold, a story untold swirling within his dark orbs that were often fixed on her face, her form and perhaps even her soul, but that never scared her, because with this cold stare accompanied a pout, one that would have her giggling inside, she had never seen a man so masculine yet so...cute? 

"I'm..." he tried to focus on the distant noise radiating from her, but it had begun to fade away, he had noticed this the first time she had introduced herself to him, every time she'd be sitting quietly the noise would grow in volume and frequency, often resembling the shrieks and howls of the demon fleets he fought off with his brothers at the brink of dawn, the trials the Moon had put them through to prove their worth, which is why he was often like this around her, though he could feel no ounce of satanic residue off her, what was more concerning how when she would become to converse with him, they'd quickly disappear into nothingness. Instead, he'd be staring at a warm, calm presence, just carefree in motion and living, much like how he noticed about the field sunflowers, swaying side to side as the wind would lovingly caress them, easing away all their frustration and worries, leaving them to look up at the sun and bask in its glory, just like that she'd smile at him, as tranquil as the summer sea, waiting patiently for him to speak his mind, "I'm just a bit hungry, Princess. "

That is exactly how the War Chief found himself back on the futon, in front of him a table filled with food for him, though he eyed her coming and leaving the room with more food only for him to grab hold of her wrist when she was placing a cup of juice, "Either eat with me or stop bringing more food."

She flinched at the contact, something he noticed but didn’t react to, nor did he loosen his grip, only tugged her down, making her sit near him. Clearing her throat she slowly moved to increase the distance between the two, but sat there with her hands on her lap, looking at him eat quietly, “Is it good?” she asked, trying to strike up a conversation, she had begun to follow her mother’s recipes, although no one at home would eat them, which is why she wanted his opinion, perhaps she could be able to make food like her mother did, the same food that attracted Yuyu to their palace.

“I haven’t had meat this tender in a while,” he cleared his throat, putting down the chopsticks, “I’ve been on my own for months, making rounds of dark patches, so I cook whatever I can hunt or just have a small snack,” turning to look at her quizzical look he sighed, “Dark patches are concealed areas, after the great war the earth was divided up, land was sectioned, our maps were rendered useless, now there are three types of territories-

“Oh, I know that.” She cut him off before quickly covering her mouth, dipping her head as an apology, “My apologies, please continue, that was out of my place.”

True, she knew, she had a lot of knowledge about the kingdom, before and after the great war, but the war had happened centuries before she was born, though she could read, her mother had taught her how to, and she could write as well, a quality her father disapproved off, especially after she had begun to show interest in the way the kingdom worked, from political matters to military actions. Truth be told, the war had always fascinated her, to think the human army had fought off the beasts that roamed the land freely, she too much like everyone else had believed them to be beasts, ones cursed by the Moon, even though her mother had often convinced her how that was untrue, she did not believe her mother’s claims and chose to believe what her ancestors and her father both talked about, how the beasts were pure barbarians that destroyed all that came in their way, or at least she thought she believed it till she had met Yuyu. Unfortunately, she was now afraid that her sudden interest would offend him, having him dismiss her like her father or brothers did, that very thought led her to bow deeper, an apology at the tip of her tongue but he cut her off.

“What are you doing, Princess?” he asked, out of genuine curiosity, this little human was definitely interesting, the Moon had really searched hard to find a cracked nut for him- so much for being the Moon’s favourite, “Why are you apologising? It has been long since I’ve met a human who knew about the history of the world, continue, I want to know if what you know is closer to the truth or have you been fed by the corrupted version?”

She peaked up from her lashes, noticing how he gave her a reassuring smile, before slowly sitting up straight, clearing her throat, unsure if he was serious, or not, but deciding to continue anyway, “Centuries ago, the land was split into three portions; man, beasts and demons. Humans were well, normal and unimportant, mortal beings such as me, we were at the bottom of the food chain, not directly linked to the Moon, but were under her supervision nonetheless, for she loves all the living equally,” he smirked at her statement, well, she did love the living, but he was definitely her favourite, “then came the two who were either cursed by the Moon or blessed, originally, human scriptures held the truth about the two clans, the Lurkers, those who were cursed by the Moon, often man or beast turned into Lurkers, they held within them essence of dark magic and were fuelled with the same passion of demons, and then the second clan was on top of the pyramid, the beasts, also…known as the guardians, such as yourself, you were blessed by the Moon, given traits similar to an animal that became your spirit, I knew one who was a canine, back then he was a puppy, I know not who or what he is now and …you’re the second guardian I’ve met.” She smiled at him, proud when looked at her with a look of sheer surprise, truth be told he was impressed by her knowledge, which pushed her to continue her little history lessons, “Now our scriptures hold lies, truthfully I used to believe them, choosing to ignore my mother’s stories, she had knowledge of the original scriptures hidden in the palace, our current scriptures claim how the beasts and Lurkers attacked humans, but the truth is that the Lurkers and humans worked together to bring down the guardians to take their lands and they almost did, until they turned on each other, the guardians used this as an advantage, they say that day the sun and the Moon stood together in the vast sky, the two dragons, lunar and solar guided and protected their armies below, one that was led by the Canidae, one that was led by the Ursidae, and one that was led by Felidae- they say the Felidae was the strongest batch, led by a giant black beast, its fur was as dark as the silent, deadly sky but its golden eyes were as bright as the piercing sun, some say it resembled a panther, that day the guardians won, but once again chose to honour the Moon’s decision of choosing them as the guardians, putting forth the request of showing mercy upon the Lurkers and the humans, so the humans were banished from certain areas, though they held more land now, and the Lurkers were…cursed into becoming goblins.”

She looked up from her hands to face him, to only squeak at how close he had moved to her, he was very much in her personal space, and again, instead of letting her move back, he gently pinched her chin, forcing her to face him as he studied her, “Tell me, princess, you know so much about us, yet you were afraid at the sight of another guardian today?” Her face contorted at his statement, she had met no other guardian today she had met no one else at all, no one but the bear- a small gasp escaped her lip as her curious eyes met his mischievous gaze, letting her pull his hand away as she gripped his wrist, whispering, “The…bear…but how did you know I met…someone?”

He let her hold onto his hand, somewhat surprised by how she didn’t pull back, perhaps she had not realised it, usually, she’d pull back like she was repelled by his presence, “I saw you leave with a basket, you came back empty handed and scared, the look in your eyes was not one held by a woman being chased by a man, I have saved many women as such as usually they are in fear of those bastards following them, you were not which meant it was a creature you thought was not smart enough.”

“Oh my…” letting go of his hands she covered her face with her hands, letting out a shaky breath, mumbling to herself, “What if they think I’ve done something to you- I was so scared, usually no animals come around here, the East is covered with the forest, but no actual animal life, if you have noticed, so I- especially not predators such as that- I am so sorry, maybe I should’ve talked to it-

He cut her off by pealing her hands off her face as he held her cold hands in his warmer, larger hands, “Who was it?”

“A…bear.”

“You met…” he paused for a moment, eying her, he still didn’t trust her enough to let her in, soulmate or not, that issue was still to be decided, “Jong,” he decided not to tell her his real name either, “ that is his animal spirit, I believe they sent him to look for me, as you know I was out cold for two weeks, before that, I had been out on my own for months, but I would send letters often.”

“I see.” She sighed, only to realise he was holding her hands, clearing her throat as she slipped out of his grasp, she got up, only to trip off his tail and squeak as she fell onto his lap, glaring at the way he smirked at her, truth be told he was still put off by the fact that she was a human, but her knowledge about the truth may have peaked his interest, that and the cute reactions she’d give when he’d tease her were of clear amusement.

“Very funny,” she huffed trying to move but he wrapped his arms, around her, making her squirm, “S-stop, this is in-inappropriate!”

“Aww, but I thought you liked sleeping on my chest” he chuckled, before it turned into a boisterous laugh at the way she whined, pushing off him trying to hide her blushing face. Ironically it was not her who had snuggled up against him the previous night, but when he had woken up, he had noticed the uncomfortable position she was asleep in, sitting there with his head on her lap, which is why he had helped her lie down, only to end up staring the futon with her, but her constant whimpering and small cries had him wrapping his arms around her, forcing the bitter thoughts away, trying to follow the method taught by Yeosang, to pluck away all the negative thoughts and memories, at least temporarily so she could sleep in peace, he was mindful enough to not interfere with her memories, choosing to respect her privacy, her past was a secret only for her to hold, he knew and respected that.

He let go of her, laughing when she mumbled how annoying she was, and declaring her exit with a, “You need to rest, I’ll clean everything up.” For a princess, she sure did live a domestic life. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, watching her stack up the dishes, taking in her side profile, he’d be lying if he were to say she was not one of the most beautiful creatures he had laid his eyes upon, perhaps the most beautiful human for sure- or was this feeling a result of her being his other half?

“Poofy?”

“Hmmm?” his eyes locked with hers, taking in the insecurities swirling within her gaze.

“You- you won’t disappear right?”

He took a moment to process her question, watching how she bit her lip, staring no longer at him but at his tail, then at the plates. Perhaps he took a minute too long because as soon as the silence began to grow, she cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice steady and gave him a small smile, “Forget what I asked- I’ll go bring your ointment-

“I will not.”

The way his words cut her off had her expressions relax, her typical faux smile turning into a thin line, as she stared at him, trying to take in any signs of insincerity, but she could find none, or perhaps he was too good at hiding them. At the back of their minds, both knew he had to go, she had no idea about ‘the one’ and he had yet to decide if he deemed her worthy to be her other half, even if the Moon had dedicated her to him.

.

“You- seriously you lost her?” Hongjoong sighed, looking up from another scroll to find the man staring at the floor, acting all guilty, of course, he did not tell his king how he had gotten distracted by the catkins in the basket she had left behind.

“I fear Jongho needs a good beating.” They heard a little chirp, causing the youngest to roll his eyes, and snap back, “I lost her because she has no scent you fool.”

That statement led Yeosang to look up from his book and finally speak up, "What do you mean?" He asked the youngest, every individual had a personal scent, perhaps she was masking hers somehow, "Was it masked?" 

Jongho shook his head, tossing the basket to Yunho who caught it, staring at the weaved basket, trying to find any traces of her, but he couldn't, odd, he clearly remembered her having a particular sweet scent as a child, one that had lured him to him- like of sugar syrup.

Mumbling something to himself Yeosang walked out of the chambers, leaving the rest confused, though Seonghwa sighed, before looking at Hongjoong warily, "I told you she's no good, we don't even know what condition he's in, what if he's hurting? What if she's torturing information out of him?"

.

"CAN YOU PLEASE STOP! THIS IS PURE TORTURE!"

He wailed, causing her to roll her eyes at him, ignoring him as she spread the ointment, snorting when he hissed like a cat at her. "How can someone as big as you cry like a child? It barely even stings." She chuckled, pulling her hand back when he sat up and glared at her, resting on his right elbow, "How can someone as pretty as you cause so much pain?" He finished before his cheeks flushed at his confession, eyes meeting hers for a split second before both averted their gaze, he cleared his throat and laid back down quietly, while she continued to spread the ointment on the healing stitches.

"I-I'll be gentle..." she whispered, not looking at anywhere but the stitches, though she felt him relax under her touch, earning a meek, uncharacteristic, "Thank you."

.

Yeosang slid the door open with such force that everyone in the room felt the tremors within the wall, "Look." He huffed, walking in, his blonde locks shining, emitting a warm glow - it had been a while since they'd seen his aura, watching him in his angelic glow, this was either good news or perhaps horrible news.

He walked up to the center of the room and placed a plant pot on the table, painted purple, it was San's. The once dirt-filled pot now had a little sunflower standing in the centre, its small petals glowing, much like the healer, "That's why you can't find her scent," he turned to Jongho, but much like everyone else the youngest was staring at the tiny flower in awe, the bittersweet reality seeping in, San had found his other half, and she was human.

"She...oh." Seonghwa's eyes snapped up at Yunho, taking in his defeated look, an irritable feeling bubble within him, San and Yunho had a stupid, juvenile bet, which one of the two would find a soulmate first, to be their 'one', although he never assumed San's one would be linked with Yunho, wonders of fate were still above her comprehension. Nonetheless, this foolish cat and dog race may prove to be troublesome.

"Wooyoung" his voice boomed, even Hongjoong felt the intensity of his thoughts, something was bothering Seonghwa, it had been for a while, not only did he send San to a dark patch without backup, but he had been the first one to notice his lack of letters as well, what was he looking for? Truth be told, although both the king and his advisors were dragons, one with the heart of the dear Moon and the other with the heart of the mighty sun, he never understood Seonghwa well enough to pick up on his little side quests, to him he was a mystery, much like the endless sky.

"Hmm?" He perked up at the call of his name, looking away from the little flower to the eldest, taking note of his glowing eyes, before letting out a tired sigh, "Fine, I'll go look for him..." he turned around though the firm grip on his shoulder had him wince as he mumbled an, "And talk to him."

.

Washing the last dish, she placed it on the rack, shaking the water off her hands before staring outside through the window, sighing as she welcomed the cool breeze, she loved nights like these, not a cloud in sight, only the stars twirling around their mother, the Moon, all watching down on her, keeping her safe, keeping her sane. 

Sighing she leaned against the sink, thinking back to how Poofy had called her pretty. Truth be told, she was often complimented on her looks, though most compliments seemed superficial, either trying to appeal to her father or for some political agenda, though both were completely pointless, for her father she held no worth, she was useless, and in terms of political control- well, she wouldn't be sent to this cabin out in the middle of nowhere if she were of any use or value, now would she? She was called pretty by only one other person before, Yuyu, and although she had felt the depth of his statement, felt the admiration, what she felt today was different- the way her heart had fluttered around in the cage of her bones, she felt her entire face warm up, and she knew for a fact that her hands were shaking after that statement, especially against his skin. He had decided not to speak to her after that, perhaps a guardian such as himself wanted nothing more with a mortal like her- technically he too was not immortal, sure he was centuries old but guardians too had a lifespan, only the longest out of the three species. Even when she had whispered how she was finished, he only quietly thanked her before looking the other way and mumbling, "I would like to rest, leave tiny human." He had stopped calling her Princess as well, she really did wonder why.

He lay there staring at the ceiling, the embarrassing memory of his confession flashing before his eyes, causing him to jerk himself back to reality and hiss in anger. On a serious note, he couldn’t believe he let it slip, it was just so out of the blue, especially when she was teasing him, her growing confidence around her was somewhat causing his self-control to slip out of his grasp and although he was somewhat enjoying it, he could not give himself the leverage of this love for two reasons; she was a mortal, she would grow old and would need constant companionship, as a War Chief who was also a guardian, he was always busy, always gone for war or for mapping quests, he could not provide her with the constant love and affection she...deserved? Or could she provide him with the undying devotion and time he was entitled to- though deep down he knew the only issue was the time given to them, not the love, if she was giving him her attention when they were mere strangers, perhaps she would shower him with more. The second and more pressing matter was that she was royalty, human royalty and humans had an innate sense of selfishness rooted within them, so what guarantee did he have that she would not leave him for another more powerful or she would not deceive him? Would she not be more loyal to her own kind? Her own father? Her siblings or even her nation, if she were to attain the throne. She had the wisdom and knowledge, and with a few years of grooming, she'd be fit to take the throne. With a huff he turned his side, taking in a deep breath but he instantly regretted it, she had laid here beside him the night earlier, her scent was all over the place, and his pillow was the epicentre at the moment- shit.

.

"Ow." She hissed, putting the needle down, apparently, the embroidery was harder than she expected, that and the giant slash in his vest left by the dagger was more of a nuisance.  Frankly, she was surprised how he never asked for where his clothes went, not his vest or coat, now that she got a closer look she could see the small crest imprinted right below the collar at the back of the coat, an infinity symbol, with a diamond on the centre- was this real? 

A little chirp caught her ear, followed by the nearby rustling of leaves. Usually, she wouldn't sit out on the porch, but the weather was just perfect tonight, and his constant, loud snores kept on reminding her of his alluring presence. Placing the vest on her lap she looked around, the few lit lanterns were not enough to show her what lay beyond the porch, normally she was afraid of the slightest of sound, any and everything would scare her, the dark, the violent wind, any storm passing by would have her shivering under the covers, especially when she was sent away to the cabin for long periods, such as this, it was never a pleasant experience, but then ever since he had arrived, it would feel as if the sun had finally decided to step out from behind the looming, dark clouds that were slowly suffocating her, as if she finally had something to turn to, to look up to, to bask in the glory of someone so warm, someone so soft, someone so safe, someone so - another chirp had her stand up, and slowly walk towards the end of the porch, stepping onto the final step before she'd touch the dirt path, a lantern in hand.

"Wh-who is it?" She called out, only to be met with silence, "I- are you...one of them?" She asked again, at this point she didn't know who she was calling out, but something at the back of her mind kept reminding her that it didn't matter because he'd come to rescue her, the Moon would bear witness to that. 

Something moved beside her causing her to squeak, and move the lantern towards the source, only to find a pair of golden glowing eyes, her breath hitched as she took a step back, only to realise it was a fox. She had never seen one up close, a small gasp escaped her and she moved closer, before stopping when it flinched, emitting a growl, only for her to clear her throat, "I-I won't hurt you...are you...are you here for Poofy?"

At the name the fox visibly looked confused, she could even make out the small frown he had, his tail tapping against the dirt, only for her to chuckle, "He won't tell me his real name, I need to know if you're actually one of them or an animal- I don't want to disturb him otherwise."

The fox moved closer and she froze, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Her worries died down when she felt him boop his wet nose against her hand, ducking his head so she could pet his head, which led her to giggle. "Wow, your fur is really soft" she mused, making sure to scratch behind his ear, which led his tail to tap faster, "You're really affectionate, aren't you? Poofy didn't even let me pet him for around three weeks of being here."

The fox pulled back and looked at her then at the cabin, letting out a chirp, he moved to slowly push her with his head causing her to gasp, "So pushy, all right, all right. I'll go get him." With that, she picked up her things and turned to give the waiting pretty fox one last look, before going inside.."Poofy?" She knocked before entering the room, making her way into the dark room, rolling her eyes at the sound of his snores, he was one heavy sleeper. Moving closer she reached for his head, slowly scratching below his ear, causing him to purr, stirring awake when she leaned closer to whisper, "Poofy, your friend is here to see you."

Cracking open an eye he whined, "Who is it?"

"A fox."

"Stay here." Instantly he sat up, causing her to yelp and fall back on her behind, looking up at him in utter shock, "What? Why? I thought-"

"No." He leaned closer, before grabbing her face, squishing her cheeks lightly, enough for her to whine and try to push his hand away. 

"Have you forgotten what state you found me in? Hmmm, Princess, when you found not a cat, but a man on your bed?" His smirk deepened at the way her eyes widened at his question, face flushing at the flashback of how when she had come to check up on the cat the next morning, she had almost screamed at the top of her lungs, on her bed lay a man in the nude- oh.

"Mhmmm, now be a good little princess and stay here." With that he let go only for her to cover her face with her hands, whining and complaining about bringing up a topic she had not touched on purpose, she had been trying to avoid it, even going as far as stealing one of her brother's pants for him- though she had to mend it, turns out guardians are bigger in size than an average man.

.

Closing the front door behind him he stepped out, his bare feet padding across the wooden porch, only to stop at the top of the three staired staircase, staring at the fox sitting at the opposite end.

"Took you all long enough." He huffed before tossing a sheet at the fox, watching it land on its head, only for it to chirp and whine, shaking it off, before looking up at the man with some sort of guilt- the foxie face as he'd say, a much better look than the puppy dog face, most would agree.

"Put that on, nobody wants to see a naked Wooyong."

"Especially her? Hmm, Poofy?"  

A pleasant smile graced his features as his brother stood where the fox once stood, tying the sheet around his lower half all tight, though San would've preferred if he had draped it over himself completely, he had brought a fairly large sheet, there was no need to show skin.

"Especially her." 

Wooyoung let out a giggle, "So it's true, she really is the one, huh?" He smiled, though it soon morphed into a frown at the way his brother was staring at the Moon, "What's wrong, Sannie?"

Typical Wooyoung, to delay the task handed down to him, only to deal with the emotional turmoil his brothers were going through, perhaps that is why the Moon had assigned him with the role of a subordinate and not a leader of any kind, though he was more than happy to take it, nature had always been his companion and he would happily spend his days lounging around in the sun, rolling around in the grass or even dipping into the crystal cool lake for a swim than being part of any other war.

 Sighing he walked closer to his brother, gesturing for him to follow. The two had begun to walk down the dirt path, into the very sunflower field where she had found him, on the brink of death. They needed to have the conversation away from the cabin, away from prying ears. "She is...but she is human...and she is royalty, a princess. She possesses the knowledge about the truth, but...I fear I- she might betray us, all humans do and-'

"Is that all you fear, San?" The younger one asked, turning to a sunflower, admiring the way nature worked, the sunflowers here were bigger, the head of the flower was as big as his hand, while the flower in San's pot was still small, was it to grow and bloom when their love would too?

"I," pausing for a moment he shook his head, "Of course, that's all, humans have been a source of worry and perhaps this is only a test the Moon has given me, to check if I can resist and stay steadfast to her truth."

"Then why haven't you come back yet?"

His question caught him off guard, watching the younger one with a look of scepticism, what was he implying, "Are you...questioning my loyalty, Wooyoung?"

"No, but I need to know why you are pretending to be sick, your tail and your ears, this is all for show, isn't it? I don't think it would take a War Chief, The War Chief of the Guardian Army, blessed by both the Moon and her brother the Sun, more than a month to heal, now would it Sannie?" He turned to look at the taller man, listening to the silence around them, on his way here he had noticed how no other life form but flora existed, no animals or insects, none, it was unnatural, it was as if a certain presence was keeping them away and he was sure this had been happening long before San had arrived, he was also sure that San had noticed this, but chose to ignore it. Within a second his nails morphed into claws, stabbing into the large sunflower, instantly earning a growl from the man in front of him, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" With that he ripped off the head, turning to look at the growling beast only to be tackled by him onto the ground as his grip tightened around the damaged flower, while the latter squeezed his throat, hissing at him, "Don't hurt the flowers."

"Why?"

"You know why!" His grip tightened as he yelled.

"She knows Yunho."

Immediately his grip loosened, slowly moving off him, features morphing back to a calm state, "What?" He breathed out, thinking back to how Yunho, when he was a mere healing pup, would escape from the temple, coming to the human world where he had befriended a human girl, for a long time he'd claim this human was his other half, though all of them would dismiss the thought, passing it off as a joke.

