#onward head canons

[justamessedupdisneyprincess]

🪄💙ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT IAN LIGHTFOOT💙🪄

These are just my personal HCs. This is a huge list or rather my personal wiki all about Ian. This list will have five different categories, the basics (birthday/sexuality etc), Preferences (What he likes and doesn’t like), facts (short random facts about him.), relationships (information about his relationship with friends and family), and history (things that happened to him in his childhood).

💙Basics💙

He was born on the 16th of September 2004

He is pansexual 🩷💛💙

He is neurodivergent just in a different way than his brother

He is an introvert

Dream job

As a kid he wanted to become an astronaut but now he wants to become an astronomer. He is fascinated by space and wants to try and discover more about it!

Hobbies

Ian is actually a nerd who enjoys learning new things and he tends to enjoy schoolwork. (Although he hates anything physical like gym class). He likes to spend his time reading, sometimes books about things he is interested in learning more about and other times he enjoys superhero comics. He actually does enjoy RPG video games, especially the older ones with a more pixelated style. He isn’t usually a fan of games that require other players but on rare occasions he might give it a try…only if he has to in order to proceed a game though. He also enjoys drawing, usually random scribbles in his notebook. He is HUGE on journaling as well. He already has many diaries and journals which he keeps stored in a safe place where no one can find them. He makes sure to write daily to try and record anything he learns. A part of him wants to try new things but the other part wants to stay in his comfort zone.

Talents

Ian is REALLY good at math! (As implied in the movie). He has amazing attention to detail and is actually good at cleaning things and tidying things up, he is also great at keeping things organised. He has an insanely good memory and is able to focus well enough on his school work, because of this he gets very good grades. Ian is also really good with computers and technology, unlike Barley.

Fears

Pretty much anything that could harm him! Bugs, snakes, cars, germs, potential serial killers, you name it! He especially hates giant spiders though. He also has a fear of failure, which is why he tends to push himself hard when it comes to schoolwork.

🥰Preferences😒

Loved food/drinks

Ian has a pretty healthy diet overall, but he can’t resist a good cake and he is a big lover of coffee. His diet is high in fruit. He isn’t a vegetarian but he seems to prefer vegetables over meat. He is a small eater and doesn’t eat very big meals. He does enjoying eating but he isn’t as big of a foodie as his mother and Barley.

He is the type who likes to make sure his diet is balanced and healthy! He will eat junk food from time to time, usually if it’s prompted by Barley. He gets guilty easily though if he has eaten a lot of unhealthy stuff.

His favourites include: coffee, apples, cake especially if it has some fruit in it or is fruity flavoured, tiramisu, yogurt, fruit salad.

Dislikes food/drinks

He prefers to avoid anything that is too greasy and filling. There isn’t really anything he really dislikes though as he isn’t that picky. Ian has a sensitive tummy as well which adds to why he makes sure not to overeat or eat anything that is too indulging.

Music

Ian actually likes a lot of rock and grunge, but actual metal isn’t really his thing. He has been guilty of liking a few pop songs but it isn’t his main thing. He likes to listen to relaxing music as well and has a collection of video game albums on his phone. Video game soundtracks make him feel relaxed and nostalgic.

As for music he doesn’t like he isn’t a huge fan of things that are too loud or intense. He has grown used to hearing heavy metal because of his brother but he isn’t super big on things like dubstep.

Movies/shows

He adores sci-fi and science fiction! He would be a huge fan of Star Wars and X files! He enjoys some mystery. He also watches a lot of documentaries.

He doesn’t like horror at all and hates when things get a bit too gory. He can handle a little bit of blood but not much more than that. He also gets very uncomfortable when something NSFW happens in a movie or show, especially if he is watching it with his family! Game of Thrones can be awkward for him sometimes because of that and he gets so uncomfortable he has to try and look away or even make an excuse to leave and hide til it’s over.

Books

He actually loves comic book, especially about superheroes and sci-fi. He also reads some manga if it has similar genres. He reads a lot of books he can learn from as well.

Style/clothes/furnishing

Ian has a plain style to him with a very very small touch of cottage core. He likes to wear casual clothes that don’t allow him to stand out too much. He prefers warm colours like red, orange and yellow.

As for furniture and decor he likes things cozy yet bordering on the geeky side…as long as it’s not too much. He loves a good old bookshelf where he can stack all his books and comics alphabetically! Things also have to be neat and tidy as he struggles to think straight if everything is messy around him. He likes to leave little notes everywhere like on his board. To do lists, reminders, etc. He is also a sucker for stationary things! He has a big collection of pens, pencils, erasers and tape!

As for styles he dislikes he isn’t a big fan of anything too edgy, he wouldn’t have a skull or gothic decor in his room for example. Like his brother though, he isn’t a fan of modern decor and architecture either.

Activities

As mentioned he loves to keep his diaries up to date. He plays video games alone in his room and really enjoys his solitude. He HATES doing sports! He isn’t just bad at it but he gets no joy out of it either. He also hates anything that involves him being in the spotlight. He never sings because he feels awkward about it, he won’t even sing if he’s all alone! He also enjoys a bit of photography. He likes to capture happy memories.

📚Facts📚

Ian was scared of the dark for a long time, he didn’t get over it until he was about 12.

Ian can’t stand when his things are moved or touched. He likes EVERYTHING of his to be placed exactly where they are meant to in the exact right way.

He gets paranoid about anyone ever reading through his journals or finding out any of his embarrassing secrets. Because of this he would sometimes cross out or even rip out pages if he felt extra secretive about them. For example, in one page he may have gone on a rant about homework and his fears of failing it and the end of the page comes off as so whiny it’s actually embarrassing to look back on. He would get rid of those sort of pages.

Ian has a habit of biting his nails, he actually gets a bit embarrassed about it even though everyone insists how it’s a common habit.

When Ian gets super stressed, one of his strategies is to start counting slowly. Sometimes he may count how many objects he sees, such as how many trees or how many buildings.

Ian is super quiet because he is always paranoid if he may say something that comes off as foolish.

Ian can’t handle gore very well at ALL, he can handle a tiny bit of blood but any much more than that can make him feel nauseous.

Ian will suddenly wake up at 3am and start randomly worrying about things. In some cases if it’s related to homework, he will get up and recheck everything to make sure it’s as good as it can be.

Ian actually likes certain shades of pink, like a pale subtle dusty pink or a pastel pink with a slight reddish hue. He won’t ever admit it though in fear of what others may think.

Ian looks through family photo albums quite frequently. He has made a few photo albums himself. They are pretty much the only books of his making he actually lets others look at such as Laurel, Barley and reluctantly at some stage Colt.

He wanted to get into traditional painting but kept getting frustrated when it doesn’t turn out right. He also isn’t a big fan of the huge mess. After that he stuck with drawing simple doodles in his notebooks.

He has dreams about Wilden often and being able to meet him and spend time with him. He used to wake up feeling upset and wishing it was real but after the events of the movie he wakes up with a bittersweet feeling. Happy knowing he is proud of him and loves him and feeling a sense he is there, but still a bit sad he isn’t there in the flesh with him.

🫂Relationships🫂

Barley

They were close when they were kids but after Ian went through puberty they got a tiny bit more distance for a while. After the events of the movie they are super close again.

When Ian was worried about something when little, he actually used to turn to Barley for advice…which can be hit or miss depending on the situation.

Ian gets annoyed when others touch his stuff but he gets extra annoyed if it’s Barley because of his clumsiness and usually greasy dirty fingers.

Barley was actually the only friend Ian had when he was a kid, Barley did have a few friends though. This made him feel a bit weird for it and added to him wanting to try and make more friends as he got older.

Barley always supported Ian no matter what he does. He is practically his number one cheerleader. Whenever he accomplishes something, even small, Barley gives him a huge pat on the back. It happens so often that Ian forgot about it for a while, he has learned to be much more appreciated of that though.

Ian hasn’t been badly bullied, he was only called weird on occasion from one jerk or another every once in a blue moon. Although Barley definitely did have to deal with much more of that. Barley kept most of it to himself, only explaining things through angry rants. Ian picked up a lot of it when he hears kids whispering about Barley in his school. This made him feel extra embarrassed, especially when other students asked “Hey, isn’t that your brother?”. This added to Ian being nervous about being himself, he did not want to end up like Barley in the sense he would be getting made fun of far more. As he got older he felt a bit selfish for feeling that way instead of checking if Barley was alright or even defending him. In reality or as Barley would often say, he was just a scared kid at the time though and didn’t know what to do and not to worry so much about that.

Laurel

Ian had always been a very well behaved kid, he rarely ever did anything that would get him into trouble. Laurel loves both her boys of course but she is grateful that Ian is like the opposite of Barley in a sense she did not have to worry about him getting into trouble too much.

Ian has always been “mature for his age”. He would tidy up his room without even needing Laurel to mention it!

Laurel usually gives Barley some hard love but with Ian she tends to be very gentle most of the time. This is the case for quite a few reasons. A, Barley wouldn’t listen otherwise and he still doesn’t half the time whilst Ian always obeys anything his mother asks of him without question. And B, Ian is extra sensitive so she tries harder to have a more gentle approach with him.

She wishes she could have been around him more as a kid. Since she was a single mother who had to make money for the family, Ian and Barley had been left at home with a babysitter most of the time. Laurel used to play with Barley but she hardly ever got to bond with Ian when he was little. Sometimes she tries to make up for lost time by trying to spend a bit more time with him and she tends to spoil him a fair bit.

Laurel shared many stories about Wilden, not only so he can at least know his father a little more but as a coping mechanism as well. She even started telling him about Wilden when he was still growing inside her belly, not too long after Wilden had died.

Ian actually looks quite a lot like Wilden when he was younger. Laurel would comment on that from time to time. “You look just like your father when he was your age.”

When Ian gets insecure he would sometimes ask Laurel if Wilden would have loved him or be proud of him. She responds with full confidence that he would absolutely cherish him.

Will update more in a bit, thank you! X3

[nevermindigotthis]

A very peaceful image for a not very peaceful fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50217619/chapters/126832042 (I have finally found a Drarry fic that is to my tastes. Beware the tags though.)

[hella1975]

writing dog teeth and just looping waiting room is such a vibe <- sirens and screaming and explosions and gunshots an

[chiropteracupola]

everything might very well be kindling!

[flintlock fortress is a collaboration with @dxppercxdxver]

[inthelittlewood]

hey idk if you already answered this already or not but is grian being a watcher cannon or is it just a head cannon that’s gotten really popular?

Him being a watcher is canon in the Evo SMP I'm pretty certain as that was his exit from the server etc.

The continuation of their existence (and the listeners) was me carrying the torch onwards for EVOs remainder and then I reignited it as a meta storytelling mechanic in my Life series videos as a fun writing exercise

Lots of people seem to worry the lore is official to the Life series but it isn't. It just appears that way because people enjoy the imagery and concept, which I guess, why not

It's almost become a fun challenge trying to weave the chaotic and random nature of the series and its events in to my AU

My take on the tale is labelled Eyes And Ears just so conversations and speculation around my telling of events has its own little pocket for discussions

[sauronxgaladriel]

Haladriel Library

Saurondriel/Haladriel Fanfic Recommendations. Some of these stories could fit into multiple categories. If you have any more recommendations feel free to add them!

Marriage

Shadow-Bride by eye_of_a_cat

Bridesprice by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks), Irony_Rocks 

Poison & Wine by Coraleeveritas

Galadriel takes longer to discover Sauron's identity

no matter how many skies have fallen by stitchingatthecircuitboard

A man is a god in ruins by eye_of_a_cat

Queen of the Southlands by FormerlyIR

Galadriel Says Yes

The House That Fire Built by Ready_For_The_Laughing_Gas

dig up the bones (but leave the soul alone) by Wyrd_Syster

Gilded by eye_of_a_cat

And white winter, on its knees by eye_of_a_cat

The Trials of Mairon by EllieCarina

Mortal Laws by Helholden

A Portion of Thyself by Frotu

Reforged in the Making by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks)

Fabricated by Frotu

Canon Divergence/Reimagining of S1 and onwards

I could be your king by cliffdiving

The Tides of Fate by fireheart321

In Case of Defeat, Break Glass by eastwynds

that i may rise and stand, o'erthrow me by mortaltemples

Five times Halbrand's secret got revealed by eye_of_a_cat

Across That Fine Line by MyrsineMezzo

Instruments of Salvation by Scriberated

a fair form by properhaunt

Autocorrelation by EisforEverything

The Return of the Queen by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

A Feast of Starlight by TheLightofArwyn

Supernatural Creature AU

should have known better by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo) (Witch/Demon AU)

Wild Magic by Scriberated (Witch/God)

Storm Tides & Weaving Threads by elssiie (Siren AU)

just a taste by stardustspell (Vampire AU)

Haladriel meet before TROP

Spark, Ignite, Burn by cliffdiving

our souls were made from the stars by silverwing12 (Deleted)