"She....come home Sannie, Seonghwa is calling for you, talk to Yunho, sort it out, I-" his fingers loosened the grip on the flower, "There's a sunflower growing in your pot...Yeosang wants to see you to- they're all worried about you, I'm worried about you." He sat up, staring at his brother who was sitting on his knees, staring up at the Moon, he was about to call him again, until he noticed the way his shoulders were trembling, and how he was biting his lip, trying to contain the overflow of emotions, of the confusion and frustration."Let's go home, Sannie."

.

"Poofy?" She sighed, slowly sitting up, and looking around the room. The sunlight blocked by the curtains was the only way she realised how late she had slept for- wait she was in her bed? Pushing the covers off her she stumbled out of the room into the small hall, "Poofy?" Calling out once more she looked around the cabin, before walking out barefoot, slamming the door open and onto the porch, squinting at the sudden increase in brightness, the sun sure was happy today.

"POOFY?!"

Her calls were becoming more frantic, more desperate, her small steps turning into sprints as she ran down the sunflower field, calling out his name. He couldn't leave like that, he said he wouldn't, also he wasn't healed yet! He was still sick and- she stopped at the sight of her sheet on the ground, a shaky breath escaping her as she knelt down to pick it up, only to spot a crushed sunflower head next to it. Her gut twisted at the sight of the poor flower, reaching for it instead as she cradled it in her hands, looking at it with blurry eyes, whimpering out a quiet, "There, there, you're safe now, you're not hurting anymore, you're loved."

.

"You can stop kneeling you know-"

"No. Let him, it's his punishment after all." Seonghwa scoffed from his seat, eying the way their king was pitying the overgrown, spoiled, obnoxious cat- not once did this foolish child think of how worried he was. How he was worried he was hurt, lost or worse, no instead, he was busy trying to mingle with a human-

"Since when did Seonghwa get the throne?" A deep chuckle resonated in the room, causing the youngest to raise his head off the floor, giving him a small smile, though the healer earned a scoff from the advisor.

"Sit up, lover boy, we need to talk." He said patting his shoulder as he placed the purple pot on the table that divided Hongjoong and San. Taking a seat on the cushioned floor beside the War Chief, "So, explain yourself, though I'd skip the erotic detai-"

"Nothing as such happened, Sangie." San quickly cut him off trying to ignore the way the king was now frowning at him, "I swear I didn't do anything- we didn't do anything!" He clarified quickly, "I'm not an idiot."

"I doubt that." Seonghwa mumbled causing Hongjoong to interject, "Enough. Please, can we please get to the bottom of this before this gets any more frustrating?"

"Okay, so this," Yeosang moved the pot closer to San, "Is what grew overnight, so, tell me, what happened that this happened overnight and don't lie or hold back important information." 

San looked at him and then at Hongjoong who encouraged him to continue, watching how everyone had entered the chambers, including Yunho, though he remained at the back and sitting next to the door quietly. He had been lost in thought since the day they had found out about San's soulmate.

"I was attacked by two of the Xikeys, came out of nowhere." He began only to be interrupted by Mingi, "Two small goblins? They caught u off guard, how?"

"Bet he was staring at a butterfly." Wooyoung snickered, causing the light laughter to resonate, only once it died down they were met with silence, all eyes turning to the War Chief who was staring at his hands, blushing like a tomato.

"For the love of- Demote him. Please." Seonghwa huffed, running his fingers through his silky locks, trying to calm himself down, "Are you serious?"

"I-it was a blue monarch butterfly, it's been so long since I've seen one." He mumbled before pouting at Hongjoong, "There were so many of them, and - and there was no other animal there, like the forest was empty, surrounded by flowers and these butterflies so I was confused about that too, it's awfully silent there." 

"He's right." Wooyoung added, only for Jongho to add, "About both things, there are no other animals there and it is deathly silent. What was in that area before the human kingdom took over the land of the East?" He turned to Yunho, all of them, except San, he was still staring ahead, not yet ready to face the map maker. 

"I'm not sure, I think it belonged to an old Lurker, Azmer if I remember correctly." He announced, noting how everyone was quietly staring at him, "I'm not sure where San went to particularly, perhaps that area wasn't under his rule, but-"

"Azmer was the only one of the ten Kings of the Lurkers, it's said that he refused to part take in the war because he believed all three nations could live in harmony." He sighed, only to lock eyes with San, who was now staring at him. A playful smirk graced the map maker's face, "What's wrong Sannie? I'm sure she would have told you if you asked her, "What did you learn about her in the past month?"

"Yunho..." Hongjoong warned, picking up at how the feline of the group was growling, turning around in all his pride as he stared at the mapmaker slouching against the wall from his cushioned seat.

"I did not want to learn anything about her-"

"Then why were you still there?" He cut San off, "You don't want her as your other half either, she's been through enough rejections as is and-"

"Funny, she mentioned a puppy who disappeared, I guess you rejected her too." He smirked, observing the way the colour drained from the other's face,  frankly, this puppy's smile had been a pain ever since he had come back.

"At least she remembered me."

"Yet, I'm the one she's paired up with-"

"You don't deserve her!"

"And you do, mutt?!"

"ENOUGH"

The hall went quiet, both Wooyoung and Yeosang exchanged a look, then glancing at Hongjoong, who was staring at Seonghwa, his fangs poking out, as he walked towards San and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer, "You were gone for a month, you wasted a month, risked our defence like and learned what? Nothing?" He hissed, feeding off the fear emitting from the younger ones' eyes, as the lunar dragon turned his head to the map maker, "What do you know?" the timber of his voice having Yunho dip his head in obedience, he tossed the War Cheif aside, watching him fall back onto the floor as he reached for the flower pot, fingers caressing the petals before his elongated nail clipped off a petal, earning a whine from the panthers. His emerald orbs flickered towards the Guardian, who was now kneeling once more, bowing to the lunar dragon, "P-please, my liege, do not hurt her." He whispered, his forehead pressing against the carpeted floor, hands fisted beside his head, no pride present within his being, something everyone noticed in the room. The War Chief had been known for his pride and prejudice, yet here he was, begging for - well, he didn't know either, perhaps he was just begging for love, to be loved, to share the ample love he had within him, to feel whatever he'd read about in those little stories he'd read as a kitten. 

"Seonghwa..." Hongjoong sighed, noticing his little kitty-cat trembling in all his mountainous glory, though he knew when his brother, the dragon birthed by the Moon, was much softer than he was deep down, though his anger knew no bounds, something the Solar dragon feared.

 "Yunho." Hongjoong turned to the map maker when his brother ignored him, not out of spite, but because he was too busy trying to read the man before him, he could sense the inner turmoil, he could tell this fool was holding back, perhaps he too would have done the same in this situation, but he should have been able to see past his emotions, to look at the truth objectively, not to let his emotions get the better of him, San had never neglected his duties, he had never let anything distract him.

"She's....Azmer's granddaughter." Yunho sighed, eying Mingi who gasped but quickly covered it up with a cough- the action had the youngest two choke on a laugh, earning a glare from the green-eyed serpent, quietening them down.

"San, did you...find something odd about her?" He finally asked the man who was still kneeling with his forehead pressed against the floor, it somehow bothered him how readily San was willing to throw away all he had for her, yet he knew nothing about her if he was not devoted to the Moon, he would've said that she had made a mistake, blessing San with an angel in disguise.

"Get up," Seonghwa mumbled before going back to his original spot, against the window, staring out at the setting sun, knowing that Mother would disapprove of him treating his brothers like this, she'd talk about mercy and lecture him about compassion once more.

Sitting up on his knees he placed his hands on his thighs, facing the room, his eyes not meeting a single pair that was on him, "She has nightmares...almost life-like, " he sighed, thinking back to how she was whimpering in her sleep the night she had slept next to him, she would struggle against the sheets, trying to rip out of his grasp when he had tried to calm her down, only to end up using magic to settle her unease, "There are voices, she hears them while she's awake too and they only stop or die down when I speak to her or when she's not sitting in silence....at first I thought I was imagining things, then I thought she was a witch but...they're always around her, it's so noisy, "he mumbled, a wave of guilt splashing over him as his eyes widened for a split second, something noticed by Hongjoong and Yeosang who shared a look.

"What is it San?" Hongjoong asked, leaning closer to the table, "What did you just remember?"

"She..." he turned to look at Yunho, "made me promise...not to disappear."

"She has Lurker blood." Yeosang finally intervened, walking over to where Seonghwa sat, looking out at the pale purple sky before reaching for a scroll on the shelf beside the window, "Lurkers turn the way they are because they are cursed, while the Moon wanted to show them mercy, her brother, the Sun believed they should be punished, so each Lurker is doomed to hear the screams of not only their ancestors but the victims' as well," opening the scroll he placed it on the table to show to Hongjoong, however, everyone had hudled around the king, a small smile gracing the King's lips, regardless of the seriousness of the matter.

San was reading the scroll when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder, causing him to turn his head and meet Yunho's apologetic gaze, one he returned with a small smile.

"I...had to use the spell you taught him," he turned back to Yeosang who nodded, raising a brow, "Funny, how you said you'd never need it when I was teaching you."

"So, she's a Lurker, stay away from her, or kill her, either way, the king will use her for her own benefit." 

The harsh words had the War Chief biting his lip, trying to keep in the growl. Shaking his head Hongjoong finally stood up, and turned to look at his advisor, "Advice that advocates war and violence is not what a king needs, your personal grievances are noted, but San can not deny the path the Moon has chosen for him."

Seonghwa turned to face the king, a scowl gracing his angelic, handsome features, "Fine, my advice is he goes, but as a cat, she should not know he is there. He had his time with her and learnt nothing about her, observe her from afar." With that he stormed out of the chambers, his silk robes tailing behind him, swishing like his actual tail, slamming the door behind him.

San turned to look at the sighing King, only to pout at him when he raised an eyebrow at his War Chief and then the rest of the council, "All of you, prepare for San's quest- and please do not do anything that would put us or.... her at risk."

.

Taking in the fresh air he sighed, his elbows resting against the window sill as he looked far ahead at the forest below, the Moon watching him from above. Truthfully, he had missed his room, his soft bed and covers, his personal space- but oddly enough he missed the small futon of her more, his softer bedding was not warm enough, it did not carry her scent or her warmth, his room seemed too big for him now, too bland and empty. Seonghwa was right however, he knew nothing about her, but how knowledgeable she was, well informed, well, she could stitch and sew, she knew how to cook and clean, she even knew how to create her own medicine- she was very soft as well, warm too, her skin felt so cold against his, like the cool splash of water in the burning heat, was this enough to claim he knew her though?

A knock on the door had him turn from his place of brooding, watching it open as a familiar face stepped in, with a smile, in his hand he carried a plate of apples, "Yeosang said these are special, he grew them in his garden with Jongho, they'll help replenish your strength. "

With pursed lips he nodded at the taller man, gesturing towards the small table at the other end of the room before turning back to look outside. 

Yunho sighed at the way he was ignoring him, honestly, there was a point when these two were inseparable, but perhaps as they grew older, the feline turned more quiet, more reserved, perhaps even more shy than he claimed not to be, Yunho was the opposite however, the mapmaker was completely different. Ever since he was a young pup, he’d be adventuring around and about, even when they were mere children, young soldiers of their respective armies. Hongjoong did say they were different because Yunho belonged to his army, the Solar Dragon, while San was part of the Lunar Serpent’s fleet.

“Why did you leave her?”

His question caught the mapmaker off guard, having him quietly stand next to the man, closing his eyes when he felt the win caress through his hair lovingly, truth be told he loved nights like these, cloudless nights where the Moon would shine bright on them, watching their every move with her tender love.

“I…had no choice.” He whispered, opening his eyes to look ahead at the endless sea of dark green, the forest, the land that was under Hongjoong’s kingdom was more than what the Lurkers and the humans had combined.

“What do you mean?” San asked, turning to face him, trying to take in more information, perhaps to find something that would ease his guilt, “She looked…she feels…is it because she still likes-

“She never liked me Sannie,” he turned to him with a small smile, “Never like that, otherwise her little flower wouldn’t be grown in your pot.”

“I didn’t mean to-

“I know,” he cut off the feline, who was somewhat ashamed to look at him as if he had taken what belonged to the pup, “I know you didn’t, I never doubted that. When I had met her, she hit me with a stick, right over here.” He pointed at the top of his head, “I was growling at her before that- she was a real menace you know, the eldest of the four siblings, she was supposed to attain the throne after her father…”

“I don’t think she’s getting it now though, they’ve tossed her into this cabin…no one even comes to check up on her- she’s all alone, where is her mother?” he sighed, walking towards the table he sat down on a cushion, picking up a golden apple, Jongho and Yeosang had been trying for a while, to grow the ancient golden apple of health.

“She…passed away, a few days after I stopped visiting her.” He rubbed his palms together, walking over to sit opposite to him, taking an apple of his own, “When I met her, she followed the same story her father had told her, she was a vile child, I actually met them by accident, my paw was stuck in the fence and I first thought she had come to help me out, but she stood there with a stick, pointed at me and,” snorting he split the apple in half, eying how San was listening to him intently, like a curious kitty, “She ‘ordered’ me to become her pet, and I refused by growling, for which she hit me with the stick, it went on for around 20 minutes until her mother popped up out of nowhere. Bless that woman, she saved me…took care of me.”

Nodding at him San looked at his hands before letting out a chuckle, “She’s…different now, very shy…very timid and so scared, it’s like she’s just barely hanging on.” He could never imagine his little sunflower as a child like that, to him, she would always be the gentle-natured angel that found him, at the brink of death.

“When I transformed back she had threatened to report me, even threatened her mother, that was the first time I saw her mother angry, she had really…knocked some sense into her- I even met Azmer once, he used to come to teach her magic, though it was almost similar to the kind Yeosang possess, she could heal, she could grow, she even understood nature- though I used to think that part was a lie, until I plucked out a flower once for her, and she had started crying, full on sobbing about how the flower cried to her about how I hurt it,” he sighed, turning to look up at the Moon out of the window, “honestly, I started liking her the day she said that, she was still a menace no doubt, but her grandfather and mother put in a great amount of effort to mould her for a better queen, my lov-” he paused when his ears picked up the way the other man’s breath hitched, “admiration for her increased when Azmer told us about the prophecy, a child of human and Lurker, would bring peace across the land, tying all three nations together, the child would be offered to a guardian,” he turned to face San again who was staring at him in shock, truly amazed, so the Moon had not blessed him randomly, but this was a prophecy, “That’s why, for a long time- well, until today I thought it would be me.”

“But…I…” he paused for a moment, trying to form a coherent sentence, one that was not too insensitive, “Is not that a child of damnation?” He knew Yunho knew what he was talking about, a similar prophecy surfaced many years ago, “A child of a Lurker and human would cruse the land, bringing chaos among the guardians, wreaking havoc across the three nations.”

“It’s a… double-prophecy, if…as Azmer said, she was to choose the path of the Lurkers or one decided by the humans, such as her father, she would be fulfilling the Yin prophecy, if she were to take her own path, she would be fulfilling the Yang prophecy- for which she was promised a sincere other half, one who would stand by her to no end.” He sighed, standing up as he dusted his hands, eying San who was looking up at him curiously, “Go to her, observe her like Seonghwa has told you, not because we don’t trust her, but so you can see how much her mother and grandfather groomed her, how she is going to fulfil the Yang prophecy and what better partner to have than the great War Chief, the Moon’s blessed soldier, my very best friend and dearest brother…you.”

San sat there silently, letting the gravity of the situation weigh down upon him, slowly her actions and her insecurities began to make sense, and her promise, she had lost Yunho whom she must’ve assumed was her other half, perhaps his arrival had helped her realise it was not Yunho, but him, for whom she was meant to wait be-, his head snapped up at the door, words coming out quicker than he could stop them,

“Why did you leave her?”

Yunho’s hand was on the doorknob when his question had him freezing in spot, a long sigh broke past his lips that settled with a frown, “One of her brothers, Lauster, overheard us one day, and he reported it to the father…the king. The king had exiled the old Lurker, and a few days later news broke that their grandfather had died…supposedly attacked by a group of goblins, the queen was devasted and horrified, she had made me promise to protect her daughter when I’d grow older but also told me not to return until I was strong enough…so I did.” His forehead pressed against the cool mahogany as he closed his eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay, clearing his throat so his voice wouldn’t betray him, only San was no fool, he could tell what was going to come next was horrible, “The next day…the Queen took her life- I…I know that’s not true, that’s why she doesn’t stay at the palace for too long, she hides in that cabin, you think she is banished there but that’s her safe haven. Her mother would tell her how Azmer’s cabin could protect her from those who’d want to harm her, one way or another, perhaps that’s why they cannot get rid of her, though the Lurkers in her mind, the ones leaching off her soul was something even Azmer couldn’t control,” he opened the door before whispering, though he’d know San could hear him with his sharp hearing, “Her other half- well, you already told us you could stop the voices, make sure they never get to her, San.” With that he walked out, gently closing the door behind him.

San slowly got up, walking over to his cupboard, opening the cupboard he reached behind his clothes to take out a small box, from within he took out a red handkerchief, staring at the cloth his thumb stroked the small embroidered sunflower at the corner,

‘Why is it always a sunflower?’

‘Hmm…because they're warm and pretty, Poofy, they are easy to grow, they adapt well and always turn to the light, the darkness can never attract them.’

‘You know, just an; I like sunflowers, would’ve worked too.’

‘You can be real mean sometimes, you know that Poofy.’

So, that’s what she meant, she grew the flowers herself, she wanted to be surrounded by the light, she wanted to be surrounded by the warmth that was promised to her, the warmth and light that would pull her out of the claws of the Lurkers within her, and he was supposed to provide her with that help, yet, he had abandoned her- not anymore.

.

Three days, he had been watching her for three days and all she’d do was sleep, clean, eat and repeat. There were moments of the day when she’d stay in the washroom, in the tub a bit too long so he’d have to go up to the window, and discreetly open the windowsill with his paw, to peak in, only to find her crying in the wooden tub. At night she’d sit in front of the mirror, brushing her hair in silence until the tears would begin to slowly cascade down the apples of her cheeks, dripping onto her silk gown, to say that he had not wanted to jump into the room to pull her into his arms, or into the tub to squeeze out all the pain and agony would be a lie, yet, this time he had decided to obey orders, to obey Seonghwa. Even Hongjoong had told him to stay out of her way, to stay hidden in the shadows so he could observe her, to note any abnormalities, perhaps she had put up an act for so long while he was at her residence, though his notes so far just told him she was a sad little girl being tormented by her thoughts, thoughts that he could push away if the dumb king and his dumber advisor had not instructed him otherwise.

It was not until the seventh night, that he had decided to take matters into his own hands, to make his presence known, at least to some extent. Her nightmares had become too extreme, he had thought of intervening that night, but before he could step into her room through the open window her shrieks had him flinching, waking herself up. What horrified War Chief was how she ran towards the kitchen, slamming open a drawer to take out a knife, taking in a few deep breaths she pulled up her other hand, staring at her wrist, her eyes void of any emotion as she mumbled to herself, "There, there, you're safe now, you're not hurting anymore, you're loved."

But before the edge of the knife could touch her skin something crashed in her room, causing her to flinch, letting the knife go in the process, flinching once more when it clattered against the wooden floor. Sighing to herself she rubbed her eyes with her palms, mumbling a curse she walked back into her room, only to find the window completely open. She turned to her cupboard which was slightly ajar, oh no, was someone inside? Perhaps she should have listened to Poofy when he was lecturing her about the safety measures, she should take to ensure no one breaks in. Grabbing the nearest object, a cane- oh, her grandfather’s cane, perhaps this cabin really was alive, always protecting her, well it better protect her now. She slowly walked towards the cupboard, slamming it open and swinging the cane around like a blind woman, hitting everything she could- only to calm down after a minute and realise she had been yelling and beating nothing but her own clothes- oh. Grumbling to herself she marched over to the window, slamming it shut then locking it, stupid wind, turning around she looked at the bed, only to gasp, before her, on her bed, laid spread out his uniform, Poofy’s uniform, particularly the coat she was working on when he had gone, with the half-embroidered sunflower across the gash on the cloth.

“Poofy?” she called out, looking around before quickly opening the window again and looking out for any signs of him, only to be greeted by her usual sunflowers, nothing unusual- wait, her eyes widened at the realisation, they were not facing the sky where the sun would smile down upon them, no, her flowers were turned to face the forest, right across from her, the entire field of flowers, the sunflower heads were facing the evergreens that separated her cabin from the rest of the world. He was here, he had to be.

That night she had no nightmares, instead she had dreamt of her grandfather and mother, both having tea in this very cabin, sitting on the porch as they stared at the sunflowers under the sun. Perhaps the thoughts inside her head could sense his mighty presence too, perhaps they did fear him after all. She had woken up a bit better that morning, putting in the extra effort of bathing in scented water, picking out her prettiest outfit, and her hair brushed and styled to perfection, ironically, the cathead pin had found its place back in her hair, the bell chiming with every move.

Since that day, she would sit on the porch during the day, somehow making sure all of her time was spent outside, tending to the flowers, cleaning around with the door and windows wide open, not a care to spare, because he would protect her, he was bound to. She’d even sit outside when the sun would ease into the sky, tending to his torn coat and vest, making sure to stitch it up well. At night, before finally retiring inside the cabin, she would place a plate of warm food, looking around the sunflowers, trying to spot two pointy ears or at least a tail, but she never could, yet, every morning she’d come outside to find the plate empty, and beside it a little gift, once it was a small origami heart, the next day it was a flower crown made from her sunflowers, she was please to know how the flower had allowed him to use them, telling her how this mysterious man filled with admiration and what they called love would use nimble fingers to skilfully pluck them out. Another day it was a purple silk ribbon, one she began to wear in her hair each day.

By the next full Moon, his gift for her the next morning had her fall to her knees, a silver pendant with a sapphire heart, placed neatly in the handkerchief she had given to him. She had run across the entire field that day, to look for him, wanting to find him, to confront him, yell at him for abandoning her like that even though he had promised to never leave, yet she could not find him, not a tailor pointy ears in sight. Out of spite, however, that night she had left him no meal, and next morning she had woken up to no gift, much to her disappointment, what was his problem!? Why was it so difficult to communicate with him? And just like that the meals stopped and so did the gifts, the only things that remained were that she would no longer suffer from nightmares and she was still trying to fix his coat, only this time, she no longer did it outdoors, fine, if he wanted to play hard to get, she could give him the silent treatment too.

.

San sighed, sitting on top of the branch usually gave him a good view, of not only the field and cabin but the window inside as well, it was a pleasant view, a view he truly appreciated, making him thank Mother Nature, making him thank the Moon-

“You’re a real perv, aren’t you?” the deep voice had him flinch, quickly standing in battle stance only to scoff at the taller man before shoving him off the branch, watching him land on his feet, following in behind.

“It’s my view, not yours.”

“San, I don’t think watching her bathe is anyone’s view”, Mingi sighed, rubbing his neck, of course, the idiot would be doing this, he was greedy and perverse when it came to attention as well, “So,” he decided to change the topic, “How is it going? Seonghwa and Hongjoong don’t know, but Yeosang sent me to check up on you, is everything okay?”

Sighing the man shook his head, rubbing his face, “She’s giving me the cold shoulder…she knows I’m here and-”

“How?”

He turned to look at Mingi, “Look, before you say I wasn’t allowed to do so, she was…she was about to do something reckless okay and I had to stop her somehow so I made my presence known and I helped her with her nightmares, that led to another thing and…she left me food so I left her gifts, it- it's like an exchange policy you know! It’s a cat thing- I think dogs do it too and then she stopped so obviously I stopped but I guess she’s mad about that?” He finally stopped to look at the librarian who was looking at him with great disgust, “What?”

“San…women…well…I…you’re an idiot.”

“Thank you, I’m sure your books make you very smart.”

“They do, they also teach me to communicate.”

“What?”

“Talk to her, you buffoon,” he sighed, before turning around, “Talk to her before you or she does something else that’s beyond stupid, listening to Seonghwa or Hongjoong for matters of the heart is idiotic, the dragons have been blessed by the love of all, including the Sun and the Moon, they didn’t have to earn it, like us, like you…or like her.” With that the man walked into the forest, disappearing behind the dense trees, a distant howl being the only sign of his departing presence.

.

Sighing to herself, she hung the fixed suit onto the handle of her cupboard, admiring her work, the large sunflower on the shoulder smiling brightly at her, much like the littered, smaller embroidered sunflowers, trailing up into his breast pocket on the left side. She had originally thought of just fixing the gash, but with the time she had, her creativity had gotten the best of her, which led her to give his clothes her little touch. Not that he’d know, since he had almost disappeared once again, her only assurity of his presence was that the nightmares had stopped, so perhaps he was still around, or maybe she had just outgrown the Lurkers within her?

The sound of a loud knock caught her attention, who had come to visit her at this hour? Walking out of her room she walked towards the door, Azmer’s cane in hand as she called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s us, you leach.”

Of course, it was midmonth, the time when her father would send either her brother or brothers or sometimes the royal guards with the food rations, sometimes clothing if needed, often she’d prefer the presence of the last option, at least the guards showed her some respect.

Opening the door, she moved aside, watching them enter like this cabin was theirs to claim. Lauster walked in with all his faux glory, his robes dragging across the floor as he stared around the cabin in disgust, “Really sister, if I were you, I’d get hitched, this filth is no place for someone related to us.” Pulling back a chair he sat down cross-legged, eying the way his sister stood with the cane, “Is our useless sister now a limp?” earning a chuckle from the younger two.

“No, but if you’d like I can turn you into one,” she smiled at him, earning a scowl, then she turned to the other two, “And I’d appreciate it if you’d show some respect, Jinju, don’t you think so, Maghroor?”

The younger two looked at their brother who scoffed, before snapping his fingers, “You really think you’re getting the throne aren’t you?” Maghroor stood up, slowly walking into her room when Lauster continued, “Haven’t you heard the news sister dear, father had come up with a great proposition, you are to be wed to the son of the first king of the Lurkers, I heard Ghalazat is a great guy, all big and strong- heard he breaks girls like you easily-

“Are you out of your mind?” she asked, walking closer to him, only to be stopped by Jinju, standing tall in front of her, “You really think we’re afraid of you sister? Father cast you aside the moment you let that whore of a mother we had and Azmer fool you with their little fairy tale.” The youngest hissed, leaning closer to her, only to bounce back, his hand on his stinging cheek as he sucked in a breath, glaring at her, with blurry eyes.

“Choose your words wisely, weasel,” the androgynous tone of hers caused the second oldest to freeze in spot, to scare her was part of the plan, but this was something they had not prepared for, deep down they were unsure of what she would do if the Lurker within her won. She was their father’s favourite not only because she was the firstborn or because she was smart, but she was the only child of his who was part Lurker, and although he had tried three more times, none of his sons had inherited the gene.

“C-come now sister, we were only joking.” He laughed, pulling back his youngest brother, “No need to get upset, I’m sure Jinju would apologise if you were to ask, he never meant to call Mother a whore.” He smiled, trying to calm down his sister who was frowning at him, glaring at them.

“No, I think he was right.” The third voice intervened, as Maghroor stepped out of her room, smirking at how the colour had drained off her face, her voice switching back to its usual octave, a whisper breaking through, “No…”

“Hmmmm? What was that?” He asked, dangling the coat in the air, “Come on whore, use your words, we know you can.” He smirked before tossing the coat to the eldest of the brothers, watching the way her eyes widened, almost afraid they’d break something, “Do you know what this is, brother?”

“No,” Lauster frowned, grossed out by the embroidery, “Who does this belong to, hmmm? Sister dear?”

“Put that back,” she hissed, moving closer, only to be slapped by the youngest, with greater force than she had used, causing her to stumble against the chair and fall onto the ground, as she stared up at Lauster with blurry eyes, too focused on Poofy’s clothes to care about the pain, that is until Jinju grabbed her by the hair, tugging on her strands, causing her to let out a strangled cry, “He asked you a question, wench.”

“None of your business, I said put it back-”

“Oh…I’ve seen this crest before”, Lauster hummed, turning to Maghroor, “This coquette’s been sleeping with the enemy.” Maghroor let out a faux gasp before turning the vest around in his hold, clucking his tongue at the crest, “You’re right brother, and here we were, giving our angelic sister to a noble prince, do you think he’d want a filthy, used slu-

“That’s not true!” she yelled, struggling against the youngest, finally shoving him off as she ran to her brother, wanting nothing more than to protect her work, to protect her dignity, a part of her wish if Poofy was here, he could come save her, but the fact that his clowns had been here, tormenting her only meant she was wrong, it was never Poofy, perhaps some homeless thief or a goblin fooling with her.

Her thoughts came to a halt when a blunt force knocked the air out of her lungs, causing her to fall to her side, the throbbing pain in her head made her vision blurry, and the ringing in her ears echoed as the blurry figure of her brother crouched down to look at her, brushing away the hair from her face, before gripping her cheeks hard, “Then why do you have this, hmmm? You sneaky little liar.”

“What punishment is given to a liar I wonder?”

“Oh brother, don’t you mean a whore?”

“True, true, Lauster, Maghroor is right, she is a whore that has been lying to the king, what punishment do you think is fit for something as unworthy and useless as,” the youngest paused, only to press his foot against her back, causing her to let out a muffled sob, “our filthy eldest sister.”

“Perhaps we should cleanse her before she is given to Ghazalat, I’m sure he’d be fine with a whore that can’t speak.” Maghroor suggested, tossing the vest onto the floor, as he walked towards the hearth, using the shovel to scoop out a good amount of burnt wood, admiring the simmering amber ashes, “For all the lies she has told her kingdom.”

“Mark her with our crest.” The youngest cheered, pulling out a dagger, before reaching down to rip a portion of her gown, exposing her back, their menacing laughter echoed when she covered herself, ensuring none of her chest was exposed, only for him to press his heel onto her back, pushing her crouching form onto the floor, laughing when she let out a strangled cry, pleading them to stop, “For bringing dishonour to her kingdom.”

“Let’s add one more,” Lauster hissed as he met her glare, her tear-filled eyes boring nothing but hatred, “I’m sure her husband-to-be wouldn’t mind a blind plaything, he shouldn’t have to suffer the same agony we did, that arrogant look she gives us,” he hissed, pulling her up by her hair, knowing her arms were busy covering herself so she couldn’t put up a fight, “This look of arrogance and pride you hold, sister, is it worth it? Is it worth the guardian you whore out for in the night?” he raised his palm, waiting for the youngest to place his dagger on his open palm, waiting for his sister’s response. She had never allowed them to torment her like this, to abuse and belittle her, her arrogance and self-pride had always been far too important for her, not changing her ways even when her father had pleaded with her, standing there in the meeting of the royals, demanding to end the war, embarrassing her king, her kingdom, yet when asked to apologise she only escaped to the cabin, promising the man she’d take over once he was dead- but she couldn’t now could she? No, this plan of his was wonderful, Lauster had been told by a Xikey of the great Prince who was looking for a match, one that would help him fulfil the Yin prophecy, this way, he’d get rid of her and obtain the throne, he thanked every entity out there when his father, the king had agreed.

“Well, sister, is he worth it?” he asked, shaking her head, pulling her back to consciousness when he noticed she had almost slipped into unconsciousness, only to be met by that fierce gaze once more,

“He is…I’d rather die than betray, San.”

“So be it.” He snarled, making sure to teach her a lesson she could never forget, his figure radiating with glee at the sight of her eyes closing in defeat, her mind racing back to him, Poofy no- San.

.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @the-kpop-simp @mlysalt @spooo00oky

[yeyinde]

ode to a conversation stuck in your throat

Captain John Price x Reader

》 WORD COUNT: 12,7k

》 WARNINGS: 18+ | MATURE: allusions to smut but nothing graphic/explicit

》 TAGS: Gender-Neutral Reader. Angst. Mutual Pining. Idiots in Love (but in Romania). Fluff. Love and Romance described as death and decay and broken religious imagery. Y'know. The usual Yey tags.

》 NOTES: I recently got into Augury (just a fancy word for bird watching, innit??) so this feels more whimsical and nonsensical than usual. Good luck with this one, lads.

It's like clockwork. 

A text comes—some variation of are you awake, or are you home? in that strange Price-esque way he manages, even through the stark face of a message (biting derision, Gaz calls it, adds: man can't pretend to be a little less angry even over text)—and then a phone call. 

Always after midnight. 

Devil's hour. 

When your phone rings at half past three in the morning, hearing Price's gruff perfunctory greeting of "alrigh'?" bleeding through the phone, and right into your ear doesn't surprise you anymore. 

(Not much does, really.)

These phone calls are a strange, almost paradoxical thing that both happens often enough not to be considered rare, and yet: it still seems outlandish enough each time it happens for you to ever really let yourself expect it. Odd. Price doesn't strike you as the type of man to need to rely on his friends—the seldom few he does have, you often joke (always a shade too close to the truth like most jokes are; the one that makes him dip his head in a nod of quiet acquiesce, and make you wonder if you went too far)—but he's never given you a reason for them. 

Never answered why. 

They just—

Happened. 

(Over and over and over again—)

The brief conversation in the oddest hour of the morning started a new tradition. A routine. Expecting a phone call from Price at least once a week was now so commonplace, you almost felt empty when days had passed, and your phone never rang. 

He can't sleep. Neither can you. 

And so, he calls you. 

It's not always about a mission. Most of the conversations that take place are about absolutely nothing. Everything, sometimes, when you pry apart the bones locked around your chest, and bare your insides to the warm cellphone clutched in your hand. To the voice on the other line. 

A man you know—have known since you first stepped into his training ring, and into the orbit of Captain John Price—and barely understand at all. 

You know everything about him—his name, his title, where he grew up, went to school, his favourite food, his least favourite drink, what he does after a mission; his greatest fear, his biggest worry, the insecurity that gnarls in his chest, and the weight of the world that sometimes feels like it might splinter his bones, grinding them into gun cotton—and nothing at all.

The reason why he called you all those months ago, invited you on a mission you had no real part to play in, and why he still does is a mystery. 

(Loneliness, maybe. 

Insomnia, you find, is more bearable when it's shared between two.)

But that was before. 

The last phone call you got from Price had been nearly three months ago after you touched down in Heathrow following a botched mission in Tenerife. 

You heard the murmurs about Shepherd, about Zyani that trickled through the mess hall (when there was no battle to be fought, they gossiped), and so his radio silence makes sense considering he was halfway across the globe for the bulk of it. 

In the midst of it, though, you would find yourself staring blankly at your phone, screen black and void of any calls, and wonder if it had anything to do with your offer. With his swift rejection. 

When it rings after an aching expanse of time, you can't place the gnarled tension in your chest. The uncomfortable feeling that blooms in your heart at the sight of his name flashing in neon blue. 

Price seems almost surprised to hear your voice on the other line instead of the monotonous droll of your voicemail. 

"Up for a trip?" He asked when you cleared the sleep from your throat, and rubbed blearily at your eyes. "Jus' me and you."

It feels like nothing at all had changed since he last called you with an offer to accompany him to Tenerife. 

"Just like old times," you murmur, a touch distant. Hedging. 

"Right," he says, words glueing to his throat. You hear the click when he clears it, and pretend you're only pulling the phone away from your ear to check the time. 

Half past three. Of course. Of course. 

"Got a proposition for you." 

Typical Price: he gets right to the point. 

There is no staying up talking about everything, nothing, and all the in between until well past five in the morning when your alarm sounds for your run. Or his for a shower before heading into headquarters at Hereford to reach a new class of hopefuls when he isn't saving the world with his infamous team. 

The very same one he refuses to let you be a part of.

(Better on your own, he says.

You think you'd be better with him—

His team. Team. Not—)

The blooming heat under your cheeks is never acknowledged in the sanctity of your lonesome bedroom with his rough voice pitched low enough to squeeze through the little holes of your speaker. Tucked away to pine while still somehow making a fool of yourself. 

You're only half listening when he murmurs about his proposition. 

It's a simple mission, he tells you. The usual grab and go. 

Usual, because only in this work could kidnapping bad people in foreign countries be considered normal. Routine. 

(Legal, kind of.)

"It's in Romania," he murmurs, and the tinny sound of his voice through the old dial phone of the inn he's staying at between missions makes him sound lighter than he usually does. Airy. "I know you liked visiting the last time—"

It drags a snort from you. "Yeah, on holiday. Something about this whole ordeal tells me I won't be enjoying mici in Târgovişte much." 

"Well. Consider this a pre-paid holiday. I'll do all the work, you just 'ave to sit there, and—"

"Look pretty?"

"—listen."

You hum. "I think I'm much better at looking pretty than I am at listening, John."

"Yeah," it's dry, derisive. "Don't I know it."

Silence lapses between you—intentional, of course. He's letting you think it over. Weigh the pros and cons of a free trip to Romania. With four hands and two heads you could clear it up before the allotted time frame, giving you those extra, precious few days to linger in the country. 

Tying up loose ends is what will end up on the official report. Discouraging witnesses from coming forward with stacks of Euros stuffed deep in their pockets. 

Making sure no stone has been left unturned—the Americans, in particular, like that one. They never ask questions when you wax about patriotism, and ensure there's no chance of calamity. They like their ends tied, and their witnesses happy. 

It's all a cash business. More than enough money wired to an infant account under an preconstructed name. Passwords and identification handed to you in a sealed envelope. It's unlikely that anyone would ever track said witnesses down to discover the person given hush money was actually a nightclub in Mamaia or a fancy pub in Cluj. 

Illegal, of course. Should you ever get caught, you'd be reprimanded. Punished. Made an example of. 

(But who doesn't skim a bit from the top? Especially when the pile is given to you by the military.)

"Fine," you huff, and aim for some semblance of acquiescence in your tone despite knowing full well that you've yet to turn down these impromptu partnerships with him since they started two years ago. 

Moldova. Egypt. Chad. Canada. The Philippines. Taiwan. Tenerife. Your odd partnership has taken you further across the world than the sedentary office job of pretending to make a difference ever did. 

The place he said you were better suited for. You refuse to wonder what that means. 

"Okay. I'll go. But I'm not doing anything at all except enjoying the Romanian countryside." 

"Wouldn't expect any less from you." 

You want to say, then why bring me at all? Why not take Gaz or Soap or Laswell? Why sideline me so blatantly only to keep asking for my help when it's never really needed? but the words are stuck in your throat. Trapped in their esophageal prison.

Instead, you say: "count me in then, I suppose," and wonder when you became such a coward. 

"Mm. I should let you get some sleep, then."

You make a noncommittal noise in the back of your throat. It's been three months of nothing but unanswered texts that gradually faded into nothing by the third week. An island of uncertainty. Worry. Dread. Fear. Wondering what you did wrong, and coming, quite conclusively (and indignantly) to the conclusion that you didn't. 

Hearing his voice again, tinny and always shades softer than you've ever heard him speak before, unearths the sarcophagus you laid your feelings inside; a sudden and abrupt disinterment of everything you tried hard to ignore. The desecration cracks the tomb wide open. The flood of everything you tried to bury blooms; the foetid sickness of your festering wants taste a little bit like regret, and even more like hope. 

Helpless, your finger gnarl around the blossom of what laid bare, bones and rotted flesh, and the weight of it in your palm feels more comforting than ever before. Made more potent, you think, by the absence of him. 

It's an unignorable truth that you missed him. 

And so, you cling to the offering like it's a sacred trinket. 

"How—," the words are rough, gritty, when they slip through the moulted dirt clogging your throat. Dredged up in the wake of the sudden excavation. You swallow hard when he makes a noise. Force yourself to claw through the humus. "How are you, John?"

You want to add something you know will make him huff, call you cheeky, something a little coquetry in the wake of your exhumation. Such would be your exequy, but the words are buried once more when the dirt shifts as he draws in a deep, staticky breath. 

He's not usually a loquacious man in person, but something seems to crack open, shift, when it's well after midnight. A secret, a new side of him, shared only with you. 

You don't expect him to respond. You hope, but you don't assume. 

When he sucks in a breath, a staticky little noise that reverberates through the receiver, victory snakes across your vertebrae. Unwarranted and unearned, but the stinging reminder of it does little to stop it from nursing on the marrow of hope pullulating inside of you.  

"Been better," he offers, and the muted shift of him relaxing into the starchy pillows cuts through the line. Settling, you think, for the beginning of your routine. "Didn't have much of a chance to call you. How've you been?" 

"Been better," you echo, a wry twist of humour snaking across your lips when he offers a huff in response. "Lots to get caught up on, I suppose."

And you do. 

You talk about nothing. Everything. 

Your darkest secrets were spilled out in those phone calls at Devils Hour—fears, uncertainty, failures. This is no different. He tells you about Shepherd blinding them all with his dedication to the cause. About how he would have let Laswell rot to save his own arse, but knew, of course, that not letting Price and Gaz rescue her would have raised even more alarms. 

They cornered an animal, he spits. One who led them around by the nose for years. 

Bloody American Politicians, he grumbles. 

No better than the bloody English, you snark back. At least they're honest about their motives when it all comes tumbling down around them, and don't hide it under layers of the blooded elite. Of status. 

He mumbles to himself for a moment before begrudgingly conceding your point. 

It buzzes in the static. A lapse in the midst of espionage tainted catch-up that makes your hindbrain tense for what he might say next. 

He shifts, then, offers even softer than the hello he greeted you with: 

"What about you? Get up to any trouble while I was gone?"

He listens to you bisect yourself in a midnight confessional, letting your rotted guts tumble out in deep lags of silence you wish weren't as comfortable as they are.

He talks, too. 

Tells you about woes of nepotism, and the muppets they send him for basic training. The fleet of soldiers he doesn't want to carry on his back, but does anyway. The losses he couldn't prevent. The monsters he made. 

"I wouldn't change anything," he always says, as if you don't know him by now. As if you need reminding of just how tar-coated his heart really is. "I'd do it all over again." 

You say, "I know, John." And when you hear the hitch in his breath, you add: "you wouldn't be you if you did. I trust your judgement—no matter what." 

Explicit trust. He runs from it. 

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. It always sounds a little bit like a mourning toll. 

"I… should let you get some sleep." 

It's something he always says during your late night phone calls. 

Par the routine, the same question claws through the mess of words unsaid in your oesophagus until it reaches the seam between your teeth and lips. 

Why me, Price?

But every tradition has its rules. 

You let him run, and wonder if he feels as cleansed as you do after baring your soul to someone who knows you better than most of your closest relatives, your friends. 

(Or if the silence that lingers when you hang up feels just as oppressive and empty to him as it does to you.)

Wishful yearning. 

Instead, you say: "try to get some sleep, John. I'll talk to you later." 

And then, like the hypocrite you are, you lay awake and wonder why. 

He meets you at Heathrow, and really—

It sometimes surprises you just how intimidating a man like Price is. 

He glowers down at the phone in his too large hand, eyes downcast, and brows pinched by whatever is irritating him now—emojis, you later discover.

(Bloody things make no sense to me, he grumbles, shoulder knocking against yours when you make yourself comfortable on the plane. 

You gently remind him he's barely even forty.) 

Price is an indomitable man. 

Tall. Broad shouldered. The heft of his bicep is actuated when he curls his hand around the strap of his duffle bag, muscles bulging. Flexing. 

It's hard not to stare at him. 

His shoulders roll back when you approach, eyes flickering up from unravelling the nuance of modern text messaging from a man who came out of the womb a fully fleshed adult with a mortgage. 

The corners of his eyes relax from their narrow slits when recognition bleeds into ashlar blue. His mouth parts a little; the flash of nicotine stained teeth. 

The furrow of his brow flexes like it wants to smooth itself out, but something passes across his face—unknowable, brief; the incipient markings of something that makes him look a little more at ease in the bustling confines of Heathrow (hell on earth you have both very quickly, and unanimously, acknowledged)—and it's pulled back together. Irritation, but not at you. Never at you. 

(But if not at you, then who? 

Why, you wonder, does he always look so cross in your presence?)

He clears his throat. The grumble of his voice, full and robust, and so different from the tinniness of a phone, nearly makes you jump when it glides across your ears, abrasive and raw. A rough growl. 

(You wonder sometimes if the brassiness of his timbre is from choking back apoplectic snarls all day.)

"Took you long enough."

You huff. "London is a nightmare at this time of day, John. As if you could've gotten here any faster." 

"You chose to live in it." 

Another sigh falls from the split seam of your lips. "It's not that bad."

"London smells like shite." 

"As if Liverpool smells any better," you volley back, watching the subtle shift in his expression fade from the pinched world wariness almost permanently etched into the lines of his face into something more relaxed. Agreeable. Or rather, as agreeable as Price could be in the middle of Heathrow, and surrounded by people. 

He opens his mouth, then, as if to remind you of the sea-salted scent of Liverpool, briny and bitter. Smog and hardwork. Oil, gun cotton. The city smells like the working class. Blue collar. Hands gnarled from the factories, and stained permanently with grease. 

A distinct thrum of pride, of home, rumbles through him with each new add-on to why Liverpool, in his opinion, is the best choice to call home.

(And London, he always adds, if only for another barb, another insult in your choice, always reeks of selfish ambition. The kind that rots your insides into something askance, and is deprived of decency.)

His biggest gripe with London, however—

"They never fuckin' smile." 