Necessity's Bargain by Scriberated

Though the Gods and the Years Relent, Shall Be by Helholden

determination is the cure (for longing) by downtheroadandupthehill

where the spirit meets the bones by kangaroopaws

people throw rocks at things that shine by ophidion

Pick a star, and follow it home by CloudlySkies124

Hades Persephone Vibes

Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den by Helholden

a dust like thine by mortaltemples

One-Shots

Unsired by shady-swan-jones (sweetleaf), sweetleaf 

the light of his eyes by eastwynds

now dark, now glittering by mortaltemples

In the Shadow of Your Heart by mzladybird

i cannot heave my heart into my mouth by fallofrain

this love is glowing in the dark by Orcas86

we could just kiss, like real people do by justatinycollector 

a millstone around my neck by mortaltemples

the nameless by bimmyou

next time by you_wear_fine_things_well

Pregnancy/Parenthood

Light and Power by chronicallyexhaustedwriter

shining like a fiery beacon by ophidion

A Blessing of Eru by Scriberated

mitosis by Orcas86

Darkness Bound by no_more_doubt

Smut

A Stressed Tiding by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks), Irony_Rocks

this love is glowing in the dark by Orcas86

Buried in Bone by Invisible_Hand

Riptide by makeshiftdraco

Perfection by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

like magnets work, only drawn to thee by audreystark

To Follow the Light by Thrill_of_hope

A Moment of Honesty by Draconic_Grace

Dream Within a Dream by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

bind yourself to me by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

Dream Within a Dream by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

Lady of the Seas by eye_of_a_cat

Dark/Dead Dove

all your pain will end here by poeticmemory

Land of Enchantment by EisforEverything

perle by emphemeron

Glanduin Kiss by Anonymous

The Cost of Victory by EisforEverything

what you and i have wrought by thefudge

what heart's ease by fallofrain

Sauron as Annatar

hold her head above the water by Orcas86

next time by you_wear_fine_things_well

the light of his eyes by eastwynds 

Contaminate by Frotu

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ tell me about love (show me how) | gojo satoru

wc: 7.4k

summary: you teach gojo how to love. 

contains: f!reader in mind but no pronouns mentioned, descriptions of blood (typical jjk canon type stuff), shibuya onwards manga spoilers, implied minor character death, there are swears, suggestive bit at the end (but it’s funny!), lots of internal thoughts/dialogues, kind of canon divergent

a/n: relates to my short blurb, do you believe in love?, explores a lot on how i think gojo would be when it comes to love; ambiguous but linear timeline (jumps through scenes)

collection masterlist: conversations on love 01. do you believe in love? <- you are here -> 2.5. and my body keeps saying (it's yours)

When Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it. 

It’s unusual for him to be so restrained, being born into greed and predetermined purpose—a one-man clan fated to hold power close to God. There exists a hunger within him, insatiable and stubborn, unstoppable until he gets what he wants. It’s all he’s ever known: to take and devour, simply because he can. 

Yet with this, he doesn’t. He can’t seem to. 

“I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

When you offer your heart to Gojo, he looks at you softly. 

You catch his eyes and see the sky, bright, with flecks of light floating on his irises like cotton clouds in its periphery. It’s different from the piercing blue you’re used to—a terrifying riptide that washes you away. 

It wasn’t intended as a confession, but Gojo always takes whatever you have to say. He commits it to memory each time; how could he not? Words that come from you flow so naturally, so earnestly that the air around you shifts all on its own.

His lips part slightly, red spatterings lining pink inner corners before they close again. He doesn’t say anything, but you know Gojo and the fingerprints of his soul—the way he bites his lips to withhold himself from speaking. 

It’s dangerous, he thinks, how you make wanting something so complicated seem so simple.

He takes a small breath, then you feel it, pressed against you—the faint signature of his cursed energy overlaying his entirety. It tickles your skin a little, the effects of it brushing. You don’t remember the last time he put it up around you.

A million things run through Gojo’s mind for every split second he breathes, but at this point in time, he counts a million and one—one thought that if he touches you by infinity instead of his hands, he can have this good thing for now, that this is the only way how. 

You’d think this a rejection, if any, but he doesn’t move away from you, and the blush blooming at the tips of his ears says more than he ever could. 

.

.

.

The subtle intimacy you share with Gojo grows sporadically, from knuckles brushing to pinkies touching. He stands next to you more often, a few inches closer than he used to and sometimes, still, with an infinity connecting you.

.

.

.

When you hold Gojo’s hand for the first time, he jolts very slightly, as if you’ve shocked him. He’s started to put his infinity down around you again, and you continue the limbo of whatever it is you both are—except this time, he’s made it clearer, just a little bit. 

During the last few leaves of fall, Gojo skips to an ice cream stand like a pre-schooler on early dismissal. You trail behind him slowly, shaking your head affectionately; he’s the only adult you know that still acts like he’s 5. 

“You’re like a horse.” you jest, stopping next to him in line.

“You’re a snail.” he huffs, side-eyeing you, like a child.

You gasp exaggeratingly, hitting his arm. He fake-winces, but that’s all it is; Gojo’s the strongest and you don’t know of any human touch that has managed to hurt him, except—

Yeah. Your eyes trail to the side of his neck, hidden in the shadows of his jawline; there’s really nothing, but sometimes you blink and see crimson, oozing, gushing, leaking—you shake away the thought.  

When he receives his ice cream cone stacked with vanilla-strawberry-vanilla and rainbow sprinkles on top, the smile on his face parallels the sun. He looks cozy, almost boyish, beaming against the autumn breeze blowing on his thick gray hoodie. 

You wonder if he feels just as warm.

(Maybe that’s why you do it, then).

Once Gojo turns to give you the cone, you reach for his other hand tentatively, shyly—your fingertips grazing his palm lightly. You want to give him an out if he can’t take this, but he doesn’t move. He twitches a little, as if he’s been caught off guard, but that’s it. 

His eyes widen briefly, just a bit, before turning into the same soft skies frequenting them lately. 

“Sorry, is this okay?” you whisper, peering up at him. 

He stares at you for a while, his hand in yours unmoving. You leave a sliver of space between your palms–your own version of his infinity–just in case. And he takes it all in: how tiny your hand is wrapped around his, how gently you speak—how warm he feels now amidst this autumn breeze. 

“The strawberry’s really good,” he finally replies, pressing the dessert closer to you, “try it.” 

You give him one last look before you indulge in his request. Gojo’s always been good at that: pushing and pulling—pushing you away with non-answers only to pull you back in with something else. 

But he doesn’t let go of your hand, so you keep yours there, palms nearly touching. (You make a point not to mention how the parts that do touch become clammy for the rest of the afternoon). 

.

.

.

You start to think that your relationship with Gojo is going somewhere, then he disappears (‘gets sealed’ might be the more proper term). 

His absence is deafening. You’ve all lost so much, and it hurts, but you carry on knowing full well that this is what being a jujutsu sorcerer means. There aren’t many left to fight his fight, so you do what you can to. You stay with Shoko, mostly, if not going back and forth with Utahime. You can’t afford to be crying when the students, the kids—you can’t even bear to think about what they’re going through.

Nights are the hardest, when the world is quiet but your mind is loud, throwing far too many questions you can’t find the answers to.

What will Gojo come back to? Then the scarier thought: Will he even come back? 

You don’t want to doubt him, ever, but your mind continues to play back that day, like a final memory. The unintentional confession; his eyes like the sky. 

You don’t want it to be the last important thing you tell him. 

“I should start looking into retirement plans, like Nanamin.” you raise an eyebrow, questioning. Gojo’s never spoken this far into the future before, most especially his. 

“Work is shit now for you too?” you scoff, leaning back on the wooden ledge. 

Gojo rolls his eyes, skipping the coverage of his blindfold today. 

“Well, after I remove the old geezers and change everything, there won’t be much left to do.” 

You hum in response. He does make a point. 

“Also, Megumi won’t need me anymore,” he pouts, whining, “who else will want me around?” 

You try to hold back your laugh, wanting so badly to tell him that Megumi doesn’t even really like him around to begin with—but you figure breaking Gojo’s heart isn’t really something you want to do if you value your peace. 

“I don’t know,” you reply, shifting your weight, “I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

Even now, especially now. You wish you were with him, too. 

.

.

.

The day you hear of Gojo’s potential return, you drop your breakfast outside the 7-Eleven near Jujutsu Tech. You’re supposed to meet up with Utahime for a weekly check-in but your feet take you to Shoko, and the footsteps in your heart have never echoed louder. 

This is the first good news in a while—especially after finding out about the state of Megumi and what happened to Tsumiki, your sweet girl Tsumiki. 

When Gojo comes back, it’s like he never left. He pops out of the box joking the same way, talking the same way. He proves himself to be the strongest all the same, and when he wins—there are scars, but he wins and that fact stays the same. 

So, when you reach for his hand now and he moves away, you’re stuck wondering what’s changed. 

.

.

.

You let it stay that way for a while, your understanding extending to Gojo the way it always has—you don’t push, and he gives you what he can. It honestly isn’t all that bad, because at least he’s still talking to you like he used to. 

Jujutsu society is still shaken from its core. You and all who have survived bear the task of building everything from the ground up; it’s exhausting, especially since most of you are still mourning. 

Megumi’s been put in an induced coma; you understand why but it still tugs at your heart when Shoko tells you it might take a while. Everyone else has been assigned to sweep through the rest of Japan to ensure that any remaining curses are taken care of. 

You see Yuuji and Yuuta visit Megumi sometimes, along with Maki and Toge when they’re free. Gojo’s there pretty often too, using healing sessions with Shoko as an excuse to see the boy he’s practically raised at 17, with you. 

But while Gojo’s smiles to everyone else remain as charming as ever, you can always tell when they’re untrue. 

.

“Are you okay?” 

You find Gojo a little after midnight on the rooftop of the faculty building. The city always looks pretty from up here—a sea of lights reflected up on the sky. It’s a running joke that rooftops are Gojo’s ‘thing’, but you know he really only comes to places like this to think. You wonder what’s on his mind now, coming here every single night since being unsealed. 

Despite how quiet you try to be, sneaking up on Gojo is almost impossible; he senses you before he hears you, sees the familiar traces of your cursed energy through his Six Eyes. 

“Can’t sleep thinking about me?” he teases, looking straight ahead.

The steps you take towards him are careful, afraid of running him off like you seem to be lately. You sit beside him, leaving a space larger than you usually do, then shrug, “These days, yeah.”

It’s times like this when Gojo forgets how honest you can be, how he takes your word for everything, completely. 

It’s threatening, he thinks, how you can say so much with so little. 

“Well, maybe I can suggest—” 

“Seriously, Satoru,” you grip the ledge tightly, knuckles turning white, “please.” 

You tend to let Gojo dodge your questions a lot of the time, his elusiveness a hallmark of who he is. So you never sound like you do now, serious, pleading. 

Gojo fiddles with his fingers, pondering. He hums lowly before speaking, “Does it matter?” 

It hurts you a little, how that’s even a question. He should know better than to ask that to you. 

“It matters to me, Satoru,” you sigh, “you know it does.”

You barely catch the way his brows furrow at your response, but there are creases on his blindfold that can’t be created by anything else. And Gojo knows—is so painfully aware of the way you care. 

Since coming back, he’s never felt like he’s fully returned. It’s an odd existence of in-between, like he breathes everything and nothing all at the same time. The emotions are even worse, overloading his senses with feelings he can never pinpoint. 

How does he tell you that he must be fucked in the head? That every second in his mind is another step closer to insanity? That he’s lost your tether on Satoru in pursuit of Gojo—of being a god? 

“I’ll tell you,” he starts, “but you have to look away.”

You’ve always treated Gojo tenderly, patiently, and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter what he says you will continue to do the same. But he can’t allow that, not anymore. Not after the way you looked at him that day.

“Okay,” you mutter, turning your head the other way. 

He breathes out and you can almost picture it: half-bitten lips and eyes like low tide. 

“I’m fine,” he says to the back of your head, “you have nothing to worry about.” 

A breeze picks up and brushes past your neck. It’s a lie. He knows it, knows you know it too, but—

it’s easier this way, he thinks, to give you answers when you’re not looking.

Gojo’s never found a weakness he can’t work around, but he might have just found one with you—in your eyes, that read through his every lie. If you turn around now, he’ll want to tell you everything.

“Satoru,” you whisper, letting his name fill the air. You get it—him, and even when you don’t, you try damn hard to because you refuse to let Gojo carry all of it on his own. 

There are crescent indents on your palm from squeezing your knuckles too hard. You think, is this how you form shallow cuts on your heart?

“It’s just me,” you continue, facing him when you say it. 

He takes you all in—your eyes that hold the city lights, your lips, the only vessel that handles his name so delicately. It’s that look on your face again and Gojo’s hit with an ache in his chest—the overwhelming truth that whatever it is, he feels the same. 

.

.

.

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he’s certain he’ll never tell you: that when he looks at you upon his return and finds an emotion he refuses to name, he’s never felt so afraid.  

He takes in the shadows under your eyes and the sunkenness of your cheeks—the number of blinks it takes you to reign in tears on the brink of leaking. The way your voice shakes when you say his name.

Shoko tells him about it because she knows you never will—about how you’ve been running yourself dry, speeding through colonies to gather intel for any possible way to break the seal. She tells him about the sleepless nights, how she catches you standing outside his office at 3 a.m. before travelling to Utahime the next morning. 

And he cannot comprehend it at first, cannot understand how he’s caused you to crumble this way. 

If this is all because of him, how you’ve broken yourself all for his sake, he can’t allow it. To see you ruin yourself over him, over anyone ever—you deserve better.

So, when Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it; he cannot possibly take any more from you if this is what is left of you when he does. 

.

.

.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you catch him by the door of the conference room. 