You passively nod in agreement—you mostly get looks of outright suspicion when you smile at passers-by in central London, so: point to Price—and then undercut the small victory he gains with a mocking grin in his direction. 

Price's nostrils flare when he catches the derisive bite of your lips curling over your teeth.

"You think you're smart, mm?" 

"I'd rather hope so, considering."

"Bloody annoyin' is what you are, considerin'—"

His words are swallowed by some boarding announcement ringing shrill overhead. You pull away from him, and the mocking smile fades into some facsimile of genuinity when you watch him shake his head, put-out and already annoyed by whatever thought skimmed through his thoughts. 

London always seems like a sore topic, but you've known him long enough that the edge in his voice is less severe and more mocking. There is a distaste for the city, but the reason has evaded you much like—

Well. Everything else. 

You've thought about asking why nearly hundreds of times in the past, but that line of questioning has always been a terrifying endeavour. There is a locked door: a proverbial floodgate keeping all of the other why's at bay. Opening it now, in the middle of a crowded terminal, feels reckless. Stupid. 

It's nearly four hours from here to Transilvania. 

You think of all the insubstantial reasons he could offer, and find the idea of them all rather bitter. Anguishing. It sends a ripple of hurt through your chest, and the sting alone is enough to seal your lips.

Words stuck, once more, in the back of your throat. 

Price says nothing when you quiet, eyes flickering between the throng of people rushing through the terminal, listless and impassive. 

There is always a degree of separation between you and him whenever you meet in person, as if the personal, raw conversations whispered into the early hours of the morning are just some strange dream. A fugue wanting, unslaked and bothersome, that ripens inside your virgin sulci. A sickness that manifests in the fibrils of your desire, covetous and greedy; gnarled gyri breathes life into the dreams you reach for until the delineation between reality and fantasy wanes, fades to cinders. 

So, you bite your tongue, letting the noxious words pollute, rot, inside their esophageal prison, and pretend the claw marks on the walls aren't from your own bloody hands. 

You follow his lead, and he's always seemed so content not to speak of the vulnerability you whisper into his ear. The fear he rasps about at quarter to four. 

Gone, then. It doesn't exist when you can see the lapis of his eyes listing toward you periodically, expression oscillating between a rendition of something that feels a little worrisome, and—

Tenerife. 

That unnameable thing that broke through the gleaming sapphire when you whispered his name, and broke your own rules for the very first time. 

(You'll call me anyways.

Does it bother you?

Never. Wished you called more—)

You turn away from him, from the weight in his gaze when it finds you. Worried, somehow, that a single look will be enough to ferret the secrets out of you. 

A man in fatigues lingers in your periphery, standing awkwardly by the Starbucks entrance. He nods sharply when you catch his eye. 

"Guess we're up," you murmur, smile fading into placid neutrality. Getting caught riling up Captain John Price won't win any favours back in the concrete vacuum of Hereford. "Ready, cap?"

If he notices your sudden distance, he says nothing about it. His eyes drop to the phone clutched in his hand, before he rolls his massive shoulders. 

"Suppose so," he grumbles, slipping his phone into his pocket. 

Out of sight. 

Selfishly, you wonder who else he calls late at night, and find the burn of bitterness, jealousy to be some torturous form of retribution. 

It burns like a knife to your gut. You wallow in it. 

Price isn't a man known for his garrulity, and so, when he takes his seat on the plane, and immediately reaches for the files stuffed haphazardly into the zippered fold of his duffle bag, you take no real offence the undeniable abolishment of conversation. 

You're used to it, really. 

Silences that stretch on, culled by the hum of the engines cutting through the thin air some several hundred kilometres above sea level, are nothing novice. 

In turn, you take to flipping through the worn, jaundiced pages of a book you packed away in your carry-on specifically for this. Whatever secrets lay nestled in the crease of his rumbled folders doesn't matter to you—not yet, anyway—and you're content to enjoy something that you can pretend to be immersed with for the four hours you'll be sharing the scant space that separates the two of you. 

Pretending, of course, being the operative word. 

Price is a breathing furnace. The seams of his tight jacket crackle with unbridled heat that wafts against your arm when you settle into the chair. There is no armrest allotted to you with his sinewy bulk taking up most of the aisle and middle seat, and you feel each exhale when his frame almost melts into your own. 

Broad shouldered. Thick biceps. A tapered waist. Thighs quite nearly the width of a gnarled, hardened fir. It's hard to find space, privacy, with him bleeding out around you. It's hard to concentrate on anything that isn't the muted press of his covered flesh on yours, and, rather illicitly, the way it makes you feel. 

It's a rush of singular emotions nearly indistinguishable from each other, but all leaving you feeling like a raw nerve scrapped from muscle, and dissected from bone. Flayed with just a touch. 

The tremulous wake of them makes your body fight against the onslaught of the roaring deluge that rips through you. An amalgam of wishful anticipation, trepidation, and fear of being caught. Discovered. Having your dirty secrets, the one's you're not willing to share over a tea after midnight with a man who, despite knowing his greatest fear (the lives of his team over the stakes of everything, everyone, else), and his proudest accomplishment (getting the fuck outta Hereford while he still had the chance), galvanised out of you. Spilled into the open air. 

It comes too close to the lowered inhibitions you felt in Tenerife to ever sit well in the churning pits of your stomach. 

And so, you try to force some semblance of distance between your bodies despite there being none. The curved ledge of the plane window digs harshly into your forearm, but you still press into it more. 

Welcoming the ache, almost. 

It doesn't feel good, but it's a harsh reminder that the feelings pooling inside of your chest are wrong. 

A part of you, then, almosts hopes that the pain will soon become an almost Pavlovian reminder whenever you think of Price, and of—

Everything. 

Negative reinforcement. 

(Price and you; the thought brings pain.)

He mistakes your tension for nerves, and drops his chin down when you keep wriggling about, struggling to find a modicum of distance between the weight of him pressing against you. 

His expression is always oscillating between lour surliness and a pinch of frustration, and something in the middle of the two—glum, you think: stoic impassivity weighed down by heavy shadows—but the usual ire dims as the jet lurches down the runway. It's washed away in the tenebrous that leaks in from the empty interior of a military craft where it's just you and him and the pilots. 

A world where the stench of London dissipates into the familiar filtered scent of recycled oxygen that wafts through the open vents. Sterile, almost. Void of the grime, the pungent smell of stale petrol on the wet pavement, the distinct scent of the tube—sweat, fungus; putrid and ripe with something mouldy; tobacco and marijuana—and old cigarettes. 

(Smells like shite, he'd gripe if he knew you thought of it with fondness.) 

When he looks at you, you have to force yourself to remember hierarchy, propriety. Decorum. 

Distance. Reality. 

It aches, but you push it down. Swallow the words until they leak back into their cage, glued against the soft tissue of your oesophagus, and force something neutral, unbothered in your countenance while pretending as if you weren't choking yourself to death. 

"Alright?" He murmurs, words uttered low. Susurrus, almost. It's different from the phone calls where his voice is relaxed, muted; saturated in an ease, a warmth that lacks the usual snarl choked in the back of his throat. He talks with a degree of distance. Boxed into the role of unflinching, infallible leader even in this microcosm that bubbles between you. 

Still. It makes the air in your lungs stutter all the same. 

"Fine."

He hums, and the guttural vocalisation is adorned with the flat press of his disbelief. Price isn't the type to pry, though, and he takes your virginal lie with a mere shift of his eyebrows; a soft buoy of skepticism that is just scrutinising enough to let you flee if you so wish. 

You do, and so, you take it. Offering him a tight smile that you know will never reach your eyes, or any semblance of believability, but it's the most you can manage over the drumroll of your heart (now making serious threats of breaking through your ribcage, and leaping out of the jet), and the shallow gasps of your breath, a desperate struggle to quench the flames billowing in your lungs. 

He's so warm, you think, that he burns you. Fire spread from the heat of him, catching on the cindered embers lying in the soft fibrils of your being, and igniting you in a flameless smoulder. 

Price nods once, and you're unsure if it's in a gentle acquiescence of your bold-faced lie, or your quick prevarication, but you find yourself mimicking it all the same. 

Good, then. Settled. 

But he leans down instead of returning to the urgent press of files and papers all neatly stacked in a manila folder, and you come undone at seams when the scent of him envelops you. 

Crushed tobacco leaves, stale smoke, ambergris and vetiver. 

The headiness of his smell smothers you, and makes your hindbrain tense at the familiar, enticing miasma that seeps into your lungs, and fills your sinuses until it washes everything out but the gun cotton, and leather he reeks of. 

"Hmm, a bit early to start lying," he rasps, the words just as brittle as your crumbling resolve. "Ain't it?" 

Your breath shudders out of your lungs. Caught, then. Called out. The idea of confessing everything to him, all at once, passes through, but it's immediately dismissed. Shoved back into whichever crevasse it slunk out of. 

The fact that it even drifted through, sneaking past the tightly guarded prison it was kept in is enough to make you fluster. 

As if to hold them in, you sink your teeth into your tongue to keep from speaking the words that still echo in your head, and offer nothing more than a simple shake of your head, and some facsimile of a wry smile tossed in his general direction. 

He hums again, and the coo rumbles through his flesh and ripples across your skin. Electric shocks. Static buzz. The vibration of it shakes the doors of the mausoleum where everything is left to moulder, rot. 

A plume of nicotine dusts across your nose when Price shifts in his seat, much too small for a man with such broad shoulders, and thick thighs, and when you breathe in the heady scent of it, your head spins.

"We're all entitled to our secrets," he murmurs. His hair scratches against the fabric when he turns his head, chin notching down to bore into the side of your face. It's all you'll offer him when the rattling at the doors of your tomb dislodges a piece of rotten wood; lignin crumbles to the floor around you in stripped, fleshy white. A hole big enough to sink your fist through. 

"And that's fine, but—," his tone dips, timbre scorching through you when he speaks. The words are gritty, and coarse. They sink into your ears until the flesh is rubbed raw. The change in pitch makes you look up, wordlessly following the command that tangles around each vowel. Sharp, authoritative. This isn't John right now. It's Captain Price. 

His pelagic eyes are hardened into firm, dense sapphire lined with unbreakable obsidian. 

"But," he stresses the word again, brows arching high on his forehead until three, four, lines are carved into the pale skin. "Those secrets can't interfere with the mission, yeah?"

His stare is intense. Firm. Unyielding. He doesn't look away. Doesn't cower under the strange, too hot sensation that fills your head whenever you're forced to make eye contact for more than a few moments. 

It occurs to you, then, when he holds your stare for three, flinching inhales, that the only reason he's saying this is because he knows. Maybe not everything, maybe not all of it. But he knows enough that you're acting strange. Odd. Not yourself. 

Price sits back, and the loss of his intense stare boring into you, stripping you down to basal parts—raw and vulnerable—allows air to inflate your burning lungs. Oxygen bubbles and seeps into your bloodstream so quickly that you feel a little sick with it. Dizzy. 

"We clear on that?" 

His expression is guarded, pinched. 

You swallow thickly against the deluge of emotions that run down your spine, and wonder what he knows. What he pieced together already. It makes your heart slam against the flesh and bone cage it's prisoned in. 

His flat, phlegmatic expression seems to wobble. A frisson ripples, and splinters his reticent resolve, and he looks, in that moment, like the man who speaks to you late at night about his biggest worries, and fear. Touchable, reachable. It's a sharp contrast to the impenetrable man who stands at the top of the command post, and makes decisions of life and death. A stalwart leader made human.

You drink it in, trying to make sense of the softening of his gaze, the tremble of his moustache as his lips relax into an even line, but it's indecipherable. Unknowable. You struggle to piece the pensive, almost contemplative look together, but the gingerness in his expression snaps shut. 

All at once, it's forced back, and pulled taut. The drawing of a bridge. 

His lips flatten into a grim line. A divot forms between his brows. The tick in his jaw speaks of frustration, but—

Not at you. Never at you.  

You can't make sense of the enigmatic distance in his eyes—a floating island in the middle of the open ocean. Separated by the turbulent sea. 

Something changed between you. You feel the incipient shift trembling through your bones; a novice crack. The plates deep below the surface surge, and split; shattering into the other. The waters froth white as something begins to emerge from the depths. 

A new landmass, maybe. 

"Alright, then," he rasps, turning back back toward the files spread out on his lap. "Try to get some rest. We'll be jumpin' into the thick of it when we land."

You can see the hesitation in his eyes. The uncertainty in his mein. It's a sharp juxtaposition to how these strange missions usually unfold, where you both pour over documents, and leads, and have easy conversations between sharp, playful barbs, and impish quips to always devolve into some debate over something trivial. 

The silence is stifling. Oppressive. 

Tenerife, you think, when you drunkenly stumbled down the stairs, and into his arms, and—

Coldness. Frigid distance. He cut you off after that, and it was radio silence until last night when he called you.

You don't know what it all means, but Price is startlingly observant when it comes to you, and you wonder, with your heart thudding in your throat, just how much you gave away. 

A snag in the middle of lush green. You tremble. 

Into the thick of it, huh?

His words haunt you. 

(But when don't they?)

The novel—a neo noir mystery disguised as a romance—does little to capture your attention. Threads of interest snag on the ends of the protagonist's steadfast determination to not to let crime run rampant in the city he's taken a reluctant appreciation for, and to rescue his penultimate damsel from the crumbling affair she's trapped in with a married man of the mafia, but it dwindles after the discovery of the red herring. 

It sits, untouched, in your lap as you gaze out of the circular window. Plumes of thick, white clouds blanket the world below the plane, and look dense enough for you to almost believe you could stand on the curled peaks of the cumulonimbus. A mirage, maybe. 

(Or wishful thinking: you've always enjoyed chasing the unattainable.)

The sky above is a midnight blue that fades into lighter shades of lazuli as curves around the earth. 

A shade lighter, flecked with greens and golds and greys, and it might have looked just like his eyes. 

(Chasing, always chasing.)

The shock of it makes your leg twitch as your muscle tense back into that familiar state of constant fight or flight that Price always seems to put you in. Stage fright. Fear of discovery. 

Sometimes you wonder if it would be easier to just spit the words that have been coagulating in the back of your throat for years out now into the world, and let him run from them. 

Flee, like Tenerife. 

Does it bother you?

No, I wish you called my more—

—can't, love. Can't do that, you know I—

Dreams pop like rubber balloons around you. The snap of the recoil blisters your skin. 

A lesson, then, that there are certain words that should never be uttered, or mentioned.

He drew a sharp delineation between you and him. A line in the sand. Uncrossable. Unspeakable. 

Unignorable. 

Your heart aches, but you know it'll soon pass. Soon. Soon—

"Ready?" He asks when the wheels of the plane kiss the solid ground with a jolt, and the single word feels more augury than you'd like. 

It feels almost instinctual, then, to glance through the small window, eyes listing to the pale blue sky. Two chaffinches chase each other in the blooms of white, their plumage harsh against the idling clouds overhead. 

"Sure," you say, and wonder if he'd asked the same thing when you touched down in Tenerife. It doesn't matter. You shake the thought from your head, and try not to linger on the birds. 

Leave it for Agamemnon.

Despite his insistence to the contrary, it turns out to be the exact opposite of what was promised. 

Your idyllic vacation to the Romanian countryside is forfeited for the cold interior of Brașov where the man you're after, Iulian Mitrea, is hidden somewhere in the near hour long commute from here to Sinaia. 

Somewhere, of course, because no one is willing to tell you anything at all. From the moment you landed at Târgu Mureș Transylvania Airport, help from anyone within the country evaporated, dissolved. Mistrust was rampant between the soldiers here to help you on your hunt. 

You couldn't blame them, really. Not when their orders to stall, delay, and interfere came directly from above. 

It makes sense when you're trying to capture a well-known friend of several high ranking politicians worlds over. 

The pinch in their brow as they say, we don't know where he is, despite confirming only an hour earlier that they did, in fact, know where he was speaks volumes to their reluctance to participate in this farce. It needles inside of you because despite the irritation of the delay, you get it. 

If they help you catch him, their name will be in the report. People will talk to you. You get to go home with a wanted man nicely wrapped in a bow for Lady Justice, and they stay behind and face the ramifications of letting a man go who greases paws with men in power—politicians, businessmen, foreign diplomats. 

So. 

You get it. It doesn't make it any easier to swallow when you see them on the radio each time you get closer. 

It'll be a wait and see mission until someone either relents enough to let you get a headstart, or the bigger people in power finish the behind the scenes negotiations to protect as many people as possible from the fallout. 

Either way—

You're landlocked in a city that's never felt more hostile to you; stuck in stasis in the middle of a brutal winter. 

The inn is nice, you suppose. Old architecture. Its age sings with each movement you make against the wood that is nearly three generations older than you. It's plumed a dusting of disuse that sneaks into the corners where it rots, and stinks of mildew. 

But it feels unwelcoming each time you catch the eye of a soldier, a local police officer. The lady behind the counter of the front desk is oblivious to the tension bleeding between everyone, and offers toothy smiles whenever she catches you. Eager, you think, to talk to someone who doesn't respond in clipped tones. 

You soak up the rapid Romanian, and try to remember the phrases you picked up—much to her amusement. 

Her hand fixes itself permanently against her chest with each new pronunciation of the Romanian alphabet you pick up—breve, circumflex, S-comma, T-comma—and she seems eager to listen to prattle on in stilted Romanian with more appreciation than the men who are meant to be your partners. 

They linger, listening in on each conversation you have with the woman. Combat every effort of your futile attempt to salvage some holiday from this mess. 

They undermine Price at every junction. Cut his opinion down until it's shredded paper snowflakes on the icy cobblestone. A forgotten arts and craft project now mushy from the snow blanketing the world around you in an endless white prison. 

It's easy, you think, to just give up. 

But you know Price. 

Despite their delays, and mutterings to each other every time a lead pops up only to quickly slip through your fingers, he doesn't falter. He won't. Not until this is seen through. 

He'll fight to the bitter end. 

(You think he just might prefer to do his fighting on the battlefield instead of dabbling in subterfuge.

So. 

You do it for him.)

Your efforts amount to a burst vessle: a rumbling eruption spewing anger and tension at your feet like an angry volcano. 

And with it, you feel the words you try to swallow down buoy to the surface. 

This mission makes you feel like little more than some ornate polyptych, folded away for convenience sake, and unravelled in the privacy of his borrowed office. 

It's there where Price poses questions, and piques at you for more information. 

His tongue is too thick when he tries to speak the language echoed around you, unable to catch the proper slur on the t-commas and drag the breve out the way it should be spoken. It sounds somehow more French than it does Romanian, and you resolve to take the mantle of lacklustre translator for him, wondering whether he took your words as coming only for the holiday as sincerely as possible. 

It makes a needle of fondness grow in the gyral folds of your beating heart. A sudden deluge of empathy, and affection that makes you idealistically moony-eyed at his penchant for keeping promises. 

Still. 

It's unneeded. 

You take a proactive role in trying to find the man who keeps evading the grasping fingers of the law (however twisted it might be), and make it quickly known to him that you're here as a partner, at his behest, and not as some fancy tchotchke to be placed, indiscreetly, on the sidelines. 

It's unlike him, though. And you wonder more about the potential ramifications of this mission each passing day that you're stuck in the stifling confines of some luxury inn where the men around you whisper furiously to prevent your success. 

You ask him about it, and receive a piercing stare in response. A gruff, don't worry about it. This is my muck up, not yours. 

It hardens your resolve. 

All it takes is a few words whispered while rolling sarmale, and you manage to find a man in Brașov who might be hiding the person you're looking for. 

Information that turns out to be more fruitful than anything else thus far. 

You tuck it close to your chest. The man is landlocked and stuck, hidden in plain sight by the soldiers there to help you. He isn't going anywhere. 

But you might be. 

The lack of progress is noted by the people who requested your aid on this—the ones that must have conveniently forgotten that the person who kidnapped foreign dignitaries was also the man they had over for summer parties at their luxury estates in Dorobanți.  

They dangle Price's visa over his head during a massive row after—yet another—delayed piece of information is forwarded to you by the local police. By the time it lands in your hands, on his desk, it's too late. 

More blocks. More opportunities to catch the man squandered, lost to politics. 

The schism between Price and them widens. A wide chasm, uncrossable. 

You catch his eye, and wonder if you should share the secrets you keep, but you don't. Not yet, anyway. There's a mountain on his shoulders. A mess of politics that you know makes his blood boil. 

You want to ease the burden. The tension. 

But it doubles to a new height when one of the men jabs his finger in your direction, eyes blazing, and calls you his assistant. 

"My what?" Price's words are eerily calm despite the gyre welling in blue. "What did you say?" 

The man doesn't back down. Neither does Price. 

It's his warmth by your side, unflinching, as he stands tall and guarded, leaking anger and ruin at the slight against you. A white night in red-hot anger. 

You've fought your own battles, cutting your knuckles on cracked teeth until bone embedded itself into your cartilage like a macabre set of brass knuckles in jagged ivory. You throw punches like you're fighting for your life behind the screen of a computer that ticks away for eight hours, and pretend the emblem on your lapel doesn't weigh you down to the pavement below. Your own weight to carry. 

And you don't need this, don't want it, and a little part of you wants to rebel, to throw your fists around like they're the white-hot slugs spat out of the barrel of a firearm, but it's tapered down when he seethes beside you. 

His hands curl into fists before swinging up, latching onto the straps of his tactical vest. A defensive manoeuvre, you once thought, but now you know better. 

Price isn't clinging to the woven fabric to keep himself steady, to ground himself. It's to keep those burly fists from sinking into the gullet of the first man who wanders too close to the rapacious maw of a starving beast. 

Your eyes are fixed on the hairs dusted over his knuckles as he flexes and tightens his grip until they bleach white like dead coral, sharp bones threatening to break skin. 

Those hands once pressed you tight to his front, holding you steady as you stumbled through the haze of want, and longing, and kept you steady as the boat rocked with the calm waters of the neverending sea. 

(—wish you called more—

—don't know what you're sayin', love. What you're startin'. Gonna let you turn around, and pretend this never happened, mm?—

—but—)

They tightened then. Hard enough that the skin around your hip bones bulged between his thick fingers. Your flesh filling in his gaps. His eyes dropped there, fixed on the way you fit between him despite the pain that bloomed where his fingers dug deep. 

(—jus'... Walk away, love—)

Tenerife feels like a dream. A wisping cloud of want dredged from the depths of your subconscious yearning. 

But the ache in your side where his hands rested the night before kept you from casting away the words as drunken ramblings and masticated dreams. 

Those hands whiten under the strain of holding himself back, and you recognise the colour as the same shade when he held you. Paperweight. Featherlight. You wonder, then, your eyes only for him as the world you've been invited into erupts into chaos and blame tinged with the palpable weight of unwelcomeness and claustrophobia when he hasn't been holding himself back—

"Talk about 'em that way on more time, and I'll stick your goddamn heads on a post for that slimy bastard you want to protect so fuckin' bad to see—"

—from you.

You find him near the window, gazing out at the snow-covered roof-tops of the sprawling village below. 

He stands, his back angled toward you, with one hand curled around the crystalline glass, filled with three fingers of scotch—the perfect amount, he stresses, and gives credence to his sincerity with each winkle in his brow—and a lit cigar in the other.

Price brings the cigar up to his lips, eyes roaming across the smear of lights in the distance. You catch the spark when he inhales, the orange intensifying into an angry red. 

It casts a halo of orange on his face, and the fire makes him look somehow older and younger than he really is. An timeless visage of a man who, hours earlier, was recklessly throwing himself into the very same fire he syphons from as it burns the tobacco in his stem. 

The brief flash of red is complemented by the harsh dandelion-yellow from the illuminated city when it spills through the glass, frosted with condensation from the heat in the room, and the brutal chill kept at bay by a two inch glass panel. 

He's a composition in contrast. 

The only light inside the room is from the kindling fireplace, and the jaundiced lamp on the desk table, spilling over the documents you'd come to talk to him about. The dimly lit interior bathes his back in a clouded tenebrous, darkening the crevasses, divots, and the contoured folds of his body until they're shadowed in the gloam. It's perfectly juxtaposed to the highlights that catch in the warm golden glow of the sleepless city just below. 

A perfect chiaroscuro, you think. 

The sight of him, then, at peace—or as close to it as he can manage—steals the air in your lungs. The words on your lips. 

The look on his face is pensive, yet coloured in a hue of consternation that seems to quiver through the dark pools of blue gazing back at him. A ripple of disquietude. A splash of rumination. It all coalesces into an unfathomable knot of emotions that bloom in the deep divot of his brow. Ones you can't even begin to unravel. 

(But your fingers itch to try.)

There is something about him in absolute stasis—completely unguarded, and unburdened by the devastating world around him—that spools under your skin like a fever. A webbing nebula that weaves with the threads of venial sin until it tangles around you. 

When it tightens, it feels like a noose.

This moment of privacy between him and the thoughts locked tight inside his head makes you feel a little bit like you're intruding on a moment not meant for your eyes. A sacred thing. A voyeuristic spectator. 

You should leave. Let him have the sanctity of this moment to himself, where the pensive, introspective look etched into his brow is shared only with his reflection, and no one else. 

An unwitting birefringence. A glance inside Pandora's box. 

You try to tiptoe back in the direction you came from, a manila folder tucked under your arm, but the wood is worn. Aged. The floorboards creak when you press your heel into them, letting out a loud, jarring noise that seems to reverberate through the arched ceiling, and against the frosted glass that encompasses the vast majority of the eastern wall.

Loud enough, you think, to crack the class. His reverie. 

Price makes a noise in the back of his throat when he turns to you, brows drawn tight in wordless displeasure at the intrusion. Recognition bleeds into ashlar blue. His shoulders ease when he sets his steeled gaze on your cringing form, one foot out the door, and the other fixed firmly in your mouth. 

The way he relaxes when he finds it's just you melts some of the embarrassment away. The tension dissipates, sheds itself from his coiled muscles pulled taut from carrying the weight of everything on his broad back. 

(The world, then, is tucked into the corner when he dropped it earlier.)

"Sorry," you murmur, hiding another wince. "I didn't realise you were—" Brooding. Another grimace. Your foot slides deeper into your mouth. "Uh—"

"It's fine," he says, his voice hoarse from the growling threats he made against the Romanian diplomats who insisted on your help only to shrug off everything he suggested. 

He clears his throat before he speaks, taking the brief lull to drag his gaze down your form. Tendrils of something soft liquify the hardened edges of sapphire—a look you haven't seen on him since Tenerife—but it pauses at the folder you try, and fail, to discreetly tuck further into the crevasse of your body. Hiding it, futilely, from view. 

Something sours across his face. The half melted azure firms into unbreakable obsidian. 

"Business as usual, then?" 

You huff. "Not if you don't want that." 

Price inhales deeply at your words, and you know that he can't. He won't. 

You mourn the loss of that soft, unfathomable look on his face when the only concern he had was the condescension from his breath hiding the view of Sinaia from his appreciative gaze. 

A look full of something aching. A want, maybe; a need. Things you can't begin to connect to your stalwart captain. 

But then you think, again, of Tenerife. When he caught you mid-stumble, hands heavy and hot on your flesh. The look on his face ages younger than the grey around his temple would lead you to believe. 

"Careful," he murmured, eyes lighter somehow as he pulled you in closer to his side. "Can't go falling all over the place." 

It was your quip of, "but you'll catch me, won't you?" that made him feel almost reachable when he turned away from you, the tips of his ears dusting a pretty pink. 

"Jus' watch where you're goin'."

You think about it now—about the unfathomable distance between the stars. 

Between you, and him. 

(And then of broken walls you mend with your own hands.)

"Jus' bring it here," he mutters, moving toward the desk cluttered with everything he was trying to avoid. The desk you brought him back to. It pinches something sour inside of you. "I'll 'ave a look at it."

Price sets the glass down, and reaches for the crystal ashtray left near the edge of the table. When he drags it closer to the fish-shaped map of Romania, decorated with little red stickers of possible hideouts for the man you're supposed to be catching, you count four ends of a cigar in the mess of ashes, all smoked down to the stem. 

Concern gnarls in your gut. 

"Busy day for you, Captain?"

All he gives in a noncommittal grunt in response before eying the chair with a touch of wariness as if sitting down now will prevent him standing up again. It might, you think, tentatively taking stock of the neverending pages on the desk just waiting for him to tackle. A ceaseless maelstrom that tries to drag him down that endless abyss that leaves stress marks on his forehead, grey hairs around his temple, and grinds his bones down until marrow below is exposed to the rotten air. 

He doesn't sit. A pointed gesture. 

The heels of his palms rest on the edge of the table, and he leans forward over the papers strewn in his familiar organised chaos, and drops his head down between the bracket of his arms, locked at the elbows. 

He's the very picture of exhaustion. 

"I don't have anything good to share with you," you murmur, tone low and susurrus as if raising above an octave will shatter the fragile glass that houses the two of you from the brutal storm outside these four walls. "Mostly a complete repeat of what already happened—"

"Bullshit," he grinds the cuss out like the potency of his tenor will somehow strengthen it into a hex. "Fuckin' politics."

"Nothing we haven't dealt with before," you note, turning to lean against the desk. You mirror his pose in the reverse, fingers curling around the ledge. "It'll smooth out eventually."

He considers your words, lids sliding to half-mass. Lost in thought. In—

Something. 

You're not privy to the war in his head. The battle he struggles through. 

But you want to be. 

You'd give anything to fight alongside him in this moment of quiet contemplation. To aid him in the pursuit of victory, and help ease the burden he carries on his broad shoulders. A weight that makes his heels dig deeper into the ground than any other man you've met. Gravity falls on him harder than the others, but he never folds. Never falters. 

Something shifts when you tilt your head toward him, waiting. Watching. 

Irritation drips down, polluting the cenote until it's a gyre grey. Clouded with the poison of choices that lay in front of him. 

"Maybe," he settles on, rolling one shoulder to alleviate the burn in his tense muscles. "Would be easier if they'd just bloody listen—"

"They will."

His eyes flicker up to you, curling with something playful, you think. Or as close to mirth as the shadows in his brow will allow. 

"You gonna make them?" 

The tone of his voice—smoke cured, molasse thick—is blunt, but—

Baiting. 

Loose tendrils of smoke weep from the end of his forgotten cigar, and curls in the air between you. You taste ash, and feel the burn of nicotine when you breathe in. 

It does little to quell the spike of nerves gnarling in your chest; the itch under your skin. 

Something brims in your pulse. A rapaciousness that seems to burn through your arteries until they're blistered from the heat. You lean back on the desk, knees locking until your legs are straight to alleviate the anxious knot growing in your stomach. 

His gaze drops to your legs when your ankles cross, sliding up to the softness of your thighs now spread plush over the wood. 

Another shift. Poisoned grey darkens into thick tar. Bog water. You wonder how long it would take for anyone to find you if you sunk below the thin film of pleats, swallowed whole by the fen. 

Imprisoned in his clutch. 

"For you? Anything—"

The words slip out before you can stop them. 

His head jerks up. The roundness of his almond shaped eyes can only be derived from your slip-up, to your unintentional confessional between secondhand smoke, and borrowed nicotine. 

A mistake, you think. An accident. A follie. 

But the words are lodged under the syrup-y thick water that leaks down your throat. 

You swallow again, but it feels like you're drowning. 

An impasse. Brutal, and uncrossable. You wonder what he might say, what he might do, and try to ignore the ache in your chest, the bitter throb of anticipation as the lines in his brow deepen, darkening with the stains of his indecision. 

That same wellpool of emotions buoys in ashlar blue when he stares at you, plain faced and—

A touch uncertain. 

It's strange to see him so unsure, so hesitant. 

Price isn't a man who falters in the face of anything. Who concedes, and surrenders. 

His tenacity is what drew you to him. That staunch perseverance that you sometimes wish you could fill each hairline fracture in your soul with. To somehow syphon the staggering presence of him, indomitable and ferocious when he needs to be, into your marrow where it'll congeal and paint the walls of your bones with the same stalwart dedication to a singular gospel that he carries with ease.  

He huffs, then, and the exhale reeks of stale cigarette butts in a damp ashtray. 

"Don't know what you're getting yourself into, love—"

Something flickers across his face, and you wonder if he even meant to say it. Or if the endearment slipped out, oiled by the same elixir that covered your throat and coaxed something closer to the truth, to your hidden wants, out of the depths of your yearning. 

It's unfathomable, though. The mere idea of it being drug from the same hidden well as yours itches between your ribs; a blossom of something featherlight. Hopeful. 

When you look at him, eyes scouring the dividing lines between the face he shows the world—the one with a deeply furrowed brow and obsidian clotting in the crevasses of liquid sapphire; a stalwart sense of detachment, and pointed distance—and the one he shows you.

With you, though—

With you, he's always asymmetrical. 

A singular brow notching up at something audacious you said; one side of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin. The flash of teeth when you murmur under your breath about the stuffy politicians you're meant to be saving. 

Rusted picket fences. Faulty hinges. Open, lax. Void the usual symmetry that makes him Captain John Price; a stalwart presence on the battlefield, shoulders strong enough to lift the morale (and morality) of every soldier under his commands. Has to, you think, or he might implode, crumbling under the stifling weight of his utilitarian choices, and the actions guised under the moral grey dust of patriotism. 

It clings to him. Scars shaped like canines: the teeth of an old, rotten dog. Nightmares in absenteeism. 

He never tells you about them, ever; but you've gotten more than a handful of phone calls during devil's hour to know they haunt him just as much as they do you. 

(And if you've taken to turning your ringer on as high as it will go—just in case—then that's a secret between you and midnight blue sheets.)

The look on his face now makes you think of that mission in Tenerife, when his fingers curled around your wrist after landing in Heathrow. Warm, flushed skin. Rough like a cat's tongue when it slid over your flesh. 

He stopped you from leaving, eyes shaded in stagnant blue as the taxi idled in front of you. 

"Could go for a coffee. Want to come?" He asked, and it was unlike him to stall, but the prospect of more time, and coffee, numbed you to it all. 

You didn't give it much thought, but the words feel almost sibylline now. Hindsight, you think: that pesky little thing that makes you feel like Lleu, caught in the crosshairs of a feud between Arianrhod and Gwydion.

Over burnt, bitter beans and coffee flavoured water, he said: "don't get much sleep anymore." 

"Our late night phone calls don't bore you to sleep?" 

It was a pawkish barb not meant to be taken seriously, but Price, you find, is percipient when it comes to you. 

"No, they don't." He shifted in his chair, eyes cutting toward the mid-morning haze dusting the streets of London in a fine periwinkle blue. He looked older, somehow, in the virginal rays of the dawning sun. The words that slipped out felt softer, subdued in a way that made you wonder if they were meant to be uttered at all. "I sleep much better after them, actually."

Price has a strange ability to leave you both speechless and full of words. Of things, mundane and inconsequential, that you long to spill out over the linoleum countertop. 

More often than not, they're just naked, bare. Raw words not yet shaped or formed into any semblance of meaning, but ones you want to say, anyway. If only to keep the conversation going. To keep him around a moment longer. 

(After all: if the conversation does end, he can't leave.) 

But your lips are glued. Words stuck in the wet ashes that congeal in your throat. 

Your eyes followed the breadcrumbs of his gaze, and found the quieted road of Liverpool Street staring back at you. Drenched in cobblestone grey, and smeared in industrial neon. An uninspiring visage of some secluded corner tucked away from the tourist trap of central London. 

The near hour long drive from Heathrow to London for a cup of coffee is another mystery. Why he invited you where, of all places, isn't known to you. 

He paid for the coffee, the taxi. Said nothing at all but walked you back to your flat in London, the place you stay after each mission brings you back to Heathrow. It's a near twenty-nine minute commute in the opposite direction.

Said no when you offered him a place to sleep for the night, and you tried not to let the bitter sting of rejection show while his fingers curled around the wooden frame of your front door, knuckles turning white from the strain of—

Hindsight, you think. 

The shift in his gaze when his hand snared around your wrist. When he hailed a taxi for burnt coffee in the middle of a city that he couldn't stand—a place you'd heard many tirades about in the middle of the night, all leading back to the same reason for his staunch hatred of London: it's too bloody far from Liverpool. Too bloody far from him. 

When he turned to look out the window to watch your reflections contrasted against drab, grey London. 

Earlier, when he was gazing at the city below. 

It clicks, then. 

He wasn't staring out the window. He never was. 

"Why didn't you come into my flat?" You ask, words thick. Heavy. 

His nostrils flare. "What—?"

"That night in London, after Tenerife—I asked you to spend the night. Why didn't you—"

White knuckles. The look on his face was—

Pensive. Dusted with consternation. Just like—

Now. Then. All the moments in between. 

Like many things in conjunction to this, it's probably your fault. An unignorable truism that sits under your skin like an itch you can't scratch no matter how viciously you claw at your dermis. 

You could have asked, but it wouldn't have mattered. 

The answer was staring at you this whole time. 

Why he called you in the middle of the night. Why he never even bothered to entertain your application to join the 141. Why he looked so troubled when you invited him in. Why he kept you at arms length this whole time, but let you see the gnarled ruins of his soul in the middle of night. 

The delineation of your relationship was drawn in the distance of a phone call at midnight, ones made not because he was lonely or bereft of comfort—

But because he could hang up before he said too much. Widen the gap with a press of his finger. 

You can see him try to pull back again. To put a distance between you greater than this lonely hotel in the middle of Brașov  to Orion's Belt. 

Words—stay, don't, why—caught in your throat. They refuse to come out. A conversation trapped. One you can't start. 

(You've always been better with actions than words.)

And so, you kiss him instead. 

A cacoëthes. 

It's less of a kiss and more of a messy punch to his mouth with your blistered lips. 

Your trembling fingers curl into the straps of his tac-vest. For leverage, maybe; or to hide the quiver in your joints from his widening eyes. 

His mouth parts, wry curls flutter when he inhales sharply. Words, you think, like: what're you doin'? or this is sexual harassment and I swear to god I'll sue—

You don't let him finish. Don't let him start, either. 

You fall back on the desk, yanking on his straps. He jerks forward. 

You meet, clumsily, in the middle. An awkward assemblage of limbs; bodies cut across each other like an unfinished T. 

It's messy. More sealed lips glueing together than it ever could be considered a proper kiss. 

There are moments leading up to this that, in hindsight, make everything seem almost inevitable. The look on his face. The ache in your chest. It blooms from the same vine; a want in spades. You almost weep when he groans against your mouth, teeth knocking together. You taste heme in the back of your throat, and nearly choke on it when his fingers curl under your jaw, holding you steady as he tries to devour you whole. 

It sheds threads of kismet, and tastes a little of finality when you brush your lips against his again, meeting in the middle: a perfect equilibrium. Absolute congruence. 

(Or, maybe, it's the thrill of his taste that shades everything else in a roseate veil; that swallows down the other moments, trials and tribulations that felt more gruelling than your training, and lets the others surge to the surface. Moments of heartache, and pain, and—

And it doesn't matter, you think, a touch delirious; not when you know what his hands feel like when they curl around your waist, when his fingers dig into your skin, and he pulls you closer.)

"Listen—" the word is mangled in his throat; charred from the fire that burns in his lungs. "You need to know what you're getting yourself into."

"You say that like I haven't been thinking about it for years, John." 

It sobers him a bit. He pulls back until a thin strand of space sits between your wet lips and his moussed beard. 

The implication in your words makes his eyes darken. Lids fluttering. 

Want, palpable and thick, pulses in the charged atmosphere between you. A microcosm of your own design: a place carved from stone, ashlar, and shaded in the midnight blue of his eyes. A roseate gossamer falls, veiling you in that corusating haze that makes the world look prettier than it really is. 

Shades of rose. 

The breath he pulls in is tremulous.

When he speaks, it sounds like an orison. A plea. "That so?"

It's a weighted question. Benediction paints his throat, stains the words when they slip out. 

 "Kept me waiting for quite a while."

"Didn't think you were waiting." His hands sear your skin when they slide up your back. His forehead falls, resting against yours. "Not much to sit around and pine over, love." 

It makes you scoff, a wet noise in the back of your throat. "You think I answer my phone in the middle of the night for just anyone?"

"No," he murmurs. His hand lifts, cups your cheek in the seat of his palm. "But I'm not jus' anyone, am I?" 

"Nope. Your a walking contradiction on how—sometimes—nepotism isn't all bad—"

"Watch it."

"Or what, John?"

You're distinctly aware of the age-old idiom about playing with fire, but when he dips his chin, and narrows his eyes at you like that, you find you don't really care much about getting burned. 

His nostrils flare, eyes dark, and hungry. A warring pelagic storm looms over ashlar. Gyre grey. Arsenic white. You want to stain the tips of your fingers in the liquid blooming in his gaze. 

"Might need to teach you a lesson in respect."

"Might need to teach you not to keep someone waiting." 

His mouth is searing it when it presses to yours. 

"Touchè."

Price tastes of saltpetre. 

Thick, ichorous. An heady elixir that sits heavy on your tongue, leaking down the back of your throat when you swallow. 

A fine sheen of nicotine paints his teeth from the forgotten cigar burning in the ashtray on the table, and when you swipe your tongue across them, chasing the secondhand buzz, it feels anxiolytic. Your head is a slurried mess from it all, and the way he feels beneath you. 

Hard edges, broad—massive. 

His chest expands with each deep inhale. Shoulders tense with the effort of holding himself back. A fact, you find, is more intoxicating than the nicotine on your tongue, or the saltpetre blooming in your veins. 

The width of his thighs make your muscles burn when you perch your knees on the cushion beside them, the stretch a deep burn that feels more arduous than a workout. 

You're not supposed to be kissing your captain. 

To be sat on his lap while his big hands roam your skin, sliding down the knobs of your spine, thumb pressing the grove of each one. Massaging your sides when you gasp into his mouth, a wet noise full of the burn in your joints, the want in your belly—an ache, a need for more. More. More—

It was meant to be professional. 

At work, on the field, in the stuffy headquarters of the SAS building in Hereford, it's meant to be distant. Cold. And—

And not this. 

Not spread open in his lap, one palm cupping the soft cheek of your ass and squeezing until the flesh bulges from between his splayed fingers. Not heaving his name out in a palpable supplication drenched in want. Need. 

Needy. 

"Look'it you," he'd rasped into your neck hours earlier, slick with sweat from your impromptu training lesson in the comfort of his office. "So fuckin' needy—"

And you were. Are. 

"C'mon, cap," you gasped, nose pressed taut against his temple, tongue chasing the briny tang that saturated his hairline. "Give it to me—"

He did.

Over and over and over again. Bending you over hard wood of his desk until your face was full of reports and papers, missions and confidential files on things, and people you'd rather not think about while your captain was spreading you apart with his tongue, and three fingers, and—

It was too much. Not enough. A paradoxical realm where pleasure and pain melded into a single entity. It's veins coursed with a potent cocktail of everything you could easily become addicted to—oxytocin, dopamine, endorphins rich enough to make you dizzy for aeons when it saturated all those gullible receptors in your head—and when he touched your skin with his bare hands, you felt the prickle of it leaking into your bloodstream. 

The rough husk of his voice rasping out his pleasure in your ear is an audible opiate; euphoria condensed into decibels. It rattles your synapses. Your bones. You quiver under his bulk, eager for more. 

Aching for it, really. Want him so badly that it hurts. 

Even after he'd taken his time to prepare you, made you cum from his mouth, his fingers, more times than the chemical slurry of your melting mind could ever try to keep up with, it isn't enough. 

Wasn't. 

His cock feeding into you, stretching you open around the thick of him, until the world around you was awash in pure bliss in the most beautiful shade of blue, wasn't enough. 

"More," you gasped, nerves throbbing like a bruise. Bones battered, rusted from the force of him taking you over and over again. "More, John—please—"

He obliged each time. Sliding home until all you could feel was him pulsing inside of you. The heavy weight of his hips notched against your ass. The branding heat of his hands gripping your hip, fingers curling around your shoulder, as he held you steady for him. 

(Over and over again—)

Price smells of tobacco when he leans in close. Damp ash. The wet end of a cigarette butt. Stale smoke. Mossy, loam. You breathe in the bitter scent of him until it floods your lungs, clotting in each fibril until it's heavy with the tarish resin that leaks from the end of burning cigar. 

"Greedy fuckin' thing," he hissed in your ear, fingers delving into you, feeling his release squelch around him. "Ain't you?"

"Always," you huffed, struggling through the onslaught of your mind buzzing for one more, just one more hit, and your body screaming for respite. "Always for you, John—"

"Stubborn, mm?" 

He didn't give you one more. John is attune to you in ways you'd never anticipated. He just—knows you. Can easily see through the desperation for victory clawing at your throat, sinking it's nails into the delicate skin of your jugular, and hissing rapacious demands that rattle through your vocal chords. 

When he meets the apogee of your mettle, he pulls back. Edging away from the battered fold of your limits once he brings it to a new precipice, a new level. 

Price pulled you against him when your fawn-legs quiver, knees threatening to buckle, and tucked you against his chest, a protective embrace while he murmured words of gratitude, admiration, into your crown. 