Rebuilding an entire society requires work and apparently a lot of meetings. Gojo doesn’t usually go to most of them, leaving you and Utahime to carry the chunk of his attendance when he’s not there. In the rare times that he does show up, he makes it a point to be the last one in and the first one out. Utahime hates him for it but you don’t blame him—he isn’t exactly amicable with other figures of authority.

He pauses when he steps out of the door, hands in pockets as he turns to face you. 

You’re not mad or anything, just stating the fact. He’s always known you to speak this way. You lean against the wall next to you, keeping your arms crossed. More people continue to file out of the conference room, some eyeing the two of you curiously as they pass by.

Gojo glances at them, suddenly self-conscious as he clears his throat, “Right, I’ve been avoiding the paperwork you left in my office,” he emphasizes, practically announcing it to everyone in the vicinity, “let’s finish it now.” 

You don’t know whether it’s irritating that Gojo’s so terribly bad at acting, or comforting that he still can’t, for the life of him, successfully lie in front of you. 

He motions for you to follow him as he strolls down the hallway, but you intentionally lag a few steps behind, careful not to encroach on his space lest it make him avoid you any more than he already is.

Stepping into Gojo’s office after so long feels weird, like you belong here but only to a memory of it—as if closing the door behind you feels like activating a muscle you haven’t for a while. It’s been months after all. 

Your eyes skim over the entire room, zeroing in on the stacks of paper lined up on his desk; paperwork has always been Gojo’s least favorite part of the job, often leaving you to do them with him (or alone, when you’re feeling generous). Not much has changed in his space; the mini living area still exists to the left of the room, with little bits of you in its interiors—the pillows, the coffee table books. 

Gojo plops down on the sofa chair and props his feet up on the ottoman, giving four scrolls to his phone before pocketing it. He has the audacity to casually offer you the seat across from him, as if nothing’s wrong—as if he hasn’t been avoiding you for god’s sake. 

Ever since the rooftop, he’s canceled lunch with you six times for reasons that you’re now realizing are less likely to be true. He’s kept a distance of at least one person in between you at all times, and to this day, you still don’t understand why. 

You sigh, taking a seat and leaning back to cross your legs. 

“You’re so bad at acting.” you start.

Being with Gojo for so long, you’ve come to realize that there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

“I technically wasn’t lying.” he replies, sticking his index finger up. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” you snicker, nodding to his desk. 

It’s always like this with Gojo: he pulls you in and you follow. No matter the distance between you, when you sit down together like this, it still always flows so easily. The banter you’ve built together over a decade and more shines through no matter what state your relationship is in. 

Neither of you say anything until Gojo replaces his blindfold for his sunglasses, placing the piece of cloth on the coffee table. 

You break the silence. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you ask quietly. Gojo aches at that, how you still choose to regard him so kindly. 

Why has he been avoiding you? It’s a good question, completely valid with how he’s been treating you lately, but he could draw up every answer he has, all one million and one, and still not know what to say.

Gojo’s a pretty bad communicator; for how much he talks, he doesn’t really say much—and maybe that’s the root of all this. There are too many things he wants to say but can’t formulate in the right way. 

“If it’s something I did, can you at least let me know?” you continue. Gojo frowns, how can you be wronged yet still think of yourself as the one to blame? 

“Why do you do that?” he tuts, head tilting sideways as his hands dig deeper into his pockets. 

“Do what?” you furrow your brows, confused. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t worry about it.” he says dismissively. 

You arch an eyebrow; he has it all mistaken. 

“Satoru, I’m not worried because I feel guilty,” you sit up, inching towards the edge of your seat, “I’m worried because you’re pushing me away.” your voice is level, but your pupils shake.

Something grips at his chest seeing you this way; together or apart, he seems to be the main contributor to your heartache. 

You wonder if confronting him like this is any good if he’s not going to say anything anyway. 

“If you want space, that’s okay, I get it, but,” you exhale, “at least just tell me why.” 

This entire time avoiding you, Gojo’s had you on his mind—the million and one. He’s come to terms with what he feels when you’re together, and how it amplifies when you’re not. 

It’s shitty of him to practically ghost you, not just in text but in real life too. But he’s thought about it logically, really, that removing himself from your life should be just like ripping off a bandaid—painful but quick. At least that way, you’d get over it fast. 

He’d been resigned to doing that and that was the plan—until now. 

All it takes is seeing that look in your eyes, and his resolve falls apart. 

“I can’t.” he speaks softly. 

What hurts the most is that beneath his sunglasses, his eyes still hold the sky. 

You think you want to cry. 

You take this as your answer and close your eyes, taking a deep breath before getting up to leave. If this is goodbye, you don’t want your last interaction to be an awkward memory of him watching you bawl in his office chair. 

You push yourself up with the armrest only to sit back down—because Gojo is right in front of you, blocking your way. His infinity is up but touching, a tingling sensation sweeping across your knees. 

“Wait,” he swallows, a franticness you’ve never seen before. His head stays down as he bites his lips, sunglasses hanging by his fingertips. You wonder what he wants to say, that even if it comes out messy, it’s okay. You want to tell him that it’s just you—that you’ll always want to hear it all anyway. 

What comes next is unlike any version of Satoru you have ever known—nervous and uncertain, almost like he’s afraid. He lowers himself, slowly coming down to his knees in front of you. A giant of a man so small in your presence. 

“I don’t know how.” he mutters, dropping his sunglasses to the floor. 

You blink once, twice, still surprised by what’s in front of you. Gojo has always towered above you, has always known how to do anything and everything so effortlessly without fail. 

Watching him now, with every inhale and exhale dragging in slow motion, you do your best not to startle him. 

“How to what?” you whisper, the moment so fragile. 

He looks up, eyes locking with yours. A reaction happens in that moment—the split second of all his thoughts collapsing into one. You see a clear sky, blue and bright as day, the Satoru he saves for you—while he sees you, with that look on your face, the one that he knows has always only meant love. 

The sincerity in your gaze overwhelms him—makes him look away before it becomes too much. Red blooms at the tips of his ears as he bites the inner corners of his lips, fingers grabbing at the fabric of his pants. You’re afraid he might run away again, but he doesn’t and stays right where you are. 

“You know…” he looks to the side, pouting, “whatever you do….”

“Like…?” you coax lightly, trying hard to hide the small smile forming on your lips. 

You wonder how many versions of Satoru you’ll meet in your lifetime, and if this one, shy and nervous, will be one you’ll fit into the crevices of your heart just like all the others. 

He grips his pants tighter, fabric bunching under his fingers, “When you hold my hand… those things. You get it.” 

And you do (get it), so you don’t push, taking whatever Gojo has to give you like you always have. 

The tension relieves from you slowly, comforted by the fact that at least he’s given you his reasons now (no matter how vague they still seem to be). That at least there are no non-answers this time. 

You tell yourself that it’s okay, that you’re content as long as Gojo’s in your life even without the possibility of becoming something more. 

“Ok—”

But there’s always one thing you forget about Gojo—

“So show me how.”

—in the moments you least expect it, he speaks the words that matter most. 

.

.

.

You choose to show him slowly, gently, like the trickling introduction of water to a man who is first learning how to drink. 

In the first few weeks of you and Gojo readjusting to one another, he turns on his infinity again—but only when he gets close enough to touch you. Lunches together happen more often, dinners sometimes too. Then he puts his infinity down, indefinitely. 

For the most part, your relationship falls into the usual steps of your dynamic with Gojo; there’s no pressure for anything and he likes that, appreciates the time you’re giving him to learn things at his own pace. 

It grows organically that way: knuckles brushing as you both reach for the stapler, pinkies touching whenever you walk side-by-side during site visits—until you’re able to hold his hand fully again, leaving that little infinity between your palms for him to close (hopefully, one day). 

.

.

.

The faculty room is cold, especially during winter. The heating system is never warm enough to keep your hands from shaking whenever you mix your morning coffee. 

“So loud so early,” Gojo saunters into the kitchen, hands in pockets as he approaches the pantry. 

You stop mixing, ceasing the clinking of the spoon against your mug. “How are you not freezing?” 

He shrugs, grabbing his box of (heavily sugared) cereal. “I guess I’m just hot.” he says, turning to wiggle his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and set your coffee on the table, Gojo following with a bowl brimming with cereal and milk. 

Mornings usually consist of you and Gojo, with an occasional new hire who has an early class that day. Most of the time, it’s just you two though, with Shoko coming in much closer to lunch time already. 

“Want some?” he asks, holding out his spoon.

It’s routine—Gojo asks and you decline, choosing to save yourself from the cavities that he somehow manages to evade despite having a diet of 80% sugar. 

Today though, you’re feeling a little adventurous. 

You nod, opening your mouth. Gojo’s eyes widen, nearly dropping the spoon at your request. You see the flush of his cheeks and smile, corners of your mouth extending wider. The spoon is shoved to your mouth too quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed to feed you. 

“Too sweet,” you scrunch your face, swallowing down the copious amount of sugar you’ll feel for days. 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Gojo throughout this whole relationship trial period, he recovers from any state within a nanosecond. There’s no end to how shameless he can be. 

“Like me, right?” he winks.

“Sure,” you drawl sarcastically and Gojo smiles like it’s high praise. 

You sip your coffee slowly, revelling in the heat that flows down your throat.

“Can I have half of that?” you point to his bowl. Gojo looks at you, confused, but slides it over anyway.

What happens next is an abomination to Gojo’s eyes—pure absolute disgust: you pour half of his cereal into your coffee and mix, sipping and crunching on a few pieces every now and then. 

His face contorts into complete distaste, horror and revulsion in the way his mouth hangs open. 

“What are you doing? That’s gross!” he nearly yells, reaching over to bring your mug down. His hand covers yours for a moment, the contact still causing gallops in his heartbeat. 

You laugh, giggling as he processes what you’d wasted his cereal on. It honestly doesn’t taste that bad, you think. 

“You’re weird,” he says to you, the grin on his face uncontained. This morning, he feels fond, like the butterflies in his stomach are warm, tickling him from the inside. “Give me.” he motions to your mug. 

You hold it up for him to take a sip but he keeps his hand over yours when he tastes, sticking his tongue out once the bitterness of your coffee hits. You set the mug down, preparing to reach for your spoon, but he takes your hand in his, long fingers slotting right between yours, interlacing. 

Gojo doesn’t normally reach for your hand, much less interlace them together (a recent evolution to your hand-holding), but this feels nice, how your fingers fit right in the spaces of his. 

You turn to him, a shy smile on your face. The tips of his ears are blush red but he looks at you the same, “Your hands were cold,” he pouts, “is this– is this okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s warm. Thank you, Satoru.” you nod, beaming. And it’s not a competition but he hopes you see the light in his eyes, how it feels to be ignited within him only when he’s spending breakfasts like this with you. 

.

.

.

Shoko asks what you are and you don’t know what to tell her other than you’re happy and it’s good. Gojo’s existence is loud and vibrant, easy to spot from miles away—but he cares for you discreetly, in the hand that gently rests on your lower back while crossing the street, and the seemingly unlimited supply of your favorite coffee when you have no recollection of restocking it ever. 

He gives you a new mug for Christmas, one with little cereals painted all over while you give him his own tube of hand cream that he claims always smells like you. 

During the faculty New Year celebration, you overhear one of the new hires make a move on Gojo. You aren’t bothered by it or anything, simply walking past to sip your sake by the couch. You can hear them talk a bit from the kitchen, but you try not to pry despite how curious you are about his response. 

Until—

“I’m taken,” you hear Gojo say bluntly. 

Everything rings in your ears after that. The countdown music is loud, but your heart beats louder; there are murmurs and footsteps around you, but only one man crouches down to check on you, glass of water in hand. 

You snap out of it and see blue, the sky—a familiar light; you don’t think you can control the smile on your face, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions to paint on something lovesick. 

And when he smiles back, pink lips stretching wide—oh your heart can’t take it. He places one hand on your knee, rubbing gently. You hear it faintly, how he asks if you’re okay, but all you can do is nod, words failing to express how you feel right now.  

The countdown starts. 3 — and you take his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks to an image of him on your phone from many, many years ago. 2 — you go closer and his eyes go wide, a mixture of panic and surprise, but soft at the same time. 1 — you lean in and his eyelids fall shut, his chest on rampage. Then it lands, there, on the tip of his nose: a delicate peck and the smell of sake mixed with mint (like the lip balm you always carry around in your pocket). 

When you pull away from him, you’re smiling the biggest he’s ever seen, and he can’t feel it from how numb his cheeks have become, but he’s doing the same. 

.

.

.

That kiss to his nose serves as the catalyst to the months that follow: Gojo becomes more comfortable touching you now, and though he blushes every single time, there’s nothing to be ashamed of because you do too. Shoko can’t believe the slow burn this is taking you both, having watched this on the sides since you were both 22, but you think you like it—like the slow drizzle of honey on Gojo’s favorite breakfast waffles. 

“How is it?” you ask, watching as Gojo takes a big bite. 

“D Beft.” he replies, mouth full as he chews. You take the seat beside him and take a spoonful. 

“There’s a secret ingredient.” you say mischievously, wiggling your eyebrows. 

He swallows before he scoffs, “What?” cutting up another piece, “Love?” 

You’re surprised because he says it so casually, and Gojo’s never talked about love, has never even mentioned the word since this shift in your relationship. He realizes a beat late by the expression on your face and gets flustered, thinking immediately of ways to brush past it. 

You had meant to say that you used that infused sugar he buys whenever he goes to Kyoto, but… you suppose love works too. He should know by now, right? 