That was hours ago, and now—

The hunger rears. Your want is a perfect personification of greed, lust, pride, gluttony all coalescing into a molten desire that spools together, knotting tight against your chest where it tightens in a vice. A pretty bow of your searing need for the man whispering heavenly words of ardour into your damp skin. 

"Price—"

He stops the whine with a nip of teeth against your jugular. "Come on, now," he bares the flat of them on your skin, pinching soft tissue between his incisors. "Rest a bit, love. Jus' wanna hold you, yeah? Jus' like this." 

He leaks benzene, arsenic, and formaldehyde when he murmurs your name into the sticky column of your throat. 

(And when he whispers it so softly, reedy benediction dipped the brush of his blunt affection, how could you ever deny him anything?)

Your arms thread around his nape, wrists locking together behind him. 

The ticking of the clock on the wall is just another reminder of how little time you have, and yet— 

"Stay," he murmurs against your jaw, whiskers scratching your chin. 

Jet-lag. Exhaustion. Wishful thinking. 

Whatever the reason might be, you pry your lips apart and choke out the words that have rattling inside your head from the moment you felt his chest bloom beneath your palms, and knew—without any doubt or uncertainty—that you would follow this man to hell and back if it meant you stand inches away from him for the rest of your meagre existence. 

A tortuous whim. An exquisitely agonising proposition. 

But you've always been rather smitten with poems that break your heart into pieces. Ones where you leave a little part of yourself between the lines that eviscerate your pericardium until you taste heme in the back of your throat. 

Price reminds you of those poems. Ones that blugeons into you with a force so heavy and full, it feels as if it was written just for you. A pain so robust and brutal, that you're sure the lines in Times New Roman were first etched into your bones before they were spilled across the stark white page in black ink. Rotten blood between the pages of your barren soul. 

Your fingers run through the mess on his crown, slick with sweat from earlier, and you nod, mind wandering down that path that leads to closed doors, a locked mausoleum, and with your bruised knuckles, broken nails, and bent fingers, you pry it open. 

Finally, finally—

The words claw up your throat, grasping at the stretch of freedom within reach, and you—

Let them go. 

"Wouldn't go anywhere without you." 

(Not ever again.)

[celestie0]

hello, my lil smut for ch 10 enthusiasts!

i know most of you are here for porn without plot, with little to no care about the plot, but let me get something very straight to you: ellie has mentioned before that kickoff is a slow-burn, it’s in tags too (cue: go check them out).

you might be wondering what a slow burn is (i fully believe you have slow comprehension skills, it’s fine, i myself am dyslexic), but for your ease here’s a number of definitions of slow burn from google:

A slow burn is when the romantic attraction between characters builds slowly over the course of a novel or series.

— bookriot.com

If something is a slow burn, or if it happens on a slow burn, it develops slowly.

— collinsdictionary.com

The slow-burn genre in movies is typically characterized by deliberate pacing, restrained storytelling, and a gradual buildup of tension and suspense.

— collider.com

Slow burn love is a love that goes beyond the initial spark of attraction — it is, as the name suggests, a kind of love that requires time and attention, but that can also last.

— slice.ca

next time, i would suggest you all should use google to search for terms you do not understand the meaning of, or better yet when you do understand something (which i am sure you do), you must always consider it and the feelings of the writer before you send insensitive asks to them.

moving on, you all are in fact very horny and need to get laid instead of asking ellie or anyone to write you smut. ellie had specified multiple time that kickoff chapter 10 will not have any amount of smut in it. if you want to read smut jjk fandom is very horny there are at least 2000 smuts of gojo satoru on tumblr and ao3 alone, you should read those. very easy to find them.

anyways, here are the reasons why smut in chapter 10 of kickoff is bad idea:

reader is an introvert, she’s not weak, not insecure, she is an introvert. i am not saying introverts don’t hook up because they do so. but reader is not the kind to hook up the first chance she gets.

reader and gojo are not just two people who are lusting after one another, their feelings are both emotionally and sexually very strong for each other and they respect one another a little too much to jump in to fucking each other and ruining their relationship before it even begins. why will it be ruined? because they both have not bonded as much as you all would like to pretend they have.

it is one thing to have sex with a stranger or a friend you find attractive and not let it interfere with your relationship with a person than doing the same with someone you are interested in. when you like someone, there are emotions involved. there is a lot more that satoru and reader need to sort out before they should consider sex.

they want a long lasting relationship with each other, rushing into sex will hinder that, because when you rush into things you do not let them develop with the ease and smoothness that they would have had had unnecessary stress not influenced the they. for a relationship to be successful, the foundation needs to be strong. you do not build a foundation by fucking each other’s brains out but rather by doing other mature stuff like bonding through conversations and emotional and significant gestures.

remember when reader walked out of that washroom leaving satoru with blue balls? remember when satoru refused to touch her when reader when asked him to? yes, you are invalidating their entire personalities by asking them to fuck each other already.

they each have a personality, and neither falls in the bracket of fucking the person they want to spend their lives with without letting the relationship marinate enough to last.

they began fresh in chapter 9, where reader made it very clear that satoru needs to reassure her of his feelings. you are not reading the same fic that most readers are if you think they have been together for a long time now, because trust me the last 4 chapters have been anything but smooth sailing between them. if that is your definition of “been together for a long time”, maybe reconsider the relationships you have in your present lives because it requires revaluation.

when they established starting afresh, it meant they will rebuild their bond, which means that they will need to go back to square one and start to focus on one another in order to strengthen their bond and state their feelings in a more tangible manner.

when ellie wrote this fic, she created an outline of the plot, the events that would take place and their sequence; you expressing your disappointment will do nothing but demotivate her and it will definitely not make her write that smut for you.

this is ellie’s fic, and the plot in her fic does not allow her to write smut in chapter 10. done.

a bonus:

if you’re asking reader to make gojo jealous maybe consider the fact that they have indeed established semi-exclusivity, and in order to build the foundation of a relationship you need to act petty like pulling cheap stunts to make the other person jealous.

i need you to realise that kickoff is a rather realistic, non-toxic piece of fiction where two people who are into each other are not going to fuck before reassuring the other of their feelings.

wait patiently, and the good will come to you. if you can’t do so and would prefer to send ellie hate, send in passive aggressive messages to make her characters have sex, or give her backhanded compliments disguising your demand for the couple to fuck, you should:

use your creativity, your knowledge of english and write a smutty fic.

go ahead and read one of thousands of other gojo smut.

stay quiet and keep your opinion to yourself, kickoff is free for you. ellie is not your provider, she is sharing the fic with you. if you want her to do something that desperately, negotiate a commission.

anyways, kickoff has healed me.

some of you loudmouthed ones may not care about plot, just the smut, but most of us are here for the plot. we like the plot, we like knowing what’s going on in the lives of the characters. we enjoy their lives, we grieve their loses. let the experience be fun for us and ellie, and leave if you cannot behave in a civil manner.

the only things that’s acceptable of you readers are constructive criticism and love. if you don’t have either of it to give, kindly quieten yourself and close the tab. leaving the fic would be easier than being frustrated over it.

apologies for the mistakes, the ask was written and sent in absolute rage over a small fraction of you very insensitive people.

💌🫶🏼

flowie, i could cry. seriously idk how you manage to know my own story more than i do LOOOL but i swear every time that you reflect so deeply on kickoff, it has me in awe and in tears because i just feel so seen by you. and thank you SO much for standing up n making these points, because they are points that i've really wanted to make but was just too scared to, and i feel so safe to see that you've written this out for me in my defense 😭😭😭

those definitions of slow burn had me tearing up so bad idk why sdfkjdshfklj i think because they take slow burn as more than just "oh two characters wait long time to fuck" and make it into something more, and honestly even i needed to have that put into perspective for me! thank you so much :'')

your understanding for my characters 😭😭 i just i canttskfksjdf. i totally agree 100% w all your points, and they completely align w the creative direction i want to take w my story. i KNOW that sex can be spontaneous, and doesn't always need to be goody goody and within the confines of a relationship. i have enjoyed so many stories where sex is wild n toxic n crazy, because i just think it fits the VIBE of that specific story.

but i've tried to show time n time again w kickoff characters specifically that they aren't as inclined to act on their libidos, at least not when they truly care about someone else AND when they're trying to look out for themselves (like the examples you brought up, w reader putting her foot down during the bathroom sex scene. or when gojo refused to touch reader in the hotel room bc he knew that she would regret it in the morning)

i knowww that readers have different perspectives on these scenes, and i LOVE that. there's absolutely no right or wrong way to interpret a scene, because stories are inherently subjective and are meant to be enjoyed that way. i have interpreted scenes in my own favorite stories very differently from maybe what the author had in mind, or what other readers had in mind. but what i find really upsetting about people expecting me to include smut prematurely is that it makes me feel like you're not really reading my story for what is is, and rather you want me to make it into something that YOU want, disregarding all of my other attempts to really try n show my readers who these characters are. if reader was spontaneous or if gojo was careless, and these traits were shown in the story, then maybe i could understand certain expectations, but i've tried to put thought into showing their personalities, and for certain readers to entirely gloss over it and move straight to "SEXSEXSEX" is really disheartening, n yes demotivating for me as well.

there's a difference between "oh my god it would've been so hot if they fucked in that bathroom, but i guess it makes sense why they didn't...can't wait for them to slut each other out eventually tho!!" and sending me a direct ask that just says "i am so disappointed you're not gonna make them fuck in the next chapter, even though you've spent the past two months working on it and it's 80 pgs long and you haven't even released it yet but i'm still going to be passive aggressive n find fault w it because! me want sex!! me want sex!!"

i think deeply about my stories because they are personal to me. it's like journaling essentially LOL. i've mentioned before that kickoff is an ode to a painful situationship i had my first year of college, and i've also mentioned that reader is based off of a very close friend of mine who i love very dearly n i feel so bad that she doesn't believe in herself at times, and i wanted to show her how much i'm rooting for her through my story. i figured, well if i'm going to write a story, might as well share it w others and i'm a horny bitch so of fucking course there's gonna be smut.

like it's a win win situation for everyone i think?? i get to write what i want, i get to share what i want, n i get to entertain my lovely lil readers, n we all get to interact w eachother n make cute lil headcanons n talk about our days, n then we move on w our lives until next time?? why can't it just be like this, lol. i think if some people just really toned down their entitlement, then the writing community as a whole would thrive.

ANWYASY sorry flowie i didn't really direclty respond to your words, kinda went on a rant here, but tbh i think you said everything i wanted to say :'') so thanks bb <33 LOVE YOU SO MUCH

[yeehawbvby]

When the Moon Fell in Love With the Sun | Ch. 3

March x F!Farmer

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventual smut)

Chapter Summary: March walks the farmer home from the inn somewhat early, so she invites him in for some coffee c:

Author’s Note: Prefacing this chapter with: I have no idea if tech like TVs and stuff exist in FoM but let’s just pretend 😌

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

It was March who wound up forfeiting, after… all that. 

After sharing a grilled cheese, a loaded baked potato, and a large pint glass of water with December, and after enduring some quiet teasing from Ryis about showing her — in March’s own unfortunate words — some finger action, he set out with the farmer to walk her home.

Although the snow of winter was long gone, the rain had died down to a drizzle, and the spring perennials were beginning to blossom around town, there was still a harsh chill that night. The two were practically glued together, bumping elbows and hips as they used each other’s body heat to keep warm.

December noticed the way that, as she grew increasingly lucid thanks to the greasy food in her belly and crisp air on her face, her earlier pains began to come back. It reminded her that not only did she wake up feeling horrid, but she then spent the day pushing herself to her limits, and topped it off with what was basically poison. Real smart.

She knew it wouldn’t stop her from doing this all over again some other time, though. 

“Why didn’t you bring a jacket?” she asked, ending the comfortable silence in hopes to distract herself.

“Didn’t think I’d need it.”

December inspected her torso, taking note of how baggy her own jacket was on her. Hm…

“Wanna share mine?”

March stopped walking and raised a brow. “In what world would we both fit into that thing?”

Halting in front of him, December explained, “It’s big on me, it might work.” She slipped it off and handed it to March. “Try it on.”

March frowned as he observed the goosebumps that prickled her arms before equipping the garment. To December’s dismay, he had this victory over her. 

She truly forgot how buff he was sometimes. The sight of him wearing her jacket and threatening to tear it at the seams was just as amusing as it was frazzling. “Oh.”

March tried to remove it, but stopped at the feeling of the black denim clinging to his biceps for dear life. He sighed, and almost looked pitiful as he went on, “I don’t know if I can get this off.”

December had to stifle a laugh. “It was worth a shot, I guess.”

Carefully, she tugged at the left sleeve while March twisted a little to his right, giving the jacket enough leeway to get his arm out. He then freed the other with much more ease and draped the jacket over his friend’s thick, white ponytail.

She tilted her head forward to let the fabric fall into her arms before swiftly putting it back on. As much as she enjoyed the cold, at times like this where she was a little tipsy, beyond sore, and very sleepy, all she wanted was to bundle up in a pile of blankets by the fire. Maybe she’d do just that when she arrived home.

The two of them fell silent again as they continued their journey, perfectly content with just listening to the flow of the river and their soles against the pavement. Once they reached the dirt path, they began taking turns kicking a rock along with them; and after they lost sight of it in the grass, March tentatively wrapped an arm around December’s shoulders. 

Her heart raced as she looked up at the blacksmith, curious if he’d say anything about it. He got defensive as soon as he felt her stare on him. 

“You shiver too much,” he claimed.

She hadn’t been shivering at all. But upon seeing the faint blush on his cheeks and smelling the residual sweetness of their drinks on his breath, she decided to let him have this one, smiling and allowing herself to cozy up to his side. It was a little hard to walk this way, but neither of them paid mind to it.

A few more minutes passed before they approached the door. It was only nine, so December figured it couldn’t hurt to ask, “Wanna hang out a little longer?”

March’s first impulse was to question her, “And do what?” He mentally slapped himself in the face for how abrasive it came out. 

The farmer, unaffected, shrugged. “I can make coffee, or something.” Shifting on her feet and looking down at them, she added, “Maybe we could watch a movie… or something? Play games? I dunno.”

She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous about this, considering the night they had — and after spending the entire day together, no less. Maybe she was worried she’d come off as clingy or annoying. Maybe she feared that he would get the wrong impression, assuming what most people would if a girl had invited them inside after an evening of drinking together.

“I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to,” December backtracked. “I just thought I’d— oh.”

She cut herself off as March opted to keep his mouth shut, nudging her aside with a smirk that flustered her and opening the door before she could.

Cool.

March had been to the farm, but never for leisure. He’d stopped by once to drop off December’s jacket after she’d left it in the smithy, and a few times to drop off mail, but this was his first time entering the home’s interior. He didn’t know what to expect, and was pleasantly surprised to be greeted with the smell of her woodsy, citrusy air freshener.

Aside from the bathroom and coat closet to his immediate left, the house was entirely open-concept, each “room“ sectioned off with furniture. Her small, L-shaped kitchen resided along the far left corner of the room, with two bookshelves filled with books and trophies serving as a right-hand wall for it. After following December’s lead to remove his shoes by the entrance, he made his way further in, and noticed a makeshift breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen.

Her unmade queen-sized bed was in the corner to the right of the door, with a dresser and shelving covered in plants separating it from the living area. In that space was a large, grey brick fireplace that matched the accent wall it rested against. Her tv was backed with frosty blue LEDs and mounted to the right wall, with an entertainment station below it homing a gaming console, video games, and DVDs. Finally, against the bookcases was a loveseat, with an end table between its arm and the wall.

Beside the console table and her dresser was a small pet bed, by the breakfast nook were some tiny bowls, and next to the couch and nearest bookcase sat a cat tree; and while March noticed these things, and as if on cue, he was greeted by a short-haired tuxedo cat — with thumbs! — rubbing itself against his leg.

He was ecstatic.

Feeling a little self-conscious while March took in the sights around him, December noted, “It feels like you’re judging me.” 

As he crouched down to pet Goose, he answered with surprising earnestness, “Not at all. It’s really nice in here, actually.”

“Oh! Thanks,” December smiled after tossing her jacket onto the bed. Pulling a pair of sweatpants out of her drawers, she told him, “Um, I’m gonna go change real quick.” Walking to the bathroom, she added, “Get comfy. O-or don’t.” She paused for a moment, then breathed, “Whatever.”

She closed the door behind her and once again wondered why she was so antsy. She’d had plenty of people over since moving to Mistria, and she’d been to plenty of people’s houses. Hell, she’d been in March’s home just as much as Celine’s. And sure, the bulk of it doubled as a shop and showroom, but if he ever invited her into his kitchen or his bedroom, she probably wouldn’t think twice about it. 

So why did this feel like a big deal? 

Oooh, how scary, a hot man is hanging out with her! At night! In her house! All alone!

Like, what?

While December splashed her face with cold water and worried that she was being creepy or weird, March wasn’t even considering it. He could tell she was nervous, and he didn’t know why she was, but he found it cute; it was rare he got to be on the other side, usually being the one who turns into a stuttering mess under certain varieties of social pressure.

The blacksmith, while giving Goose some chin scratches, read the tag next to his collar’s bell. He huffed a laugh out through his nose at the idea of December naming one animal after another. Was it just Goose, or did she do this for all of them? Did she have a cow named Dog? A goose named Cat? Did she even name her livestock?

When he made a move to sit on the couch, Goose followed him, climbing into his lap the moment he sat down. March was glad December wasn’t like Hayden, keeping an ”outdoor” animal in her home. He was even happier that Goose wasn’t nearly as bossy as Henrietta. The sheer audacity of that chicken never ceased to haunt him… 

Coming out of the bathroom with comfier pants and a new sense of determination to simply ignore her racing mind and heart palpitations, December made her way into the kitchen. 

“Alright,” she offered, opening a cabinet, “I’ve got tea, hot cocoa, coffee..?”

“I’m pretty torn between coffee and hot chocolate, to be honest.”

“How about a mocha then?”

March peeked at her over the shorter book shelf. Glaring and raising a brow, he asked, “Can I trust you to make a good one?”

December stared at him deadpan for a moment before getting started, ignoring the question with a stubborn “Hm.”

As March watched his host work, he began imagining what it would be like to experience this regularly. To come here and share warm drinks, and maybe even stay over, after hanging out at the inn. To wake up with December, to help her out in the fields, to pour her a coffee or make her breakfast while she got ready for the day.

That scared him. He blamed his thoughts on the minuscule bits of alcohol left in his system and turned back around. “Mind if I start a fire?” he asked, wanting a distraction.

“Go ahead,” December nodded — even if he couldn’t see her — while pulling some milk from the fridge. “I was gonna anyway.”

Shortly after that, as the smell of coffee and smoke began wafting through the house, March began to feel almost unreasonably cozy. He let himself sink into the couch, and eventually lay down, hugging the cat to his belly.

December was surprised to see that he’d dozed off when she made her way over to him. In her eyes, he was basically a big, grumpy cat. Letting his guard down enough to fall asleep had to have been a sign of trust, or at least comfort, in her. 

It was an honor, really. 

She couldn’t help the grin that crept up on her lips while she observed him for a moment. She’d never seen him so calm. Of course, when he was drunk she had the privilege of his softened features, and smile lines rather than deep creases along his brow. But to see him sober and so at peace was strange — in a good way, of course. It was nice.

It didn’t stop her from being a menace, though.

She had half a mind to wake him up gently, but opted to just knock his knee with hers instead. “Hey.” Another nudge. “Hey, sleepyhead.” 

March barely even registered that he conked out as his eyes blinked open, his eyebrows shooting up. ”Oh.” He leaned up on his hands slowly until Goose jumped down from his perch atop him, leaving the two of them alone while he relocated to December’s bed. “Shit.”

“Good thing you have this,” December said, handing him his mocha once he sat up fully.

He scooted over to make room for her, claiming the spot by the end table while December sat next to the cat tree, her knees to her chest and her matching beverage in her grasp around them. 

Before the two of them knew it, they were lost in conversation. Playful bickering about December’s brewing skills after March’s first sip (which he refused to admit was delicious) turned into reminiscing on their childhoods. March foolishly drank his first coffee black at age nine and spat it out instinctively, dirtying his pants and the tablecloth in front of him; meanwhile, December hadn’t tried it until she was 17 only because her parents said it would stunt her growth, just to wind up being 5’2” (and three-quarters, she emphasized) anyway.

That led into her telling him more about her snowboarding days: for example, how she was only semi-pro, so she wasn’t very well-known, but she was still able to make a living off it. March learned that December sucks at skiing, she can’t skateboard, and she busted her face the first time she rode a bike without help and refused to get back on one ever since. It’s a miracle she was even semi-pro, March thought, given how clumsy she is.

He voiced that opinion. December flipped him the bird.

She then learned that March broke his first bone by dropping a hammer on his foot and breaking a toe during one of his first ever smithing lessons. His second break was only a month later by hammering his index finger. His parents were reluctant to keep teaching him the craft, but Olric convinced them otherwise.

Discussion about minor injuries and fractures segwayed into December telling March about her accident and its resulting impact on her body. She hadn’t even told Celine the specifics yet. It was something she inexplicably never felt comfortable to share. But something about the night growing older, and the way March was listening so intently, and how he was growing so much more earnest with each new word he uttered, had her feeling safe enough to give him those little bits and pieces that she often kept to herself.

For March, December putting all this trust in him despite how cruel he’d once been was more than enough for him to offer some knowledge of his own inner workings in return. To tell her secrets only he and sometimes his brother knew. 

To feel comfortable rather than cagey as they grew physically closer, too; their shoulders touching after they’d abandoned their empty cups on the end table, and their bodies slumping against each other’s before completely melting together, as their arms overlapped and their thumbs brushed; as March rested his cheek atop December’s head while hers squished against his shoulder, her left dimple disappearing into his skin for safe keeping with each smile and laugh.

As they both slowly realized that, this entire time, they’d simply talked. They paid no mind to the means of entertainment around them because they had settled onto a narrow path of banter, confessions and stories — sans the distraction offered by the forge, or the courage granted by booze — that neither of them were willing to stray from.