“If it is?” you whisper, pretending to stir your coffee. 

Gojo doesn’t know how to approach this, really, but he’s come too far to back out now. He clears his throat, mentally running through what he wants to say, then, “Good. ‘Cause that’s what I put in your coffee too.” 

You laugh and the tension dissipates; there are hearts in your eyes for how hard Gojo has tried after denying himself of this for so long. 

He stares at you—at the laugh lines by your eyes and the soft curves of your lips, the moment moving much too slow, stop motion in his mind. He’s drawn in until you’re all too close, a few centimeters from your noses touching. 

Your laughter dies and your cheeks feel like they’re on fire; he’s so close you think he might kiss you. The signs are there—his eyes scaling your face to focus on your lips, his tongue peeping ever so slightly to wet his lips. 

So you wait. 

But he doesn’t, because he moves away after wiping his thumb on the side of your mouth. Even though you know there was nothing there. 

Gojo continues to eat, blabbering about a site visit he’s assigned to next week, but you don’t miss the way his ears are fully red and how he’s biting his lips to death.

.

The tension this time is different; instead of a growing rift, you can’t seem to be close enough. Every time you part ways, he lets go of your hand more reluctantly—as if he wants to say more, do more, but stops himself while he still can. 

When he leaves for missions, you kiss his cheek, pull him in by the hand and linger there, shyly. He gets embarrassingly red but tries to cover it up by telling you not to miss him too much (even though you know you will, and he knows he’ll miss you more). 

Your near-kisses with Gojo happen more frequently, and it comes to a point where he even manages to land one on your forehead, while you fall asleep next to him on his office couch. 

It’s driving you crazy, this tension—the mixed signals of it all. You try to kiss him a few times on the lips, but he evades them each time. You’ve caught Gojo staring at your lips more times than you can count; if that isn’t a sign, you don’t know what is. 

Now that Gojo thinks about it, he’s come so far yet the prospect of kissing you properly still scares him. What if he fucks up? Doesn’t do it right? What if it’s not how he wants you to be kissed? 

There’s that secret Gojo will never tell you, of how seeing that look on you has never gotten him more afraid. And he’s worked through that now, but it’s evolved into something else: how Gojo is now afraid of love, more than anything else, not because of loss but because he might not know how. 

And kissing you, loving you this way—he’s never done it before, doesn’t know how to make you feel love without his lips shaking and heart palpitating; how to do it while letting you know he feels the same. 

.

It happens during an assignment out of town. Curses aren’t as bad as they used to be, but they’re still stronger than what any of the available sorcerers right now can handle. 

You don’t remember the last time you saw Gojo use his technique that way—almost forgotten how powerful and ruthless he can be. Every time since, holding your hand, keeping you close—he’s just been your Satoru. 

Your apartment for the weekend is a two-bedroom unit with one bathroom and a decently sized living area and kitchenette; Gojo always chooses the room in front of the bathroom because he tends to wake up in the middle of the night to pee (information you know from your many other assignments with him before). Still, going as what you are now—it feels different. 

There’s a charged air between you as you move around the unit; you make your nightly tea while Gojo looks through the groceries for some crackers. It’s peaceful and quiet—domestic almost, but there are goosebumps on your skin for reasons you can’t explain. Being around Gojo lately has felt that way.

He brushes past you to throw the finished packet of crackers and the feeling intensifies; it’s not awkward, just tense, like anticipation sitting deep in your bellies, waiting on each other to make the first move. 

He announces that he’ll use the bathroom first, if you don’t mind, and you motion for him to go ahead. Your mind is fuzzy and having Gojo around seems to only make it worse.

When you walk past the bathroom and straight to your room, you hear Gojo humming that soft pop tune from a popular girl group on the radio earlier. You giggle, thinking it’s sweet—how he sings obnoxiously around everyone else but is admittedly pretty good when it’s just him, alone. 

You still have the rest of the weekend in this area, having agreed to monitor the site and any nearby locations for other suspicious activity, but at least the worst of it is over (maybe just to you though; Gojo hates paperwork). 

The sound of running water stops and you hear the bathroom door swing open. You don’t see Gojo when you exit your room but he leaves the door open to release any remaining steam.

There’s a reason why people say showers are good for the mind. You’re happy for those who’ve found it, but that couldn’t be you, because the only thought plaguing your head right now is Gojo—and whether you should greet him goodnight, if you should kiss his cheek or hug him tight. The tension between you now is palpable, an electric current waiting to zap on both ends. 

Your mind is so out of it that you don't realize you’re missing your skincare bag until after you finish brushing your teeth and dressing for bed. You open the bathroom door with the sole intention of going back to your room to get it, but instead, you’re met with a wall of chest.

Gojo’s eyes are wide, bright blue with damp strands of white falling like curtains barely shielding the sky. He’s just as surprised as you are, toothbrush in his hand as you hold up the towel wrapped around your head. 

You’ve seen Gojo in his pajamas many times before—white long sleeves with gray cotton pants, but your eyes trail to his collarbones and the way the bathroom lights cast it under a soft glow. The redness on his cheeks, a visual manifestation of the heat on yours. 

Gojo can’t stop staring at your lips, at how soft they look—at how soft you look fresh out of the shower. The little baby hairs sticking out under your towel are cute, and he leans in without knowing—a pull he can’t seem to resist. For once in his life, Gojo’s mind is still. 

You try to meet him halfway, tiptoeing, but you’re a little out of your element; you don’t know where to put your hands and your heart’s about to explode out of your chest. When your noses touch, you can’t breathe, closing your eyes while you wait for it. 

But it doesn’t come. 

You feel Gojo’s breath stilling before speeding up into little exhales. Something is wrong. You open your eyes and find him staring back at you, a version of Gojo you haven’t seen in a while—that you rarely see ever, except that day during your confrontation in his office. 

Concern laces your features and you move back a little, hands coming up to caress his cheeks. His eyes still look frantic, but they focus on you when you cup his face so gently. 

“Satoru,” you whisper, voice grounding. His breaths slow down a little. 

You realize that it must be true then, what they say, that those who love to be feared, fear to be loved, because you’ve never seen anyone afraid of something so good as Gojo is of this. 

“Satoru,” you repeat, massaging his temples with your thumb, “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Gojo hates it, how you’ve always had to adjust for him. He hates that he can’t give you this one thing, hates that you’re still so patient, that he’s still so afraid. He swallows, closing his eyes tight before opening them again. 

“I want to,” he chokes out, “I just don’t know—”

You chuckle, without judgment, “I don’t either,” you lean forward, foreheads touching, “but do you want to try together?”

You learn that Gojo sees himself so differently from how you do—and maybe that’s everyone, but Gojo tends to say things while doing the other. He says he can’t bother with kids, but continues to take so many of them under his wing anyway; he calls your cereal concoction disgusting but tastes it regardless; and he says he can’t think about love, doesn’t know how, but proceeds to try so much harder, everyday. 

When you look at Gojo, you see a heart so big, so capable, that he can’t see it himself. 

You nudge his nose with yours and he breathes deeply, closing his eyes once again. If he doesn’t do this now, how much longer ‘till he does? 

Gojo hums before nodding his head slightly. His hands come up to cover yours, toothbrush wedged in the spaces between his fingers; they’re clammy, he’s sure, but he’s kept you waiting long enough. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, everything trembles—his pupils, his lips, the breath he takes. It’s all shaky and nervous, but your lips touch and all you know is that you like it there. He’s a little bit stiff but you don’t mind, pressing closer just for a little bit before pulling away. 

Gojo keeps your hands in place, half-lidded eyes staring at you lazily. His ears are fully red now but he’s giving you a look you’ve never seen before—like lightning crackling in the gaps between his eyelids. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, you don’t expect it to be by the bathroom door of a rented apartment, while away on a mission. You don’t expect it to be in your pajamas, towel wrapped around your hair as you’re getting ready for bed. You definitely don’t expect him to guide your hands down his neck while he places his on your lower back, squeezing lightly before pulling you in to kiss you again. 

This time, his lips move more pliantly, parting yours slightly; he tastes mint, mixed with the strawberry candy he had earlier and it’s nothing he could have ever imagined before, but is now everything he’s ever wanted. The push and pull between you is magnetic, soft lips and the intermingling of held breaths. All Gojo can think of now is to take, to devour—to keep you with him, like this, always. 

You wonder if Gojo is lying—that he’s never done this before, because you don’t think you can kiss anyone after this and not think of his lips on yours. 

By the time you part, the air is significantly warmer. Your fingers thread through the hair at the base of his neck and you smile, sighing. Gojo looks warm, with his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. 

“That…” you trail off, nudging his nose. 

Gojo looks at you fondly; to ever even think he could have this now, with you—he doesn’t believe in any higher being but you must be his prayer come true. 

“We can practice a bit more, I think.” he pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips. 

You feel it against you, something solid and firm against your stomach and your eyes go wide at the realization; Gojo does the same. 

“Satoru, you–” he moves back and freezes, untangling himself from you completely. There’s a faint outline on the crotch of his pants and your whole face goes red. 

“Let me use the bathroom real quick.” he panics, rushing past you and closing the bathroom door. 

You stand there stunned for a good minute before you shake out of it, laughing. Gojo yells about how you’re being so mean, making fun of him when he’s like this, but you aren’t—not really. 

It’s been a long time getting to this point with Gojo, but considering all things, you think, this might just be the beginning.

thank you notes: i would also like to shoutout @stellamancer for leaving such lovely comments on dybil that it actually kinda pushed me to write this longer piece connected to it!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[seoulmatez]

— 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2k wc. ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ sfw ﾉ some vaguely suggestive bits ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ flirty teasing ﾉ pet names ( darlin', princess, honey, sweetheart. . . i went crazy @.@ )

my comeback to writing for hsr! first time writing for boothill so pls don't be too tough on me :3 hope u like ! !

masterlist ౨ৎ next part

the new farmhand at your grandfather’s ranch is trouble.

he shouldn’t be, not with the way your grandpa speaks so highly of him—he’s exactly the kind of help this place needed, he tells you. starts on time, is thorough in his work, and takes good care of all that your grandfather holds dear. you should love him simply for that—taking a weight off the old man’s shoulders and putting his heart at ease—but you’ve seen an entirely different side of the so-called saint.

ever since you arrived at the ranch a few days ago, the one called boothill has been a pain in your neck. it took nothing more than you stepping out of your car for him to label you that city girl, the “little lady” who looks like she’s never stepped foot in mud a day in her life.

from that moment onward, it’s been nothing but sly remarks at your expense. you don’t miss the chuckles he makes no effort to hide as you refamiliarize yourself with the animals and get used to the scent of hay and manure. his not-so-subtle smirks when you’re simply passing by have been the most irking. your mere presence is seemingly a joke to boothill.

you’ve made it your mission to steer clear of the man but the task is proving to be difficult. the fact that he’s now living in what you used to know as one of the guest bedrooms coupled with your grandpa’s oblivious albeit innocent nature seems to be enough to throw a wrench in that plan of yours. 

your trip here was meant to be a relaxing getaway from the hustle and bustle of city life but you’ve only taken on a new role as boothill’s personal assistant if the tray with two glasses of lemonade is any indication. if it were up to you, you’d be enjoying a peaceful breakfast without worrying about the man bothering you but it’s just your luck that your grandfather caught you before you could make the meal, politely asking you to deliver a cold beverage to boothill who has been working since the sun rose over the horizon.

luckily for the farmhand, you can’t say no to your grandpa.

that’s how you find yourself wandering the grounds in your satin pajama set and the boots your grandpa prepared for your arrival. your legs move in muscle memory as you navigate the vast stretch of land in search of boothill. thankfully, you don’t have to go much farther, catching sight of the man at the entrance of the barn.

he’s gone for a simple look today—a white t-shirt and jeans paired with the dirtied boots you haven’t gone a day without seeing him in. his shirt is already stained and is darker around the neckline, dampened with sweat. he’s made an effort to tie back his black and white strands of hair, though, a few of the shorter ones have escaped and frame his face. the hat you’ve grown accustomed to seeing him in, strangely, isn’t sitting atop his head.

he must see you approaching out of the corner of his eye because he turns to face you, an immediate grin taking over his lips. it makes you grip the tray tighter.

he looks you up and down as he pulls off his gloves, stuffing both in his back pocket. when gray eyes settle on yours, he tells you, “nice get up.”

you roll your eyes because you saw a comment like that coming. everything you do down to the way you dress is scrutinized when it comes to him. even though you’ve only been here a short while, you’ve come to expect this kind of behavior from boothill.

he huffs out a laugh at your reaction before his gaze falls to the tray in your hands and the glasses that sit on it. “that for me, darlin’?”

against your will, your heart jumps in your chest. that, you haven’t grown accustomed to. you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to him throwing around pet names at you like it’s nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to him. it’s easier to blame the heat blooming in your cheeks on the sun’s beaming rays rather than boothill’s sweet talking.

you hold the tray out to him, hoping the effect of his words isn’t visible on your face. “courtesy of grandpa.” you can’t have him thinking this gesture was born from the kindness of your heart. his teasing would be merciless then.

“of course,” he drawls, grabbing one of the glasses and swallowing a few gulps. the shine of the lemonade is left on his lips when they pull away from the brim, his tongue poking out from between them to lick up the lingering drops. your eyes remain on his lips longer than they should, long enough to see them curl up into that annoyingly handsome smile. “little miss city girl wouldn’t be caught dead out here on her own accord.”

he can only stay charming for so long. “did you miss the whole part when my grandpa told you i grew up here?”