[marichive]

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Daenerys Targaryen in A Storm of Swords , the third book of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ He was a fool about that, and so much else. ❞

❝ Another year, or perhaps two, and he may be large enough to ride. ❞

❝ Is he lost again? ❞

❝ We are the ones who are lost. ❞

❝ How big will he grow? Do you know? ❞

❝ There are tales of dragons who grew so huge that they could pluck giant krakens from the seas. ❞

❝ That would be a wondrous sight to see. ❞

❝ They were bred for war, and in war they died. ❞

❝ It is no easy thing to slay a dragon, but it can be done. ❞

❝ Men are men. Dragons are dragons. ❞

❝ Did you ever meet my father? ❞

❝ Did you find him good and gentle? ❞

❝ He could be very harsh to those he thought his enemies. ❞

❝ A wise man never makes an enemy of a king. ❞

❝ Did you know my brother as well? ❞

❝ It was said that no man ever knew him, truly. ❞

❝ Go on. You may speak freely to me. ❞

❝ A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory. Or a lady’s favor knotted round an arm. ❞

❝ Be gentle, my knight. ❞

❝ I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior. ❞

❝ You would be wise to take his words well salted. ❞

❝ A queen must listen to all. ❞

❝ One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found. ❞

❝ I am still half a world away from home, but every hour brings me closer. ❞

❝ Even upon the sea queens take precedence over captains. ❞

❝ I am sorry to disturb your sleep. ❞

❝ I wonder if I might have a few private words? ❞

❝ A dutiful son pays his father’s debts. Even blood debts. ❞

❝ He might want me dead . . . if he recalls that I’m alive. ❞

❝ It might all have been a ploy to win your trust. ❞

❝ I need clever men about me if I am to win the throne. ❞

❝ Clever men hatch ambitious schemes. ❞

❝ He means well. He does all he does for love. ❞

❝ It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone. ❞

❝ Your path is dangerous, I will not deny that. ❞

❝ He is not what he pretends to be. ❞

❝ I am his queen, not his woman. ❞

❝ You . . . you should not have . . . ❞

❝ I should not have waited so long. ❞

❝ I should have kissed you every night and every day. You were made to be kissed, often and well. ❞

❝ That was not fitting. I am your queen. ❞

❝ My queen, and the bravest, sweetest, most beautiful woman I have ever seen. ❞

❝ There is no man in all the world who will ever be half so true to you as me. ❞

❝ They might be adequate to my needs. ❞

❝ He has larger breasts than I do. ❞

❝ I call that madness, not courage. ❞

❝ Even the bravest men fear death and maiming. ❞

❝ There are other ways to tempt men besides flesh. ❞

❝ What a soft mewling fool this one is. ❞

❝ Such wonders do not come cheaply. ❞

❝ Even those who bent their knees may yearn in their hearts for the return of the dragons. ❞

❝ I will gladly serve her . . . and service her as well, if she is more woman than she looks. ❞

❝ Leave this place before your heart turns to brick as well. ❞

❝ The magisters and archons fed him wine and promises, but his soul was starved to death. ❞

❝ Better to come a beggar than a slaver. ❞

❝ There speaks one who has been neither. ❞

❝ Do you know what it’s like to be sold? I do. ❞

❝ He made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. ❞

❝ Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid? ❞

❝ Only lies offend me, never honest counsel. ❞

❝ I have a dragon’s temper, that’s all. You must not let it frighten you. ❞

❝ He has a good face, and great strength to him. ❞

❝ Could he be jealous that I have found another man to talk to? ❞

❝ No true knight would ever kiss a queen without her leave. ❞

❝ He wants to kiss me again, I see it in his eyes. ❞

❝ You’re no bedslave. ❞

❝ The blood of my enemies I will shed gladly. The blood of innocents is another matter. ❞

❝ There is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs. ❞

❝ I wanted an answer, not a compliment. ❞

❝ He fought valiantly, he fought nobly, he fought honorably. And he died. ❞

❝ I mean to prove a few things of my own. ❞

❝ I can give you freedom, but not safety. ❞

❝ All men must die, but not for a long while, we may pray. ❞

❝ He knows my moods too well. ❞

❝ You ought to be asleep. ❞

❝ You’ll need your strength. ❞

❝ I was alone for a long time. ❞

❝ I was such a small scared thing. ❞

❝ He should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. ❞

❝ Why do the gods make kings and queens if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves? ❞

❝ Some kings make themselves. ❞

❝ He was no true king. He did no justice. Justice . . . that’s what kings are for. ❞

❝ I dreamed a dream, no more. Go back to sleep. ❞

❝ A dragon is no slave. ❞

❝ The clever ones will see it for a chance to gauge my strength. ❞

❝ I am only a young girl and do not understand the ways of war, yet these odds seem poor to me. ❞

❝ I have heard that sellswords are notoriously unfaithful. ❞

❝ You bray like an ass, and make no more sense. ❞

❝ Woman? Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man. ❞

❝ I would remember a man of such magnificence, I have no doubt. ❞

❝ You are worth fighting for, it is true. ❞

❝ I would gladly let you kiss my sword, if I were free. ❞

❝ And perhaps a kiss besides, eh? Or more than a kiss? For a man as magnificent as me? ❞

❝ I will like the taste of your tongue, I think. ❞

❝ You have a big thirst. ❞

❝ If blood is what you wish, let it flow. ❞

❝ You shall rue this arrogance. ❞

❝ Why? Because you are so beautiful. ❞

❝ I count no day as lived unless I have loves a woman, slain a foeman, and eaten a fine meal. ❞

❝ My sword is yours. My life is yours. My love is yours. My blood, my body, my songs, you own them all. I live and die at your command. ❞

❝ Then live, and fight for me. ❞

❝ Is that what you’re telling me? You are the only man I should ever trust? ❞

❝ Do you think I’m still some virgin girl, that I cannot hear the words behind the words? ❞

❝ You have been a better friend to me than any I have known. ❞

❝ I honor and respect and cherish you. ❞

❝ I do not desire you, and I am weary of your trying to push every other man in the world away from me. ❞

❝ It will not make me love you any better. ❞

❝ I cannot sleep when men are dying for me. ❞

❝ Your place is here by me. ❞

❝ A man who fears battle wins no victories. ❞

❝ I will see them. I will see every one, and count them, and look upon their  faces. And I will remember. ❞

❝ It’s his city I want, not his meager manhood. ❞

❝ I will not march my people off to die. ❞

❝ Can I send men to die in the dark on such a slender hope? ❞

❝ Take me back to my tent. Please. ❞

❝ I have told you no lies. Yet there are truths I have withheld, and for that and all my other sins I can only beg your forgiveness. ❞

❝ What truths have you withheld? ❞

❝ The crow calls the raven black, and you speak of betrayal. ❞

❝ If he sent you to kill me, why did you save my life? ❞

❝ I am yours, if you will have me. ❞

❝ There has been an informer by your side selling your secrets. ❞

❝ Do all gods feel so lonely? ❞

❝ She is brave as well. She had to be, to survive the life she’s lived. ❞

❝ I am going to take you home one day. I swear it. ❞

❝ I am content to stay with you. ❞

❝ Is this the face of a conqueror? ❞

❝ Harsh justice is still justice. ❞

❝ The widows will curse me all the same. ❞

❝ To prove his faith, he offers to seal your alliance with a marriage. ❞

❝ He means to put them all aside if you consent to wed him. ❞

❝ Whatever I do, all I make is death and horror. ❞

❝ I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears. ❞

❝ Some truths are hard to hear. ❞

❝ Why ask for truth if you close your ears to it? ❞

❝ He once told me that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. ❞

❝ So I am a coin in the hands of some god, is that what you are saying? ❞

❝ You warned me against everyone except yourself. ❞

❝ I am no man’s creature. ❞

❝ I must not weep. I must not. If I weep I will forgive him. ❞

❝ You are trembling. ❞

❝ I wish I could have known him. ❞

❝ If I want him, I need only say so. ❞

❝ Never lie to me. Never betray me. ❞

[legolasghosty]

if this doesn't scream boggie, i don't know what does: They smell like sparkles and sunshine and I want to kiss their stupid face so bad

Bobby slammed the apartment door behind him, heading straight for the couch. He didn't slow down until he was flat on his stomach, his burning cheeks hidden by a Gayosaurus throw pillow ("Like a normal gay, but more awesome!") that Willie had found somewhere six months ago. Bobby wasn't ever sure where he found this sort of thing. He'd given up on asking when they were still in college, the two of them and Alex randomly paired up in a freshman dorm.

"What happened here?" the previously mentioned pillow finder said from somewhere above Bobby.

The soft click of Alex closing their front door properly was followed by the drummer's sigh of, "Reggie, what else."

Bobby felt the couch dip near his feet as probably Willie sat down. "You wanna talk about it, dude?" they asked. Bobby couldn't decide if their tone was sympathetic or teasing.

"No," he mumbled into the pillow.

Look, dating your bandmates didn't work out well. Reggie and Luke had been together for a bit when they were all in college and it had burned hot and fast. Bobby had been sure the band would break up for good when they called it quits. It had taken a whole new person, Luke's now queerplatonic partner and their band frontwoman Julie, to get the two of them to talk it out and become friends again. Even then, it had been a rough couple of months for all of them.

So, no matter how pretty Reggie was or how sometimes Bobby thought he leaned a bit closer to their shared mic than necessary, they couldn't be a thing. It wouldn't work.

"Dude, you can't just keep ignoring it and hope it goes away," Alex sighed, now sounding much closer. "Remember how I tried that and it failed? Epicly?"

Bobby lifted his head just enough to shoot Alex a glare. "That's not the same thing," he protested. "No offense, Willie."

"None taken," they chuckled. "But Lex has a point. Shoving it down doesn't work, and it might just turn out better than you think."

Bobby dropped his face back down to the pillow and flipped them both off. "No."

He felt a foot nudging his shoulder, indicating that Alex had found his perch on the back of the couch above him. "Bobby, Reggie likes you back, you guys just have to get your acts together and talk about it."

"Hypocrite," Bobby mumbled. But he groaned and rolled onto his side, glancing up at his roommates and best friends. Maybe talking it out would help erase his stupid crush on his bandmate. "I know he maybe thinks I'm cute or whatever, but it wouldn't work. The band almost broke up when Luke and Reggie did, and I can't be responsible for doing that to you guys. I just can't."

"Okay, I get that," Alex began. "But what makes you so sure the two of you wouldn't work? I mean yeah, Luke and him didn't go so well, but there were a lot of reasons for that."

"Very much including the fact that they were 19 and neither of them had actually been in a serious relationship before," Willie added. "And I love them both, but their communication skills aren't the best now, let alone two years ago."

"You and Reg are good for each other," Alex continued, giving Bobby that heavy, open stare that he usually masked behind several layers of sarcasm. "He gets you out of your routine and trying new things. You help him slow down and talk things out."

"You're both better people for being around each other," Willie agreed, one hand resting on Bobby's ankle. Then the corner of his mouth quirks up. "Not to mention the fact that you guys practically make out at the mic every other song."

"We do not!" Bobby insisted, forcing himself up on one elbow. "Mic sharing is totally normal."

"Mic sharing, yes. But you two take the phrase 'eat the mic' a little too literally," Alex laughed. Then his amusement faded. "But seriously. You like him. He likes you. And we're all semi-functioning adults who can at least pretend to be emotionally mature. At least talk to him."

"Even if you decide not to give it a shot, at least you'll have been honest with each other," Willie said.

"But what if it messes everything up?" Bobby asked, hating how small his voice sounded. "I mean, yeah, he smells like sparkles and sunshine and I wanna kiss his stupid face so bad, but I don't want it to destroy the band. Or our whole... family."

Willie's expression is now solidly in the sympathetic zone. "But what if it makes it better?" they countered. "I mean, Lex and I were great as friends, and we're better as partners, and we're both better friends to the rest of you because of being together."

The smile Alex gave them for that is enough to make Bobby fake gag and throw the Gayosaurus pillow at them. But... maybe they're right.

"Hug time?" Alex questioned.

Bobby just nodded, suddenly feeling heavy at the possibility of having Reggie as something other than a bandmate. But heavy in a good way, like crawling under his weighted blanket at the end of a long day.

Alex dropped down onto the couch beside him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him in. Bobby let Willie resituate both of their legs on his lap. He usually wasn't one for being manhandled by his friends, but it was nice to let them take care of him every once in a while. He tried to focus on the clean and salty scent of Alex's hoodie and the easy movement of Willie's thumb on his ankle.

Maybe, just maybe, they had a point. At the very least, he owed it to Reggie to let him be a part of the conversation, right? Bobby let out a soft sigh. This meant he'd have to actually have a conversation about it with the bassist. But he was getting better at those at least. It was 'healthy' or something. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe they would be okay.

"So..." Willie mused after a while, "what do sparkles and sunshine smell like?"

"Screw you," Bobby groaned, hiding his face in Alex's chest.

[butraura]

I wanna know what’s the proposal about👀

ZJHDSKFHKJFHD thank you for asking !! <3

classic situation where they’re planning on proposing to the other. Bobby, Chim, Maddie are in on Buck’s side but are sworn to secrecy. Hen, Karen, Athena are on Eddie’s side and are sworn to secrecy.

He wonders if Buck would think it was a premature decision. Maybe, that it was far too early in their relationship to propose; but the truth is that Eddie would have done it years ago. Long before they first kissed; certainly long before they ever admitted having feelings.

Eddie has been in love with Buck for almost the same amount of time that he’s known him. That afternoon he woke up after being shot, Eddie wanted to ask him to marry him right then, hospital gown and all. If not for fear that he’d ruin their relationship, he would have told him. 

The fact that he was in a relationship with Ana at the time is neither here nor there. Eddie is mature enough to admit that he was far more absent in that relationship than she deserved; also that she was far less than he needed. He needed Buck. He wanted Buck.

They’ve been together (in an actual, clearly defined relationship) for seven months (and four days, but who’s counting?). It was an inconsequential Tuesday; Christopher had just gone to bed and the two of them were in the kitchen cleaning the dishes together. It was a routine, of sorts, because they often spent their free evenings in the same way. Buck would cook, they’d help Christopher with his homework, they’d watch a movie or some TV, then they’d get Chris to sleep. Then: dishes, tidying the living room, preparing the couch for Buck to sleep in.

It was always the same. It was always comfortable. It was so domestic, they could have been the family in a Hallmark movie. 

Buck and Natalia had just broken up not long ago. Eddie suspected that the man was slightly bothered by the whole thing, but not so much so that spent his time woefully sad about it. The fact is, Natalia did not, in fact, see Buck the way he wanted to be seen.

She saw his trauma and accepted it. But, what’s more, is that she was obsessed with it. She didn’t leave well enough alone, she was always reopening old wounds. She didn’t let him heal. 

Buck spent many nights at Eddie’s, pretending that he had to be there for reasons he couldn’t explain. And Eddie, always up for time with Buck, would back him up. It became a problem when she, half-heartedly, made a comment about him cheating on her with Eddie. Buck couldn’t believe his ears and was offended that she’d even insinuate it. Their relationship was a boat on rocky waters for several weeks after that; the final straw was when he’d gotten hurt at work (it was a superficial wound, really, and hardly worrisome), and she’d joked, “at least it wasn’t lightning”.

She practically ended it herself, then.

Days later, that’s when Eddie kissed Buck.

[thisismysecondrodeo]

hi, big fan!! first and foremost, I agree that we do not talk enough about the hands of JS!! playing off that, would you consider writing a ted/reader fic where an extremely touch-starved reader is fascinated with ted's hands and playfully baits him into tickling them? those hands teasing and kneading in search of the best ticklish spots is 😳😳😳 a LOT and goofy silly playful theodore lasso is my kryptonite!! (thank you for your time and consideration!! I appreciate you!!)

AN: big fan I can't 😭 the fact that anyone reads and enjoys what I like is insane, thanks for reading and for the suggestion!

Rating: Mature

Tags: Fluff, Romance, Tickling, Dedicated to everyone that has a thing for Ted's hands lol, Touch-Starved Fic masterlist

-

You and Ted had been on 4 dates so far and you knew after the first one that you couldn't wait to get him into bed. It wasn't that you only wanted him for sex—you enjoyed every second you spent listening to him tell stories, sharing bites of dinner, making him laugh and laughing in return—it was mostly that it had been a long time since you'd been in bed with anyone at all, especially not someone as kind and attractive as Ted.

Ted, however, wasn't making any sexual moves. Sure you'd kissed at the end of every date, but it was always public and relatively chaste, not nearly as heated as you'd like. Thankfully, though, he didn't leave you wondering if he was interested, his intentions were apparent: Ted was the kind of guy to court. To take things slow. To bring you flowers on your third date and put them in a vase for you after he walked you home. He was perfect and you felt almost insecure about how much you really wanted to jump his bones. Especially on a night like tonight, where the two of you were strolling in the cool night air, his long lithe fingers woven between yours. He gestured with his other hand as he spoke and you could take your eyes off the motion.

He's got the best hands, Jesus, I just want him to—

"Want me to what," Ted smirked, and your eyes widened as they moved from his hand to his face and you realized your inside thoughts were no longer inside.

"Ah, nothing! Nothing, what were you saying about—"

"What were you saying about my hands," Ted teased, holding his palm towards you like he was going to give you a high-five. You were so embarrassed you wished you could retract your head into your body like a turtle. Ted was smiling, but he could see how embarrassed you were and cut you some slack, "I'm just messing with you. What do you say we head inside, warm up and put on a movie?"

You smiled, gratefully nodding and Ted tugged you in the direction of his place. You willed your palm to not sweat in his and tried not to kick yourself for being so obvious that you wanted his hands on you. Though Ted had seemed nothing but pleased that you felt that way if his cheeky smile was anything to go by. And maybe it wasn't all in your head when he let you into his apartment that the two of you were physically closer to each other than you'd been before, a hand on your lower back as he ushered you into the kitchen, his chest against your back as he leaned up to get some mugs.

"Why don't you go find us something to watch and I'll make us some hot chocolate," Ted offered and you agreed, but turned back quickly to look at him.

"Extra whip cream?" You batted your eyelashes playfully and Ted grinned, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose.

"Yes ma'am."

You found a romance movie neither of you had seen and you settled into the couch, an arm's width from pressing your body to his. Everything in you wanted to set your drinks aside and climb into his lap but you restrained yourself—barely—and tried to focus on the movie.

Finally done with your drinks, you took the opportunity to lean forward and put your mug on the coffee table, leaning back ever closer to Ted's warmth. Ted pretended not to notice but moved his own mug to the side table, and rested his arm along the back of the couch.

In the movie, the lead guy was tickling his romantic interest, the two of them tossing and turning on top of an overstuffed duvet and you chuckled slightly.

"What," Ted asked, shifting to look at you.

"I always find scenes where someone is being tickled so...odd."

"Odd how?"

You shrugged blushing a little when you realized your silly observation had Ted's full attention, "I mean, I'm not really ticklish, so it all seems a little dramatic I guess."

"No way," Ted exclaimed and your eyebrows rose at his enthusiasm, "you're telling me you've never found yourself in the middle of a tickle fight, just gigglin' away?"

"No, but I take it you have," you laughed, the two of you now facing each other, the movie long forgotten. Ted raised a hand but seemed to think better of it, returning it to his lap. "Go on," you goaded him, "try it for yourself."

Ted's large hands immediately went for your ribcage, fluttering against your sides and it felt lovely but you weren't laughing. His hands went up towards your armpits and he watched your face closely, but just the expectation that he was waiting for you to laugh with that goofy, happy-go-lucky expression made you smile.

"Ah, ah, there it is," Ted pointed at your mouth with one hand, his other still on your side.

You shook your head. "No way that doesn't count! That's not a giggle. You're just being cute and I smiled!"

"Oh, I'm being cute am I?" Ted had a shit-eating grin and you looked away, unable to contain your affection for him, but he got your attention again. "What about here?" He brought his tickling fingers up to your neck, accidentally hitting a very sensitive spot. A high whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it and Ted raised one eyebrow.

Without a word, Ted leaned in and pressed his lips to the same spot his hands had found, just behind your ear and you gasped. He continued to press kisses along your neck as one of his hands moved down, "And what about here?" He kneaded his hand into your thigh, firm but not painful and you couldn't help but moan. You wanted his hands everywhere.

"Gosh, darlin', that's even better than ticklish," Ted sat up and grinned down at you, his eyes shining with lust.

"I'm glad, but you know I think I have a few more areas you might want to try," you flirted boldly and the two of you laughed as he tugged you off the couch and towards the bedroom.

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (47)

part 47 of ?? | 1051 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

Eddie has never . . . done relationships. Before. Or yet. Whatever. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; the opportunity has never presented itself.  But he knows how they work in theory, and despite not quite being there with Steve, he still wants to do things right. So.

This chapter cranks the rating up from Teen to Mature, so... minors, maybe skip your eyes over the second half and just know that Steve really wanted to show his appreciation for the present Eddie got him.

47.

Here’s the thing. 

Eddie has never . . . done relationships. Before. Or yet. Whatever. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; the opportunity has never presented itself. 

But he knows how they work in theory, and despite not quite being there with Steve, he still wants to do things right. So. 

“Here,” he says, tossing the dice bag at Steve’s unsuspecting face as he slides into the Beemer. “Gotcha something.”

Steve catches it, of course, even though he looks bewildered. “Why?”

Eddie shrugs and picks at a loose thread trailing from his ripped jeans. He pretends to stare at the radio dials, but watches out of the corner of one eye as Steve tugs the drawstring top open and peers inside. “It’s, uh. Just a little something for the next time you play.”

He hadn’t gone to that many different game shops looking for them. Three wasn’t that many. It had proved one too many for his van though, which had overheated on the way home and is currently in the shop, thus Steve needing to pick him up—that’s neither here nor there. Steve upends the bag over one palm and Eddie all but holds his breath.

The dice that spill out are all a sunny, translucent yellow with a golden shimmer. Nothing like his black and red-veined set that he’s had since middle school, but. They match Steve’s room. 

He waits for a reaction, but Steve has gone still and it’s making his stomach twist with nerves. Shit. It’s too much, he knew it was going to be too much.

“Hey, if you don’t like them I can take them back—”

Steve cuts him off by kissing him. It’s a minute into melting into it and kissing back before Eddie registers anything else—the hand fisted in his t-shirt to haul him closer, for example. The kiss is quick by their usual standards, long for a moment between two guys in public. . . . But no one’s around to see.

The fact that Steve would risk it is doing something for Eddie, but that’s neither here nor there. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers after he lets go. 

And Eddie knows, can tell just from the way he says it, that Steve is used to being the giver in these situations. That’s not really a surprise, girls in the movies and shit hardly ever give their boyfriends gifts. But Eddie had done it anyway because. . . . Well. 

Even if D&D isn't really Steve’s thing—because yeah, he had fun, but he was bad at the math parts and Will’s services will still be required if he plays again—Eddie wants him to know that he’s welcome. That there’s a place for him at the table, if he wants, and he doesn’t even have to bum off someone else’s stuff to take it. 

The next thing Steve does is turn the car off, which makes Eddie blink in surprise. “Uh, weren’t we going to see Ferris Bueller's Day Off? We’re gonna miss the previews, Stevie.”

“Screw the previews.” Steve is looking at him, eyes hooded and biting his lip. “Wanna go back inside?”

Stupid question. Eddie scrambles to get back out of the car. 

-

“Wow,” Eddie says to the ceiling, breathless and warm. He feels like he’s floating, can barely feel his face enough to know what it’s doing while his higher functions are temporarily out, and it’s not even because he’s high. 

Steve props his chin on Eddie’s hip and there’s a satisfied grin in his tone when he asks, “So, how’d I do?”

“Woooow,” Eddie repeats dreamily. “I mean . . . damn, I should give you presents more often. You sure that was your first time?”

“I’m a fast learner,” Steve says, and it’s so smug that Eddie has to haul him up for a kiss. Can’t be helped, it’s gotta be done. (He can taste himself on Steve’s tongue.)

When Eddie lets him up for air again, Steve has a stupid grin on his face. It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. 

“My turn,” Eddie announces, and flings himself up into flipping their positions, settling over Steve even as he goes back to kissing him. (God, he could do this all goddamn day.) It’s almost terrifying how complete Steve makes him feel, but it’s . . . it’s getting easier to tell himself that Steve seems willing to stick around, even if it still feels a little bit like he shouldn’t. 

After all, who would go for Eddie Munson? He’s not made for good things. 

And yet, they fit. He trails kisses down Steve’s neck, down his chest and the scars that match his, down the trail of hair that leads further. Kisses him, swallows him down, and that’s it. Experienced ladies man Steve Harrington comes in his mouth, absolute hair-trigger, before Eddie even gets to try any of the things he had in mind. He barely manages to swallow, just shy of choking on it in a way that makes his extremities tingle, and definitely doesn’t get it all. Has to wipe his chin on the nearest unlucky corner of blanket after.

“Holy shit,” Steve gasps. “Holy fuck, Eds, that—I, god, sorry, ‘mso sorry baby. Was that—Are you okay?”

Baby. Jesus, Steve hasn’t called him that before and he hadn’t expected him to now. 

“Gimme a glass of water and ten minutes, and I’ll show you exactly how okay I am,” Eddie promises, grinning fit to bust his face even as he’s still trying to catch his breath. 

Steve’s expression goes happy and soft, as though he’d needed Eddie’s permission to bask in the afterglow, and it has Eddie clambering up to kiss him stupid. They melt together in a tangle of lax and sated limbs.

“Good boy,” Eddie adds, murmuring against Steve’s kiss-bitten lips, and grins into the delicious shudder that runs through his. . . .

“Boyfriend?” Steve suggests. His voice is so small and tentative, an offer nudged carefully across the bargaining table. It bleeds hopefulness the whole way, as though there’s some chance that Eddie might hear Steve Harrington ask him to be his boyfriend and shoot the guy down. 

Not a chance in hell. 

“Holy shit yeah,” Eddie says in a rush, and then he’s kissing Steve eagerly, hands winding through his hair and tugging at the roots exactly how he knows Steve likes. 

They miss the entire movie.

[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #1156: Nightly Christmas Shopping Around Southtown (King of Fighters)

6:45 p.m. at Southtown's Stanfield Mall: Clothes Store........

Rock: So that's what a onesie looks like, huh?

Shingo: (Happily Shows Off a Blue Colored Cat Onesie He's Currently Wearing in Front of the Dressing Room) Yep! Comes with various different sets and colors: cows, horses, elephants, lions, King of Dinosaurs, you name it and they're probably selling a few of them elsewhere. I'm thinking of getting another cat one for Leona-san for Christmas this year so we can match. Different colors though, I'm hoping Teal colors are still in stock.....

Rock: (Nodded in Agreement) Yeah, I can see her wearing something like that on her off days. You two would look more like a cuter pair than you are already.

Shingo: More like cuter trio. We can't forgive about Heather in the equation. Check it! (Presents Rock Another Onesie, Kitten Size)

Rock: (Chuckles Lightly) They actually cat sized onesies too?

Shingo: I know, crazy right? I just found out about it after I left the house. It's looks so adorable~ (Presents Rock a Wolf Onesie in his Other Hand) I even got you cool wolf one if you ever wanna join in on the club.

Rock: (Smiles Sheepishly) I'll.....give it some thought later, bud.

Few Minutes Later at the Candy/ Sweets Shop

Rock: (Picks Up a Tall Looking Candy Cane From Out of a Barrel) How about we give the girls this candy cane? It's nothing too special, but I have no doubt she'll enjoy it regardless.

Shingo: (Nodded in Agreement) Sounds good. (Shows Rock Four Chocolate Bars in his Hands) We could also give them these Willy Wonka's Chocolate Bars as a bonus, but we're gonna have a find a really clever hiding spot for all of them.

Rock: ('Sigh') That's easier said than done really. Kula has a nose of a bloodhound.

Shingo: ('Sigh') So does Naomi.......You think Terry still have that Mini Fridge of his?

Rock: Probably? I'll have to ask him tomorrow. But for now, let's try and hide them somewhere neither of their noses can find.

Shingo: Right.

Few Minutes Later at a Sunglasses Store

Rock: (Sighs While Looking for the Coolest Looking Sunglasses They Have in One Selection) I swear, of all the things he could want for Christmas this year, why does it have to be pair of sunglasses? (Turns to Shingo) Doesn't he already have enough of them back home or something?

Shingo: (Shrugs) Probably. Even then, that won't stop him from getting more.

Rock: (Forms a Bit of a Teasing Smirk at Shingo) Sounds like a certain someone else I know with notebooks.

Shingo: (Starts Pouting at Rock) Hey, at least I use my notebooks for strategic and research purposes. K' has a million sunglasses under his belt and I have YET to see him wear anything different than the one he's wearing now!

Rock: True, but you can't deny some similarities you guys have from each other

Shingo: ('Scoffs') Oh please. (Crosses his Arms Together While Turning Away) I'm way more mature and proactive than that mopey, lazy bones wishes he would be!.....(Slowly Turns Back to Rock) D-Don't tell him I said any of that, okay?

Rock: Help me bake a few treats for the party in a few days and I'll pretend this conversation even happen. (Put his Hand Out)

Shingo: (Gives Rock an Agreement Handshake) Deal.

Few Minutes Later at the Pet Shop Store

Rock: (Looks Down at Some of the Items He Got inside the Basket He's Carrying) Okay. I got one two marten plushies for Itokatsu to play with, a star-shaped chew toy for Antoine and a mini Terry costume for Ukee to wear.

Shingo: You know, I always keep forgetting you guys used to have monkey for a pet.

Rock: Yeah, it has been a while since we last saw him, but I heard from Uncle Andy that he's been doing great in hus and Aunt Mai's place as of late. Speaking of which.....(Pulls Out a List From his Coat Pocket) After we leave here, we gotta head to the Besuty Shop to get a hair spray for Aunt Mai, a Swan Soap for Mary, and a Sakura Flower hairpin for....(Clears his Throat a Bit While Blushing) Hotaru.....

Shingo: (Chuckles Lightly) D'awww~ You're buying your girlfriend a Christmas gift already?~

Rock: (Sighs While Rolling his Eyes) Don't start. She told me was going to get me something days ago, so I figured I would try and return a flavor. I just hope there's still some more left in stock. Heard they ran out quicker this time of year.

Shingo: Then we'll just have to get it before anyone else does. Im sure sure it won't be that hard to do, right?

An Hour and a Half Later at the Beauty Shop

'Door Opens'

Rock and Shingo jumps out of the store in an exhausted state.

Rock: (Starts Panting Along with Shingo) Thank.....GOD.....we got out of there......

Shingo: Right!? It was like.....a freaking WARZONE in there!.....

Rock: And those perfumes.....Who idea was it spray them all over the place!?

Shingo: I dunno, man.....But those ladies in there.....REALLY weren't holding any punches at all.....

Rock: They didn't. (Pulls Something Out From Inside. Bag) But at least we got what we were looking this whole time- Ah dammit! I got the wrong flower!

Shingo: (Takes a Look at the Rose Shaped Hairpin Rock's Holding) Well, you can never go wrong with anything rose related.

Rock: ('Sighs Heavily') I guess....At least it's better than coming out here empty handed. I'm never going back in there for as long as I live.

Shingo: Neither will I. (Notices a Bench Sitting Right in Front of Them) Wanna go sit down for a bit? I'm too exhausted to walk now....

Rock: (Gets Himself Up From the Ground Before Helping Shingo Up Afterwards) Sure. We could use a bench break right now.

The duo makes their way to the bench and sit themselves down, exhaling plenty amount of relief from out of their systems.

Shingo: Don't know about you, Rock, but I think I might be done with Christmas shopping for now

Rock: The list is near completion, so we'll get more done in a day or two. Maybe have K' and Kula tag along next time around.

Shingo: I'm down with that motion. It'll give me more time to think about something special I wanna give you this year.

Rock: (Turns to Shingo) You don't have to go out of your way to do that for me, even if it is for the holidays.

Shingo: (Turns to Rock) I know, but you're the first new friend I've ever made since I've moved here. So I wanna show just how much I appericate you and our friendship so far, you know?

Rock: (Heart Begins to Melt in Genuine Happiness) I appericate you too, man. Our friendship alone is more than enough of a Christmas gift for me to have going forward.

Shingo: (Heart Starts Melting in Happiness as Well)

Rock: (Shrugs) Buuuut if you still insist on getting me something regardless, then I won't stop you. Just don't get me something too expensive, yeah?

Shingo: (Starts Smirking a Bit) Give me a hug and I'll get you cheapest looking jacket known to men.

Rock: (Chuckles Lightly) Sounds good to me! (Gives Shingo His Much Need Hug) Thank you.

Shingo: (Hugs Rock Back) No problem. Happy Holidays, Rock Howard Bogard.

Rock: You too, Shingo Yabuki. You too.

@thelexhex

@tampire

@albion-93

@theweebmaster31

[ceruleanrequiem]

ANE - Look how they massacred my boys

Let's go for the massacre! Most of the male characters follow the current trend of emasculation: they are either comic relief, or extremely dumb, or angry authoritarians, you name it. But all these categories have something in common: villains in ANE are ALL men.

I have other posts planned, just need to finish translations, but you might notice that most of my points made in these two posts were plot-based. So, again, no need to call me names (and even if you do, I won't change my mind anyway)

First, the emasculated ones:

LEIFTAN: I'm over the fact that Leiftan, who previously talked about leaving, out of nowhere was blackmailed offscreen by the script and stayed, otherwise there would be no way to have interactions with him. But for me, I'd rather he hadn't come back in ANE if he was to become another HH lapdog. And they ended up using as a device in the Earth plot, making the Leifstans lose TWO episodes with him because of it, in a season that had nothing of romance compared to before. Fine, Leiftan wants to "be someone better" and stop being a daemon, but as someone who has been frustrated by not being able to be NEITHER a villain nor a daemon in TO, that was disappointing.

MATHIEU: And yes, I know the idea was to bring in a himbo and have him mature as the game progresses, but gosh… the script didn't help one bit. Eel is so dumb that the only conclusion we come to is that Charles (after all he is sooo evil) considered the faerys so inferior that he didn't even bother to send someone skilled to go look for his daughter, in his mind they would be too dumb to be suspicious of any clue Mat left: like not making an effort to learn alchemy and not getting along with HC, then a big coincidence happens and he's the most likely cause of it, but NO ONE realizes. I thought he pretended to be an idiot and to this day I am sure that was the strategy, but nothing was said about it, I don't think the company even thought about it. HC was the only one who in an indirect way saw that something was wrong, but by force of the script she was forced to keep quiet until she almost died on Earth because of him. Being a simp of Koori and Lance and making me spend maana with useless conversations in the beginning did not help me to keep my interest and I ended up not only changing LI, but agreeing with HC in everything regarding him. I can't believe they took Ezarel out to put this loser in ANE. What is the excuse for this? Renewing the plot because they were afraid to address the adoption issue or something since Ezarel practically adopted the infanticide? Or because it would be too difficult/controversial and they decided to change it? If that's the case, they were rather incoherent, considering how brave they are in terms of non-hetero couples's destinies. Well, it was no use, because Mathieu was just another wasted plot/character. As the saying goes, there's no point in casting pearls before swine.

CHROME: WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO MY LITTLE KING????? Despite being nothing more than a Karenn simp in TO, Chrome had his qualities at the time. Smart, focused, studious, an excellent alchemist, a friend, he was the one who reaches out for Leiftan asking help to avenge his parents. Guys, do you realize he was sharp enough to see through Leif's goodboi facade? Then in ANE Koori has the nerve to say that "he was not fit for the meticulous work that is required of an alchemist," I had no reaction. I must remind you that it was not Chrome who blew up the Alchemy lab in ANE's first episodes the first time we see him, hein :) (and even so she's still described as "EXCELLENT ALCHEMIST". Oh c'mon!). In ANE he has become another himbo, he has no abilities other than to turn into a wolf, thumbs up, not even can he foresee enemy attack and save dumb friends from dangerous creatures in the forest. Because, y'know to exalt Karenn they need to diminish Chrome, whatever means possible. It's never the opposite.

Now Characters who were EXTREMELY DUMBED.

NEVRA: I haven't liked Nevra since TO, his personality didn't appeal to me. In ANE he would be totally indifferent to me… IF NOT for the way he treated Leiftan, demanding that in less than a year he would be 100% recovered and available to the Guard to be treated like a mere hound by everyone. I doubt he did the same thing with Lance… oops, wait, by force of script Lance was in jail for a year and already came out with his mind reformed! And if we draw a parallel, he complains about Erika's behavior who somewhat disapproves him for Nevra not being the way he used to be, almost demanding him to treat her the way he used to, even if you are not on his route.

Erika does to Nevra what Nevra does to Leiftan, but then it's impossible, right? The others MUST give in to his orders, but HE can't give in because "he has changed", "lost friends and/or girlfriend". And if the writing addressed the situation in this direction it could have been really nice, but obviously no, we had none of that. I understand the situation, however it "explains but doesn't justify" it.

But I like the fact that Nevra by the position he occupies, his austere expression doesn't match the "Captains Marvel" of the Guard, since he doesn't need to force any demonstration of power or draw attention to himself by whatever means necessary, he already naturally exudes that aura and so it's much harder to subdue him than Mathieu and Leiftan. Nevra can even oPprESs royalty, who feels so intimidated (that's the feeling I got from the character sprite at the time) in his presence that the character resorts to bad jokes instead of talking to him normally. And if she musters the courage to speak out, it is only because of panic attacks caused by a trip where she was forced to go because company demanded it.

Ah, but let's not forget his authority breakdowns and that's where the character is destroyed. First of all: Ewelein tells Erika that they're short of resources to make healing potions, I assume as Guard leader Nevra must be informed of that as well? Was he informed? I guess not, plot conveniently says nothing about it. If they're short of resources, they won't have more than one potion to protect his skin on Earth, correct? Which means THEY CAN'T take their sweet time on Earth, they need to hurry. But what happens? Nevra decides to assert his authority and force them to eat. NEVER would Nevra expose the Guard members that way. Any justification related to "better eat because the mission is risky, long, dangerous, you will need strength" goes downhill. In the Genkaku mission nobody ate anything before or during the mission, and it must have been at least a day of travel + a whole day investigating that building. In a mission on Earth of course they had to eat before, but NO ONE remembered?! Eating on Earth would cause them to lose time and still take unnecessary risks as it conveniently ended up happening. And from Erika's descriptions, she was so anxious that she wasn't hungry, weren't the other HQ members also anxious at least a little? In other words, Leiftan was kidnapped solelly thanks to Nevra's dumb decision, it's all on him, it's his fault. (it's actually the fault of whoever thought up and developed that plot, but that's okay). Even so, I HIGHLY doubt that Nevra and Lance couldn't stand some hours without food.

Now the Toxic ones :D

TENJIN: Of course, right? lol I won't take too long, but this is probably the second cruelest villain in the game according to the crimes he committed, losing only to Charles. You already know what I think, more and more I am understanding what the "show, don't tell" means, thanks to hive that gives great examples this season. Koori's main characteristic is that she is always joking and we never know when she is telling the truth or not. We only heard her version of the story, and what we heard from his version was very little, so as much as the game forces Erika and her to be best friends, I don't trust her.

Did he really "take power" and nobody said anything? Did he manage to convince everyone? Like, everyone?! We see from the map that Genkaku is continental, he would need to go all over the kingdom trying to convince them and from what we saw of Tenjin, he is so paranoid and tyrannical that he would never leave his castle. Or are you saying that thanks to the magic of the script he controls everyone's mind just like the magnanimous HH does? Because that one, by force of script, controls the minds of everyone there!

Or do you mean that he has spontaneous popular support? If this support is spontaneous it is because the reign of Koori's family was not good then, and hers wouldn't be either. Ok, we saw that he seems to have immeasurable charisma to fool her parents, and even the Councilors to the point of changing the legislation and removing her from power, BUT as far as I remember, coups don't happen by themselves. Again: didn't anyone from the three sectors of kitsune society support her? Because Tenjin tells us that the faerys of Genkaku thought she had been KIDNAPPED by Eel, and he said his soldiers weren't that happy for that. It's been five years (I guess she arrives at the same year as Mathieu, two years after the sacrifice) and you'll tell me that Tenjin haven't sent somebody to retrieve her? If he were that bad he wouldn't respect Eel's sovereignty, they're on bad terms already what difference would make to attack the HQ to take his wife back? None! But we hear nothing about Tenjin attacking Eel, which means he's prudent enough to avoid sending his people to fight a lost war (after all HQ has an ice dragon), therefore avoiding getting his reputation tainted. As an usurper, he would need support to keep his position, otherwise he would have been deposed the first day he declared himself king, a VERY powerful support for that matter huh? Either from the peasants, the military, or the nobility.

And from the looks of it, Koori didn't have the loyalty of any of those three, for we hear NOTHING about resistance in the north, no one respects her enough to fight for her because ur durr Tenjin was too powerful. C'mon guys, are Tenjin and Koori the only seven-tailed kitsune in Genkaku now or what? And even if players blame Tenjin for "mindcontrolling" his people in order to justify Koori's isolation, we hear nothing about Tenjin erasing the kitsunes memories of her in order to manipulate them, we only know that he bruteforced his way into the kingship by killing her parents.

But I'm pretty sure that Canon Tenjin's support didn't come from the military: all the sprites of kitsunes we saw next to Tenjin had only three tails, so it seems that the army in canon doesn't seem to be that strong. And I don't think a powerful but paranoid leader like Tenjin would allow his escort to be composed of such weak kitsunes. Not to mention that we don't hear anything about him exterminating other kitsunes whose number of tails is higher, the script doesn't explain ANY of that to us.

Since in ANE women are saint and perfect, we can only conclude that his support is spontaneous because the script wanted it that way. After all Koori's parents are powerful and smart to rule a kingdom, but at the same time they were so dumb to be fooled by Tenjin. Well, like parents, like daughter huh? Anyway, I said more than I should have, but Genkaku is one of the biggest holes in terms of plot, not bad for a villain who was written only to be a macho regicide, huh?

CHARLES - The cruelest, most cartoonish villain I've ever seen in this game, and he gave me extreme shame. His existence alone is a major plot hole, because in TO when Erika looks at Leiftan she feels something familiar, comforting, a feeling that she described as being a feeling she had for her mother, at the time I thought that her mother was aengel, not the father. Not to mention that she lost contact with her grandmother from her mother side iirc, meaning it confirms that the faery blood came through her mother. And again, TO shows us how fondly she remembered her father, as much as he was stern (as every big company owner is) he had a good heart and one example was that he was very fond of cats. And Erika realizes in ANE that her room was rebuilt, he remembered every detail of her room, no matter how much some minor details were left out. The mother even divorced Charles because he's kept talking about Erika all those years. But then the company wasted this very high potential villain with the cheapest plot that time and the superiors allowed: "we are experimenting on faerys, and I am the head of the organization MUAHUHAUAH". Was he useful for the plot? Yes, but at the very cost of the plot anyway. First case of Literary cannibalism I've ever seen.

COMIC RELIEF:

ORGELZ - He's just like Tenjin, the difference is that Orgelz is a coward, which makes him a satire on villains. They probably wrote Orgelz like this because the fandom was dying to see how handsome Nevra's father was, and after they saw that we were simping for villains, they changed tactics and created an ugly Orgelz, as well as writing that he was not the father, but another usurper who killed Nevra's father and took over. I don't understand this company: they're not afraid of killing and splitting non-hetero couples apart, but apparently they are afraid of how quickly the audience falls in love with the villains they create, no matter if the villains are toxic or a murderer. In terms of plot he doesn't add anything either, as much as people say it served to make Nevra think and talk to Erika (in an attempt at moral ambiguity that didn't make a difference in the end), Tenjin essentially said the same thing as Orgelz, WITH WAY LESS WASTE OF MAANAS, and back then Nevra didn't even bother to think about it, when he could have. It was convenient, just as it was convenient to go to Yaqut because the company owed us a Nevra arc.

THE "WHATEVER" CASES:

KARUTO AND ZIFU - I put the two together because they serve the same role, fatherly support, but nothing beyond that. But for a change, hive doesn't seem to know how to write non-hetero stories without someone ending up dead, betrayed, or becoming an extremist.

JAMON - I have no opinion of Jamon, I think he fits more into comic relief, maybe. He's pretty much "whatever" in my concept. In terms of usefulness in the plot he adds nothing.

LANCE - Lance is another case that I don't think has that much plot relevance if you don't play his route. The only usefulness is that he keeps Erika from having more moments with the routes, because in the rescue moments he is always the one who saves her. And this was being forced more and more because Erika is unable to decide whether she is strong or weak, in the end he was just a plot device to facilitate the scriptwriters' work who would not need to write different scenes with the other three, SACRIFICING THE ALREADY SCARCE TIME we wanted with the routes. To this day I can't come to terms with the first 'opportunity for romance interaction' we could have had: the one on the ship when Erika falls into the sea and the LI could have gone after her. No, instead, I had to endure him and more other moments that I, as a non-Lancer, was not in the least bit interested.

They even tried to imitate Marvel and make Lance the new Thor, put him in as comic relief because he couldn't speak the word electricity. And ok, he appeared at the end to stop Erika from killing Charles. Seihai in her place would have already said something like "fratricides have no moral right to lecture me" and killed Charles anyway, precisely because Seihai is sure that somehow Charles would escape and kill faerys again if he had the chance.

For someone who was so furious before because he was in Eel as boss, Erika should have spoken up sooner. But coincidentally the plot demands that Erika forget and they take so long to talk about Valkyon that his words in ep 18 are worthless at this point, Erika's path, be it aengel or daemon, is already mapped out, so for me his speech was kind of useless.