“no, no, i caught that.” he takes another sip of his drink. “it’s just that you strike me as the type who spent more time riding the horses than cleaning up after ‘em.”

you keep quiet and nurse your glass of lemonade because the only other option besides lying is telling him that he’s right. in your defense, what ten-year-old wants to spend their summer hauling hay and shoveling up horse crap?

“look,” you start, “i’m not some delicate glass figure who can’t get her hands dirty. i’m perfectly capable of helping out.”

boothill raises his eyebrows, a glint of humor sparkling in his steel irises. you know the look of a challenge when you see it and it almost makes you regret trying to defend yourself. “oh yeah? then the princess wouldn’t mind lending me a hand?”

“i wouldn’t,” you tell him. contrary to your statement, you really don’t want to spend more time with him than necessary, even if that means proving a point and settling some stupid argument. your mind races to find a believable excuse that’ll let you off the hook. “but i’m barely dressed to do any work. another time, maybe.”

he waves his hand in dismissal. “don’t worry, darlin’. what i’ve got in mind ain’t much work and won’t steal too much of your time.”

you nervously chew your cheek as boothill takes the tray that’s tucked under your arm, setting the now empty glasses on it and finding a place for them to rest. he nods his head in the direction he wants you to follow and, reluctantly, you do just that. he casts a glance over his shoulder to look at you. “just help me get this hay inside the barn, will ya?”

the job seems easy enough, a surprisingly straightforward request from boothill who seems to derive pleasure from giving you a hard time. too easy, you think to yourself as he heaves one of the rectangular bales of hay from the top of the stack. the task looks effortless when he does it, a short grunt being the only suggestion of exertion on his end.

he disappears into the red building and you take his temporary departure as an opportunity to pick up a bale of your own. you grab a hold of the twine keeping the hay in its shape and immediately grimace at the way the fodder pokes and prods at your palms. you’re tempted to let go and step away but you have a point to prove and plan on doing so. with a groan, you lift the bale, or at least try to. it’s heavier than you expect it to be and the scratching against your exposed legs is uncomfortable, sure to get worse with the distance you’re meant to walk.

you’re about to drop the bale back in place when a pair of arms reach around you, calloused hands joining yours to carry the collection of hay. boothill’s unexpected presence catches you off guard and the proximity of his mouth to your ear makes your breath catch in your throat. “having a bit of trouble, love?”

love? your skin prickles with goosebumps at yet another pet name. this time, it’s more difficult to blame the heat running beneath your skin on the sun. it takes a moment for you to find your voice and when you do, the ones you manage to get out refute his claim. “i’m not. i told you i wasn’t dressed for this.”

he snorts at your reply as though he can see right through the flimsy excuse. “right, well, you’re in my way, so why don’t i help you with this one?”

before you can protest, boothill is on his way, dragging you along with him. your steps match his, his bigger boots trailing behind yours as the two of you walk the path to the growing supply he likely started before you interrupted. you’re released from your place between the bale and boothill when he drops it on top of the other.

you’re free to make a move, to slip away from the charged air and reclaim your personal space. instead of doing so, you simply turn around to face him. you’re met with his broad chest before you tip your head up to meet his eye. “i could have done that on my own.”

“i’m sure you could have,” he says, but the smile pulling at his lips tells another story. he reaches behind him with one hand to pull the gloves from his pockets, waving them between you as an offer. “these might help.”

you happily take the gloves as he takes his leave, slipping your hands into the protective gear. they’re larger than you need and there’s extra space in them but you don’t mind, not if they’ll help you show boothill that you refuse to be reduced to some city girl.

and they do help, at least with shielding your hands from the unpleasant sensation of hay against them. the bales are just as heavy and just as awkward to haul but you’re able to get the job done, nonetheless. for every one you carry, boothill lugs two more past you. his familiarity with the job means the two of you are finished one within a reasonable amount of time. 

you drop the final bale with the rest, a relieved sigh pushing past your lips at a job well done. boothill stands off to the side and whistles as you snatch the gloves off, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. “well, would you look at that.”

“surprised?” you ask, tossing his gloves back at him.

“honey, anyone can hoist some hay.” he catches the gloves with ease, stuffing them back in his pocket. you’re almost offended at how easily he dismisses your efforts but you don’t have time to let the annoyance sprout before he’s approaching you, tipping your chin up so that you have no choice but to look at him. “though, i doubt they’d look as pretty as you doing it.”

you can’t tell whether he’s trying to get a rise out of you or if he truly stands by his statement. all you know for sure is that his sugary words and the feel of his skin against your face leave you unmistakably flustered, so much so that you can’t control the erratic beat of your heart and can’t stop the little nagging voice in the back of your head from whispering that you don’t dislike him as much as you let on.

boothill is trouble, but not in the way you thought he would be.

“i have to go.” you knock his hand away and turn on your heel in a rush to get back to the house, far away from boothill.

you can escape the sight of him, the feel of him, but not the sound of him as he yells after you. “see you around, sweetheart!”

thanks for reading! consider reblogging if u enjoyed :3

[cc--2224]

I Told You So

Pairing: Tech x F!Reader

Summary: After a mission goes wrong, Tech realizes that you are more precious to him than he originally thought, and though he is upset that you didn’t listen to him, he is more upset that he nearly lost you. And he intends to finally do something about it.

Warnings: This is very much 18+ Minors do not interact! Slight canon typical violence and mentions of injuries in whatever plot this has, smut; oral - f receiving, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!!), porn with feelings, possessive Tech, slight praise kink? language

Notes: I don’t know where this came from, it has been a minute since I’ve written anything remotely spicy let alone an actual smut fic. But please let me know what you think!

Word Count: 5.5k

Taglist: None, let me know if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

Edit: Thank you all for the likes and reblogs!! I hope you enjoyed it 💚

"It is unwise for any of us to go out on our own, we should be working in teams of two." Tech pointed out as you were gearing up for your mission. You were to locate and rescue a Republic senator who had been imprisoned by the Separatists and bring them back to Coruscant.

"There's an odd number, we can't go in teams of two." You pointed out. "I can handle myself, I don't want to divide your squad." 

Ever since you had teamed up with Clone Force 99, you had gotten to know them well, but you still felt like an outsider. In some ways, you were, but you never really felt like one of the team. It wasn't uncommon for you to be the odd one out for teamwork, and to you, this was no different.

In truth, you had always hoped to be partnered with Tech when you were given the briefing, but his talents were more complementary with one of his brothers. Ever since you met him, you were drawn to him, his brains, his demeanor, the way he lit up when speaking about something that interested him which ended up being nearly everything. He was handsome and skilled, and he welcomed you into the squad immediately, over the following months, you began developing feelings for him.

It never hindered your performance on missions, not only because you were never paired up with him, but you were good at compartmentalizing your feelings from your work. You wanted to get closer to him, but there never seemed to be a good time, and even if there was, you just didn't know how to bridge the gap. 

"You can join Crosshair and myself, it will be safe for you." He suggested.

"We'll cover more ground in three groups. I'll be fine, I doubt there are even going to be any platoons that far out." 

Tech shrugged, "Suit yourself. I will send you the coordinates for our rendezvous point. Keep your comm on."

You nodded and left the Marauder with your equipment. 

You had no idea that this mission would be more dangerous than many you had encountered, but Tech knew, he always did.

As you approached the outskirts of the village, you saw a clear path straight through to the compound where you suspected the senator was held. It seemed a little too good to be true, there should have been droids out here, not full platoons, but someone keeping watch. 

You drew your blaster to be safe, and crept onward, keeping an eye out for anything out of place. You could hear chatter over the comms of the others checking in with each other, and then you heard Tech say your name. 

“All clear. As I said.” 

Tech didn’t reply and you lowered the volume on your comm, still keeping it on, but not wanting to draw attention to yourself. 

You had made it about halfway through the clearing when you saw blaster fire strike about ten paces to your left. You looked up, trying to see where it came from when you saw a platoon of B1s headed your way. 

“Easy work.” You mumbled to yourself, aiming your blaster forward, shooting them as they neared you. 

It was easy work at first, but there didn’t seem to be an end to them. When you’d shoot one, two more would appear, and before you could even disable a squadron of them, a tank appeared over the horizon. 

“Kriff.” You said. 

You considered calling for backup, but your pride couldn’t handle Tech telling you that he told you so, so instead you took a grenade out of your pack and threw it toward the platoon. It didn’t seem to damage the tank, but it at least got rid of the marching battle droids.

If you had raised your comm to ask for help, you would have heard Hunter say that the target was secure, and call for everyone to return to the ship, but you were the only one who didn’t check in. 

“Tech, Crosshair, you two go find her. Wrecker and I will bring the senator back to the ship.” Hunter told them. 

They left their post and headed to your last known location.

“Why didn’t she just join our team?” Crosshair finally asked.

“I did suggest it, but due to her stubborn nature, she was certain she would be fine on her own.” Tech’s tone indicated his annoyance. He wanted to be as annoyed as he sounded, but more than anything he was worried. 

He liked having you around, you were always willing to listen to him prattle on about whatever topic was on his mind. You were kind, you treated him and his brothers well. The idea that you could be taken from them had never crossed his mind until now. Unlike you, he had no idea of the way he felt about you. He had rarely had feelings for anyone before, he didn’t know how it was supposed to feel. All he knew was that he didn’t want to sit through a briefing without you, or ramble on about some useless topic without you intently listening, and he didn’t want your last conversation to be the last conversation. He didn’t want to be right about this one thing. 

When they saw the explosion in the distance, he began to fear he was right.

The tank fired toward you, it missed its mark and you were able to avoid a direct hit, but the explosion was just a little too close. You were sent flying back from the shock wave, and you could hear buzzing in your ear before everything went black.

If you hadn't gone out on your own, someone could have been looking out for you. Tech could have been looking out for you, just as he insisted upon.

But instead, you were so certain you could handle yourself that you had gotten yourself in trouble.

You woke up in your bunk, bandaged and sore, but still alive. You didn’t know what happened, and you weren’t exactly eager to find out, but you knew you had to face everyone eventually.

Wrecker smiled at you when you walked into the cockpit, “Well look who’s finally awake!”

Crosshair didn’t say anything, instead looking at the back of Tech’s chair. 

You heard a sigh, and then Tech turned his chair around, eyeing you up and down.

“Something you need to say?” He finally asked.

“What happened with the mission?”

Hunter spoke, “Got the senator. We’ll be arriving on Coruscant shortly.”

Had you really been asleep that long?

"I told you you should not have gone on your own." It seemed Tech was tired of the small talk.

You looked at him, unsure of what he wanted you to say. “I was just doing my part of the mission, nothing I did was out of line. I didn't know there would be that many droids on the outskirts." It was a losing argument, and one you'd rather not have in the cockpit of the Marauder in front of everyone, but Tech didn't seem interested in anything but the argument.

"Precisely. If you had gone with Crosshair and I, you would not have encountered those droids. And now you are injured because of your own mistake." He had raised his voice, something you’d never heard him do.

You flinched slightly at his words but he continued, “What happened to keeping your comm on? We were trying to reach you.”

“My comm was on!” You retorted, “Just turned it down so I wouldn’t be spotted.”

“Yes well, a lot of good that did you.” He responded sarcastically. “We might not be there to save you next time. Keep that in mind before you choose to do something so reckless.” He turned away from you, facing the front again.

Your eyebrows furrowed at the back of the chair, "I didn’t ask to be saved, in fact I’d rather be back there with the droids. Maybe then-"

Hunter cut into your argument. "That is enough, both of you." 

He looked at you with his eyebrows knit together, "Go lay down, rest is going to help your injuries, arguing is not."

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, you turned and went to your bunk.

After you were out of earshot, Hunter spoke to Tech.

"What was that about? You can't just yell at her, she got hurt, she learned her lesson already."

"As I have mentioned, she would not have-"

"Stow it. We all know what's going on between you, even if you don't. You need to figure it out before your next outburst." Hunter turned in his chair to face the front of the ship again. Tech looked on at the dancing lights of hyperspace.

Tech didn’t speak to you for the next week. The five of you were granted time off after saving the senator and you had all decided to spend it on Coruscant, but with the tension in the ship, it didn’t seem like much of a vacation.

You knew that all you had to do was apologize, but you didn’t feel like you did anything wrong. 

You knew the others were getting tired of yours and Tech’s attitudes; they all knew that it was more than just the mission. They knew about your feelings for each other, and they knew how worried Tech had been as he treated your wounds and bandaged you up. 

The only thing they could do was to force a resolution.

“Okay, we’ve had enough.” Hunter said loud enough for both you and Tech to hear at opposite ends of the ship. “We’re all going out. And that includes the two of you.” 

He slammed down a flyer he had found for a gondola ride through the upper levels, complete with all the sights Coruscant had to offer. 

“Is that really necessary?” You asked, glancing at Tech from the corner of your eye. You couldn’t think of anything less beneficial than the five of you being cramped together in a confined space you couldn’t leave.

“It isn’t a request.” Hunter informed you. 

You sighed and left the ship, followed by the others, and finally Tech, and you made your way to the park where the dock was located.

The five of you slowly arrived at the front of the queue, and when it was your turn, you were shoved into a gondola along with Tech. None of the other batchers joined you, but before you thought to exit, the vessel's door had closed and you were moving. 

You sat down on the bench across from Tech, still avoiding eye contact by looking out the window, arms crossed. 

Tech still kept his silence. Even a week later, he was still considering Hunter's words. Was there something between him and you? He knew he didn’t want to lose you, but that was completely normal, wasn't it? And even if it wasn’t normal, that doesn’t mean whatever he felt was reciprocated. But if you did return his feelings, he knew this might be one of the only chances he had to act on it, to tell you how he felt.

When the gondola had reached nearly the top of the track, the view overlooking the Jedi temple, he sighed and finally looked at you. 

"You see, I... I felt responsible for your injuries."

"You felt responsible?" You repeated after a pause. "Wasn't it my fault that I got injured? For not following your oh-so-wise plan?" 

You were acting petulant, but your emotions were still running high and the confined space didn't help.

"Well yes, if you had done as I suggested, you would have been free from injury."

"Right, because you know everything."

"Crosshair and I left with zero injuries. So yes, this I know to be fact." 

"Do you really have to say 'I told you so'? I'm sorry, is that what you want to hear? I'm sorry that I got hurt because I didn't l-"

You didn't have time to react before you felt Tech's lips upon yours. One hand was on the side of your face and the other was digging into your waist.

The vessel rocked slightly at his movement, causing you to grip onto the bench. Your eyes were still wide at the sudden contact, but when he didn't back away, you closed your eyes and deepened the kiss, moving your hands to place them on his chest. 

He stopped to take a breath, his lips still hovering tantalizingly close over yours, breathing you in, committing your perfumed smell to memory.

You closed the gap this time when you decided he had enough time to catch his breath.

His tongue darted out and swiped across your lip, asking for access to explore. You allowed it, moaning into his mouth when you felt his tongue against yours. 

In one swift movement, he sat on the bench and pulled you into his lap, resuming the kiss once you had situated yourself. 

Your hands moved up, resting on his shoulders briefly before snaking your arms around the back of his neck, holding him close. You could feel his strong hands massaging your thighs before resting on your ass, testing the waters by giving it a squeeze, you bucked your hips slightly in response. 

You could feel a coiling sensation in your stomach, a heat pulsing through you, and pooling out onto your panties. You wanted him, and you could feel based on his actions and the stiff bulge in his pants that he wanted you just as badly.

He broke the kiss, and moved his head back, causing you to chase after his kiss. He put a finger to your lips and smirked.

"You must be patient, the gondola ride is near the end of its course, and I still have more to say about the mission." 

You frowned in protest, feeling all that heat suddenly dissipate as he gently pushed you off of him.

"Not to worry, the Marauder is nearby, no one else will be there and we can continue our conversation there, if that is what you want."

You nodded in agreement.

"I apologize, but I will need to hear an answer before I can comply."

"Yes, I want that." You said too quickly, trying and failing to not sound too desperate.

He smirked again. "Good girl. You and I still have much to discuss."

You whined slightly at his praise, then waited for the door to open as you neared the dock.

After disembarking, Tech grabbed your hand, pushing past the people exiting their respective vessels. Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair were nearby, but you didn't see them as Tech ushered you back toward the landing port.

"I guess they finally talked about it." Wrecker had said, staring wide-eyed after you two.

"We should probably give them some privacy so they can talk more." Hunter shook his head, smirking toward the ground.

"Just as long as they don't talk in my bunk." Crosshair said as he crossed his arms.

The door to the Marauder wooshed open, and the two of you hurried on board. Tech was back on you before it could close again.

He pushed you back into the wall, pinning you there as he kissed you. Placing hot kisses on your lips, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, anywhere he could.

"Do you realize how worried I was when I saw you?" He asked between kisses. "When I heard the explosion, when I rushed over only to find your body on the ground?"

He stopped kissing you and looked into your eyes, "I thought I lost you before you were even mine to lose."

"Tech.." You tried to move a hand from his grip to place it on his face, but he tightened his hold on it. “I’m sorry.”

“I do not want your apologies.” He told you, “I want you by my side, I want you to be safe. I…” He kissed you again, this time more roughly, eliciting a moan from you again. “I want you to be mine.”

Behind his goggles, his pupils were dilated, his eyes half-lidded.

The coiling feeling returned. Your stomach was in knots. You had never seen Tech like this before, you hadn’t seen him behave so possessively, and you wanted to see more of it.

"Then make me yours." You said, only a whisper. “I want to be yours.”

His mouth found yours again, not bothering to ask you to give his tongue space to enter but instead forcing it past your lips. His knee slotted itself between your legs, close enough to tease you, but not close enough to give you friction where you desired it most. You bucked your hips trying to find it on your own, and he smiled into the kiss.

"What do you want, mesh’la?" He asked you.

You bucked again in response. He removed one hand from yours and brought it down, pushing your hips back against the wall so you couldn't move them again.

"I told you, I need to hear your words. Tell me what you want."

"I want you. I-I need you."

"Then I should not keep you waiting."

He let go of your hip, and with the hand that was still holding yours above you, he guided you over toward the console.

"Here?" You asked.

"Well, of course." He guided your hips downward so that you were seated. "I cannot help but think about how pretty you would look while I fucked you right on the console of my ship."

You let out an involuntary moan at just his words alone.

He caressed the side of your face, and with a feather-light stroke across your jaw, he tilted your chin up to meet your gaze. Despite his words just a moment ago, he placed a gentle kiss on your lips once more, and his hand slowly traveled down your neck, over your breast, down your stomach, and rested at the hem of your shirt.

He looked into your eyes, silently asking for permission. You nodded eagerly and he pulled your shirt up over your head. He tossed it onto the seat behind him and then looked at you, admiring the newly uncovered parts of you.

"Beautiful." He whispered. Out of everything done so far, this one word was enough to make you blush, you tried to turn your head away but he stopped you.

Leaning down over you, he placed a kiss on your shoulder, then your collarbone, trailing down to your breasts, still obstructed by your bra. His lips kissed the top of one, while his hand held the other over the fabric. You reached behind your back and unclasped it, giving him access to another part of you where you wanted to feel his touch.

He tutted quietly. "I could have done that myself."

You rolled your eyes jokingly and he resumed allowing his lips to explore your skin, now alternating between kissing and sucking. And where his lips weren't, his hands were. Squeezing the flesh, thumbing over your nipple while his mouth worked on the other.

Soon, he continued his exploration, and as he neared your stomach, he lowered himself down until he was kneeling between your thighs.

His gaze was hungry as it focused on your center, his lips formed a tight line, holding his mouth closed to prevent his tongue from hanging out.

His hands were on your knees, he trailed them up your thighs, stopping at the waistband of your pants, once again looking up at you to ask your permission. You situated yourself to make it easier for him to remove them, and soon they too were discarded, thrown back toward the pilot chair. His hands were back on your thighs, prodding the soft skin, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on each of them, sucking them enough to leave marks.

You whined, both at the sensation of him marking your legs, but also at the lack of sensation where you really wanted him to be.

He smirked up at you, and then spread your legs further apart, slowly moving his face toward your aching cunt. He could see how turned on you were, and he licked his lips before speaking.

"Stars, you appear to be soaked."

"Mmhm." Was all you could manage, all your attention was on the fact that he was inches away from giving you the friction you needed.

"Cyar'ika.." He scolded. "Words. You need something of me, what is it?"

"I... I just need you, I need your mouth, your fingers, your cock, I-I need to feel you." Your desperate words turned his gaze dark.

"Good girl, telling me everything you want," his praise caused you to squirm, trying to close your thighs just to feel friction, but he held them open.

"You enjoy it when I call you that?"

"Gods, yes." You moaned.

He hummed in response, keeping that knowledge filed away.

He finally pressed his face forward, nose rubbing against your clothed pussy. You whined in response. He dragged the tip of his nose upward, knowing exactly where you wanted to be touched, and he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties, relishing in your whines and pleas for him to finally take them off of you, and soon he relented, letting them join the rest of your clothes before he dove in.

He ate you like a man starved, licking you through your folds, tasting as much of you as he could.

"G-ah, fuck, Tech," you cried out, your hands reaching for his hair. The feeling of your hands gripping his hair causing him to groan.

His lips wrapped around your clit, alternating between sucking it and circling his tongue around it. He could feel you squirming at his touch and he reached one hand up, resting it on your hips, hoping to help anchor your.

With his other hand, he circled your entrance, teasing you, making you beg him to touch you before he obliged.

He slid one long finger into you as far as he could, pressing against the spongy walls, exactly where you needed to feel him.

He let go of your clit and let his tongue run up and down your folds, getting another taste of your juices.

"M-mmo-" You began to say, being cut off by the feeling of his tongue making another swipe up.

"My apologies, you will have to repeat yourself." He looked up at you, his face slick with your arousal.

"More, I need more."

He raised an eyebrow and plunged another finger into you. Your head rolled back and you cried out.

"Is that what you wanted?"

"Yes!"

Your grip tightened on his hair, pulling his face back into you. His hot breath fanned against your cunt and you sighed in contentment.

"Gods, you are a needy thing." His purred, his voice vibrated against you as he attached himself to your clit again.

He sucked on you while his fingers made scissor patterns inside you, all the while you could feel the coil start to tighten.

"I'm close-" You cried out. He didn't change anything about his rhythm. He strived to get you there, he was eager to please you after he had been so harsh toward you earlier. His tongue circled your clit and he could feel you pulsing around his fingers.

You could feel the heat growing in your stomach, your moans got louder as you got closer. He slid his fingers out, and before you could complain about the loss, you felt his tongue swiping up and down before dipping inside you. His fingers resumed drawing circles on your clit as he drank from you.

Your thighs clenched together, forcing him to stay exactly where he was, you muttered out a string of curses as the coil finally snapped and you cried his name as you came undone. He kept lapping at you until you were through.

You released your hold on his hair and he stood back up.

"You taste magnificent," He smirked, licking your arousal off his fingers before his mouth found yours again. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he leaned you back onto the console. You shuddered when you felt his stiffened cock press against you. His hands began grabbing at your breasts and your arms wrapped around his neck pulling him in.

"You are perfect." He said as he began kissing every piece of you he could. He locked onto your neck, he kissed you fervently, then gently bit down, giving you a mark that would be difficult to hide from the others, not that they didn’t already have an idea of what was going on here. But that’s what Tech wanted, he wanted to show everyone that you were his. 

"Tech.." You said quietly,

"Mm?"

"I want to see you." You pushed yourself back up onto your elbows and looked into his eyes.

For a moment, just for a moment, he froze, but soon enough, his hands moved to the fastener on his pants.

"Let me do that."

He smirked and helped you off the console gently.

You worked on the buttons on his shirt first, unbuttoning them slowly, placing gentle kisses on his chest as each loose button reveals it to you.

He tilted your chin up and leaned in for a kiss, pressing against you. You could feel his stiff bulge press into you again and your hands moved faster to unbutton his shirt.

You pushed it off his shoulders when it's finally unbuttoned, and you looked at his toned chest. You knew he'd be strong but it was still a surprise to you. Your fingers danced across his torso, feeling the muscles under his smooth skin, before finally landing on the fastener of his pants.

You look up at him, just as he did for you, asking for his permission. He pressed his forehead against yours in response, you smiled and kissed his lips, then moved to undo the fastening. He helped you to slide his pants off, and he stepped out of them, kicking them off to the side.

You could see the outline of his cock much clearer against his briefs and you could feel your mouth water, you clenched your thighs together, not wanting to wait to feel it inside of you. He raised an eyebrow at you.

"You desire it so badly?" He asked you, forcing your gaze away from it and back up to him.

You nod quickly, "Yes."

He smiled then rutted his hips against you, "Then please, continue."

Your hands moved to the waistband of his briefs, he moved his lips to yours again and you returned the kiss before kissing along his jaw, then his neck. You peeled the waistband down and he hissed as his briefs grazed across his cock. They had soon joined the rest of the clothes and you looked down.

You bit your bottom lip and you started to lower yourself down but he stopped you. You gave him a confused look, and he smirked.

"There will be plenty of time for that at a later time. But for now,"

He continued by guiding you back onto the console, laying your back down and he stood between your legs with his hands on your thighs.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked.

"Yes," you assured him.

You felt his cock rub against your folds, before he positioned himself at your entrance.

"Ready?" He asked.

You bucked your hips in response and he pushed himself in without another word.

You arched your back as you felt him stretch you open, if there was any pain, it quickly turned into pleasure as he buried himself in you inch by inch.

When he was fully sheathed, he gave you a moment to adjust before he started to move. He started out slow, he made sure that you were used to the feeling of his thrusts before he picked up the pace.

"Gods, you are taking me so well, cyar'ika."

You replied with a moan. You bucked your hips to meet his pace and he smirked.

"Is there something you want?"

"Mmm p-please, go fas-faster" you answered between thrusts.

"Very well," He obliged, his hands gripped onto your thighs and he buried himself again, quickening his pace at your request. He looked at you as you took his cock, the way your back arched, how your tits bounced with each thrust, the way your face contorted in pleasure.

He tightened his grip on your thighs, you took that as a hint to wrap your legs around his waist and he moaned in response, feeling himself go even deeper inside you.

"You are so perfect, such a good girl for me." Your walls clenched around his cock at his praise.

He thrusted into you harder wanting to explore the new angle he was permitted.

“Fu-uck,” you whined.

"Is this okay?" He asked, unsure of if he was hurting you.

"Gods, yes!"

He set a brutal pace, but you bucked your hips, meeting his thrusts each time.

Tech could feel himself nearing his climax, his pace started to become slightly more erratic. He slid one hand down your thigh toward your center. He circled your clit with his thumb, intending on sending you over the edge with him.

Your walls clenched around him again at the contact. You were getting close again. Your moans grew louder as you neared the edge.

"That's it," He said, he wanted to feel you come undone again. He continued circling your clit as he thrusted into you. "Be a good girl and come for me once more, come on my cock."

Your second orgasm crashed over you without as much of a warning as the first, your legs tightened around him, he slowed his thrusts down, helping you through it, and he moaned at how your walls constricted him. He knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

"Wh.. Where do you want me?" He asked.

"In-inside," you said, still overcoming the last of the waves of pleasure.

He didn't ask any further questions, he buried himself as far as he could before he stilled, his cock twitching inside you as he painted your walls with hot ropes of his seed.

He moaned out your name as he finished, feeling himself soften inside of you, he pulled himself out of you and you pushed yourself up, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his lips, your tongue darting into his mouth.

He returned the kiss, holding you close to him, and his hands traveled across your thighs, before lifting you up from the console.

“I love you.” You told him, resting your head on his shoulder as he held you. “I think I always have, but… In case it still wasn’t obvious.”

He smiled and carried you toward the refresher, sitting you down on the counter when you arrived, giving you a chaste kiss on the lips. “Perhaps it was not obvious over the last week, but now, I would have more questions if you did not.” He smiled at you, “I love you too. But next time, if I ask you to join me on a mission instead of going off on your own, please listen to me.”

“But look where it brought us.” You replied with a smirk.

“Perhaps that is true, but for your own information, you do not need to nearly get yourself killed in order for me to fuck you. You could have just asked.”

He grabbed a towel before he quickly left to retrieve your clothes and clean off the console. Tech soon returned to you and turned the water on, helping you off the counter and guiding you to the shower where he joined you. It didn’t take long for his lips to be on you once again. 

While it was your stubbornness that led you to this point in the first place, you were suddenly very eager to see what would happen on the next mission, should you and Tech finally be paired together.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

hello !! if it’s not too much of a bother can you write another piece featuring Lion 🫶 maybe another angsty piece, maybe a lil lion + farah combo or something else like lion and gaz getting separated from the 141 during a mission and having to fight their way back to the extraction point (?). totally up to you !!! also thank u for keeping us well fed 🙇‍♀️

Lions and Ibexes

PAIRING: John Price x Wife!Reader 'Codename Lion'

SYNOPSIS: Impulsive was what John always called you - affectionately, of course. But he sure does worry when you disappear without him.

WORDCOUNT: 4.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, death, canon typical violence, a tiny bit of angst, fluff, banter, no connection to 'I'll Take the Night Shift' except codenames, protective!Price, suggestive jokes, etc.

A/N: I wanna give Farah a big smooch on her forehead.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“So this is the woman that the Captain won’t keep quiet about,” you smirk and place your hand into Farah Karim’s, eyes shimmering as you both share a tight grip. 

“Commander,” greeting the black-haired woman, your light gear hangs off of you easily and efficiently; clean and well-taken care of. 

“Lion,” she nods, smirking back. “A pleasure.”

“Please,” you huff a laugh, “I wish it could be.” Expressions dim as you instantly get to work, the hot sun and dry air sticking to your flesh like a second skin of humidity. Releasing Farah’s hand you sigh and look around the old town, skimming over the forms of other Urzikstan Liberation Force soldiers. 

Farah does the same, breathing lowly. 

“On that, I believe you’d be right.” Brown eyes flick to yours, looking you over before the woman nods. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

“Lead the way,” your feet push you onward, following behind the Commander as your wedding band clinks against your chest. Held on that long chain, a hand comes up to brush it carefully, letting the man who wears the mirrored piece bring you comfort even from so far away. 

John was set to ship out in two days—there were some other important operations that had taken precedence. While you could have stayed behind with him, as you had wanted to do, a plea from one of the far-distant operators of One-Four-One had caught your ear. The name Farah Karim was known. 

If you didn’t offer assistance, you’d never feel right with yourself. One call to Laswell and it was all set up. 

“I’ll be there in two days,” John had muttered into your scalp as you both lay in bed, tight to one another; lashes fluttering. “Wait for me, yeah? No running off.” 

Your smirk had made him sigh a chuckle. “No stunts of heroics, my Love? Please, do you know who you’re speaking to?”

“You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know?”

“Well,” the words are uttered into his neck and John pulls you tighter into him. “I think that’s just about the most romantic thing to happen to someone.” 

Smiling to yourself, you bring the ring to your lips and kiss it lightly before letting it drop. In your head, John is still in your shared flat in London, and you’ll be back by the hour. If only. 

“You contacted Laswell and said you had encountered more of Barkov's remaining cells?” Your voice carries easy authority; ingrained confidence. 

Farah looks back and nods firmly. 

“They’ve taken over a town in the mountains, my forces can’t break the line.” She sighs aggressively and you stare with a sliding frown. “Even dead, Barkov cannot leave my people alone.”

In the back of your throat, you hum, “Well, parasites tend to be resilient.” Farah leads you into a home with maps on the tables and low talking of strategies from others. They pause when you enter and you nod politely. Many here knew your husband as the Commander did—all those years back when he was still only a Lieutenant and had broken Farah and her brother Hadir out from the Russian’s jail; labeled as prisoners of war. 

John had told you about it during one of the many late nights in your joint offices. Eyes tired and his hands playing with your hair.

“What do you need me to do?” You ask genially, standing near the table and placing your hands down on it—standard M4A1 resting over your chest and your secondary weapon strapped to your thigh. Unlike most, you’d opted for lighter gear to allow you to move faster. 

Fewer packs sit on your vest, and the gleam of the knife on your shoulder was a testament to your preference to close, silent, encounters. Though you liked to use your silver tongue to get out of situations, unfortunately, that wouldn’t work in this instance. 

“Captain Price told me you’re one of the best undercover agents he’s seen.” You perk at this, looking over with raised brows.

“Hell,” your chuckle echoes, “when you said he couldn’t keep quiet I thought you were exaggerating.” 

Farah smiles cheekily at you before pointing to the map of a mountain town surrounded by red Xs.

“My soldiers have marked off choke points all around the area. They’re the only pathways to the town, but heavily guarded.” She glances around the room and you hear her sigh heavily. “I wouldn’t have asked for assistance unless I knew I needed it. I’d prefer to leave foreign fighters out of this conflict, unlike my enemy.” 

“I understand,” your head shakes. “It’s your home—I’ll go where you need me to. John should be here in two days to assist.”

Farah’s face flashes with surprise, her full brows rising on her head. “Price is coming?”

You shrug and laugh, “he’s stubborn.” 

The woman chuffs before moving to fold her arms over her chest. “I think perhaps he’s more of a smitten husband, hm?” At the sheepish expression on your face and dipping eyes, Farah barks a laugh.

The band around your neck clinks into the stock of your gun as you stand to your full height. 

“Is it that obvious,” you tease, tilting your head to her. You knew it was.

“I believe the simple action of asking is proof enough, Lion.” The commander looks at her work on the table, smiling easily but focusing still on her plan of attack. “But, regardless, I give my thanks for flying out on such short notice.”

“We help our own.” Resting your hands on the body of your weapon, you smile fondly. “Now, who do I need to kill?” 

—

As it turns out, killing was the very baseline of what you needed to do. 

Shuffling into the dark armor of the dead Russian soldier at your feet, you grunt at the slick spread of blood on the ground as you strap arm braces to your limbs. 

“Heavy as all hell,” you grumble under your breath, picking up the large helmet and shoving it over your head with a puff of air. 

Farah was going to lead a distraction on the far side of the western choke point while you slipped into the ranks, placing packs of C4 in some of the large-stocked weapons buildings. Easy enough for you, you admitted. You’d done things like this a million times over. 

When all was said and done, slipping your knife into the new belt at your waist, you gaze down at the dead man with a huff of air; seeing the blood still pooling from the very obvious signs of a slit up the left armpit. You blink and stuff your wedding band down your shirt. 

“Bad day, buddy,” grabbing his legs, you bare your heels and drag the body behind a large outcropping of rocks—long streaks of crimson left behind. “I’d hate to be you right now.” 

Grunting, you drop the limp flesh with a thump like a paper-towel roll meeting the counter. 

Shuffling back into the open, your feet make tracks to get you closer toward your targets. You hike the small pouch Farah gave you farther up your back without a word more. 

John had always said you were quick-witted, but when he got here he’d lose that hat of his in disbelief. The truth was that you had forgotten what little of the Russian language you’d initially known, and the situation you found yourself in now was frankly not ideal.

C’mon Lion, you think to yourself, just pick up social cues and you’ll be good. 

Oh, your husband was going to lose his shit.

—

“Come again?” The Captain barks. “What do you fuckin’ mean she’s in the base?!”

“I just explained it,” Farah levels, raising a brow. Blue eyes narrow with a growl until the Commander's lips flicker in a smirk. “We just had word three minutes ago. She’s fine, Captain.” Fingers find John’s nose bridge, digging deep into the flesh in large exasperation and worry.

He had caught a C17 and came here a day early after he’d gotten a bad feeling—internal wife radar going off as it usually did when you placed yourself in danger without him. Which was more often than not.  

I told her not to be impulsive. 

John sighs long and low, shaking his head. “Farah…you sent her in alone?” 

“She is quite capable, Price.”

“I fucking…” He stops himself and puts his hands on the table in the center of the building. Men and women were snickering from the corners, sending amused glances. “I know.”

Farah sends a glance to her soldiers and they turn away to cover their smiling mouths. Enjoyment was in her tone as she grabs the walkie-talkie from the table top and clips it to her vest. 

“There were more men than we anticipated—she had to be more careful when placing the charges. Captain,” John glares up at her when his eyes leave the maps. The Commander teases, “She is fine.”

As if on cue, the radio fizzles with your voice. Farah looks down with surprise and the Brit's eyes snap to it immediately; body tense. 

There’s a moment of garbled static where the Captain feels his heart beating out of his chest. The panic that had snapped through him when you hadn’t come out to greet him when he’d landed was primal; genuine fear stuck in his bones like spiky grass. The bond the two of you had was closer than anything on this plane of existence. It was rare to not see one without the other.

Your voice cuts through and John’s shoulders sag under a non-existent weight.

“You should tell your men to move unless they want to be scorched, Farah!” The woman in the room smiles ferally and raises a smug brow as she looks at John. 

“Copy, Lion. You have my thanks.” 

“I didn’t know you could improvise Russian—it’s like the Slavic blood just entered my body!” The Brit covers his eyes with his hand and groans at the base of his throat. 

“Tell her to get her arse back here before she gets bloody shot.” John takes off his bucket hat and tosses it to the table with a gloved hand, punching his hair back from his forehead. “Giving me gray hairs,” he grunts. 

Farah laughs and says eagerly into the walkie, “Someone’s here to say hello.”

“...Oh, fuck.” Your panting breath clears and after a long glare at the device, John hears you say in a slow and awkward tone, “Hello, my Love!”

Farah tilts the radio closer to him and looks highly pleased. 

“Get back here. Now.” John grunts out, fingers digging into his arms as he crosses them. “I told you to wait for me.”

You laugh nervously, deflecting, “...did you, Dear? I guess I misheard you.” The Brit’s jaw clenches but Farah can speak before he can.

“Lion, are all the charges set, then?” You seem thankful for the distraction, sighing over the line.

“All good over here! I just need the O.K from your men and then it’s about to get a whole lot brighter.” 

“I’ll relay the news—get away, as far as you can.”

“Already on it,” your breathy chuckle exits and you pause before saying. “See you soon, Love!” 

Tiny blue eyes bug, “Wait–!” The line clicks off and Farah is already tapping into the frequency for her soldiers, turning slightly away to converse in quick Arabic. 

—

Evening rolls around and you jog back into the Liberation Force’s base, greeting the guards stationed with a breathless sigh; utterly sweaty but happy you’d gotten half a ride back from some locals. You’re back in your original gear, sear marks on your cheeks and hair slightly burned, but nonetheless unharmed. 

Everyone welcomes you back with handshakes and pats on your shoulders—brushes to your arm as people pass. You guide yourself back to the main building with chuckles and deep smiles of achievement. 

“Someone’s happy.” John’s voice freezes you halfway into the home and you cringe like a leaf. After a moment your eyebrows slide up with a cheeky smile.

“John,” you draw out his name and turn, seeing him leaning against the house with his arms crossed and legs stiff. He looks unimpressed in all of his handsome glory. “Well, don’t you look nice—did you trim your beard before coming out?” 

Walking slowly towards him, you loop your hands around his waist and press kisses into his neck sweetly. The man sighs long and you feel his large palms rest on your hips heavily. You blink innocently into his orbs. 

“Your silver tongue won’t work on me, Love.” The glint in his expression eggs you on as his nose tints down to touch yours. You smile brightly, seeing the wrinkles on his forehead dim as he melts into you easily. 

Whispering, you utter to the air, “I’d say you like my tongue, you brute. Tell me often enough.” Not a beat is missed, but you feel his cheeks go slightly red.

“Keep it on a leash and maybe I’d like it more, yeah?” You snort loudly, head dipping only to feel his lips press into your scalp; his smile is teasing as his beard drags against you. 

John breathes you in along with the scent of sand. One of his hands travels up to lock into the back of your neck, playing with the chain of your necklace. The one that mirrors his own down to the very dents and scratches. 

“You alright?” The words are a murmur into your flesh. You let him play with your wedding band as your smile softens to the same sensation of warm pelts on a wooden floor. 

There was no use telling you to stop your crusades, the Brit knew that. You did what you wanted and damn the consequences; John was stuck with damage control but knew you had the skills and know-how to break all odds. You still held that same fire that the woman he married wore like a crown of fangs without fail.  

“Always,” you reassure him, hugging his waist tighter and staring into his eyes.

The both of you lapse into a delicate hold. John’s arms cage you in and you’d have it no other way as fingers drag over warm flesh, never mind the brutal dig of gear or the stain of blood. Neither could keep you away from the other. 

“When will you stop making my heart rip out of my chest, Sweetheart?” John asks, smirking down at you. “Trying to give me a heart attack before forty, eh?”

“Oh, please,” you whisper against his lips, eyes alight with mischief as he watches you closely—pulse pounding against yours. He could never be angry at you. “We both know that if you have one, I’ll be having one too. We’ll end up being brain-dead at the same damn time, no doubt.” 

He laughs against you lowly, having to pull back to shake his head at your bland confession. “You’re fuckin’ mental, Love.” He breathes in soft puffs of breath. You gaze up at him, laced with affection and care, as he rests his forehead on yours. “Ah, but that’s alright, isn’t it? We’re all a bit crazy.” 

“You might be a little bit higher on the metaphorical scale,” you tease, face serious but eyes betraying you. They always would when it came to John; the only person to break through that ‘cunning nuisance’ that everyone always mentioned in your file. 

“Really, now?” He blinks, smirking and rubbing at your hip absentmindedly and leaning closer—pushing your neck to the side. 

“Just a bit,” you huff, not even realizing. 

Before you can utter another word, firm lips capture you like a beast in iron bars, bulky forearms stuck at the curve of your spine. You chirp into John’s mouth in surprise but melt into him as his large purr resonates into your bloodstream. Singing, you bring your hands to his cheeks, digging through those bristles to feel the burn on your hands. 

Humming, your husband nuzzles his nose into your cheek like a dog would, letting him take in your scent as you feel your legs go weak. You enjoy the worship he gives you; always would. Your body is tightly held against his own and you gladly would have shown him how much you enjoyed him being here if only for the small fact you needed to talk to Farah. 

With one last pass of his reddened lips, you slip back and kiss his bristly cheek with a chuckle. 

“Later.” 

He groans into you. “Tease.” 

“I didn’t even do anything!” You laugh loudly, moving out of his hold to walk into the house as he follows at your heels. John’s hands go to the top of his vest collar to rest. 

He leans down and whispers, “Don’t need to, Love.” 

Your face burns for him and only him as he grumbles out chuckles at your blown pupils. Huffing, you turn and roll your eyes, trying to dispel your flaming blood. Farah waits for you and with a happy glance up she comes from around the table and claps you on both shoulders. You grunt in surprise but grip her elbows with a laugh. 

“Barkov’s remaining cell was wiped out—my soldiers are hunting down the remnants as we speak.” She squeezes your gear and you sigh in relief. “Thank you, Lion, for coming out when you did. The Captain was not wrong in his assessment.” 

You turn your head to the side and glance back at John. “Hear that my Love, I’ve heard you talk about me. That’s so precious.” 

His face goes red under his beard, and his feet shuffle as you and Farah share a joking glance. John releases under-the-breath grumbles before the Commander addresses him. The woman releases you but speaks past your person.

“Some of my younger soldiers wanted you to mentor them with the use of their weapons, do you plan on staying the night?” You and John share a look, a seeming telepathic communication going on. 

He nods at you and you smile. “Only tonight, we ship out at first light. I’ll do what I’m able.”

“Then you also have my thanks. They’ll learn much, I’m sure. Lion,” John comes and gives you a kiss on the cheek before leaving. You watch him go for a moment before rubbing at your dirty neck while you listen to Farah. “Come with me, there’s fresh water on the roof.” 

“Oh,” you perk, suddenly realizing the fatigue in your bones and the dryness of your throat. “Thank you, that’d be great.”

As you both ascend the stairs to the roof, there’s a still silence that falls, a calm nothingness. When you finally stand on the flat roof, you look over the vast land as Farah hands you a chilled water bottle from a mini-fridge. You take it with a small nod in thanks. 

“Nice view,” you motion with the bottle before taking a long sip—downing half of it in one go. 

Farah smiles and hums. “Urzikatan is a beautiful place,” you listen and wipe at your mouth; seeing people walk the streets below as the red sun grows even lower. In the wind, your nose twitches to sand and dust, with some hint of floral notes and arid cleanliness. Farah’s face seeps with a low sadness when she looks out to the land and you pause your drinking. Brows pulling in, you watch her. 

“Farah?” You ask, carefully. It’s a moment before she responds.

“I…” She crosses her arms and sets her feet. “I wonder if this place will ever see its freedom. We’ve been fighting for so long already. My family has known war more than anything else.” Brown eyes drift to you from the side of her eye. 

There’s a tightness in your chest. You can’t imagine what Farah feels right now, what she has felt. Years of this…and still her home is under foreign subjugation. A frown grows on your face and you put the half-full bottle to the small wooden table near the roof’s corner. 

“You’ll get your sovereignty, Farah.” You try your best to speak your mind to the woman but remain truthful to your belief. Farah stares out as you sigh lowly. “Maybe not now—maybe not in this generation—but someday the sun is going to set on a free Urzikatan. You’re plenty strong enough to assure that and you’ve done a proper job so far. The frames are already set.” 

The Commander hums and gazes at her soldiers below as they mull about, laughing with each other and enjoying the company of their fellow countrymen.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?” Farah asks you, and you study her genuine interest in her own thoughts. “Who we would be if nothing ever happened to us.” 

You stare for a moment, skull tilting down to gaze at the top of the roof. It’s not an easy question to answer. 

“Sometimes,” your lips admit. Farch eagerly pivots to your form like you hold the greatest answer imaginable. She’s been through so much—losing her family, and her home. Humming, your eyes shift to the setting sun; blinking at it. Against all of this, your lips flinch up into a smile. “But not often.” 

Farah’s eager gaze turns confused, her brows furrowing deeply with a scrunched face. 

“Because right here, right now,” John walks down the street below, and your eyes fall to him as easily as a leaf dances to the ground. The expression on your face eases. “It couldn’t have happened if there were never bad days.” Your husband looks up, and you see him pause among the ranks of other fighters. You chuckle softly, head tilting to the side. 

John stares at you as if you’re the only person to exist, moving one hand from his vest to jerk two fingers in a subtle greeting. Farsh watches the interaction closely, tension loosening from her body. Your head nods slowly to your husband and you say to the woman, absent-minded, “I’m right where I need to be…And the sun has never looked brighter.”

Farah huffs a laugh, eyes running back and forth between the two of you. 

“He loves you,” she says, “deeply.” 

“God,” your laugh echoes, “I sure hope so.” The both of you laugh. 

It felt easy to speak to the Commander, truthfully. Being surrounded by four men all of the time can get catty even with such a strong bond as you had with One-Four-One. 

You dare to share more.

"In my mind, John and I are still in Hertfordshire for our wedding,” The words come out of you slowly, unwrapping emotions one layer at a time as if swaddled in a dark veil of internal nostalgia. You watch John as he walks along, oddly sad but filled with something that makes you want to take him up into your arms with a wet laugh. “Sitting back on the grassy hills outside of town in my gown and him in his tux. The wind is cold…but neither of us can find it in ourselves to shiver. The sun's setting on our heads and making everything glow gold. His fingers are running through my hair…” You pause and hear Farah’s soft breath in the air, but you don’t look at her. Your eyes stay stuck on one person only. “When I die,” your words continue, “I can't ask for anything more than just a glimpse of that again. Just a flicker of that hill. Of those blue eyes looking into mine. I don't think it would be all that bad if I could live in that moment for senseless eternity. If I could live in it for only one second." 

John looks back at you from over his shoulder, your form shrouded in the setting sun as he slowly walks away from you. You gaze with melted eyes, the ring around your neck shining all the brighter. 

“I’m right where I need to be,” finishing, you turn your glossy eyes to Farah, who stares with a wide pull to her lids. “And you need to believe that even if you never get to see that freedom—that hill—you’ll make sure someone else can climb it just an inch farther.” 

It’s a long moment before Farah answers.

“The both of you will do this until one of you dies, hm?” You blink before you shrug. 

“Not one.” Your tone is easy, and John’s shadow turns a corner; out of sight. “I’d never let him go without me.”

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[justamessedupdisneyprincess]

🗡️ 💙ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT BARLEY LIGHTFOOT💙🗡️

These are just my personal HCs. This is just a huge list or rather my personal wiki ALL about Barley. This list will have four different categories, the basics (birthday/sexuality etc), preferences (what he likes/dislikes), facts (random short facts about him), relationships (facts about his relationships with his friends and family) and history (facts about his childhood and high school years).

💙BASICS💙

He was born on the 3rd of August 2001

He is pansexual 🩷💛💙

He is neurodivergent

He is an extrovert

Dream job

His dream job would to become like a mercenary and go on many quests. Since that isn’t likely though he may become a mechanic.

Hobbies

His hobbies include: playing Quests of Yore, playing RPG video games, drawing (he is a traditional artist), writing (mostly poetry and songs but he has written some adventurous stories as well), playing guitar and writing his own songs, exploring and travelling in Guinevere, cosplay, LARPing, making and painting QOY figurines and miniatures to add to his games, fixing up broken things.

Talents

He is very good at drawing and painting traditionally but is hopeless with digital art, he can be a great actor as well, he is a surprisingly good cook as he did used to cook sometimes when Laurel was super busy or tired, he is a master of improvising and can work well with nothing but scrap.

Fears

He doesn’t fear much but he is afraid of the hospital, gelatinous cubes, and losing loved ones.

🥰Preferences😒

Loved food and drinks

He is a huge fan of junk food especially and he does also enjoy a lot of dairy. He loves a nice hearty meal. Some of his favourites meals are pizza (especially BBQ and ones with plenty of meaty toppings), burgers, burritos, nachos, pretty much anything with lots of cheese, roast meats and pies.

He enjoys some sweets too! He is nuts about chocolate and anything that is very chocolatey. He is also a big fan of doughnuts and pastries. He likes to drink soda and energy drinks. Overall his preferred diet may not look the healthiest.

His ultimate favourites are pizza, chocolate cake, fries covered in cheese, any sort of cheesy crisps like cheese puffs, any sort of cheesy snacks in general, fried griffin wings, roast ham, mountain doom drinks, Coca Cola and chocolate milkshakes.

Disliked/hated food and drinks

He is not a fan of anything that tastes bitter. He loved pretty much all chips and crisps but he isn’t a big fan of the ones that are vinegar flavoured. He dislikes most vegetables.

He especially hates meals that are nothing but vegetables, a warrior needs his protein he says! As for drinks he isn’t a huge fan of tea. He dislikes the taste of green tea.

Music

Barley LOVES rock and heavy metal! Electric guitar solos are his favourite. His loves a good rock opera as well.

Barley isn’t a fan of most pop songs. Occasionally he might find one he doesn’t mind though. He hates a song that is slow and quiet though. He NEEDS something he can bang his head to or play air guitar to.

Movies/shows

Barley of course loves ANY sort of adventure movie or series that has to do with olden days. He would be way into LOTR/Hobbit for example. He enjoys a lot of action but he does also secretly enjoy some romance because he is a softie (he won’t admit it though.).

He isn’t too fussy with genres but he isn’t a fan of anything that feels too sad. Because of that he may not be into post apocalyptic series (although he does enjoy the concepts of post apocalyptic) because he feels too bad for any of the characters that die. He can actually get shockingly emotional. He also doesn’t like ones that feel too slow, if not much is happening for a long while he gets bored easily, “where is the action?” He would say.

Books

Any classic old fairy tale or legend that was written back in the olden days. He likes stories about adventure but he doesn’t read much as he tends to be too busy with his other hobbies. He reads literally every QOY book or comic he can get his hands on though and always finds a way to make time for them! He also enjoys books that talk about history.

As for disliked books he doesn’t really have any so to say, he only focuses on the genres above and hasn’t tried any other. He thinks about trying out some more comics and even some manga someday though.

Style/clothes/furnishings

Barley obviously loves to rock an outfit that says “metal”. If a shirt has a print of a weapon or skull there is a high chance Barley will wear it. He isn’t too sure of wearing anything that might look a bit too cutesy though. He wants to look cool! The clothes he wears also has to be comfortable, he will never wear anything that isn’t.

He loves clothing and furniture with either a rocker’s vibe to it or something that looks old fashioned and mystical. He is not too fussed about colours but he does prefer darker colours over pastels, such as a dark blue, deep red or black. He loves to collect any old amour or weapons! He has grown quite the collection.

Barley is not a fan of a modern look or anything that is minimalist. One reason he dislikes a modern architecture is because it makes him feel like the world is drifting further and further away from its humble beginnings and as for minimalist he just finds it boring.

Activities

Barley loves all of his hobbies mentioned above but as for things he does not like to do, that would have to be a lot of chores. While he does love to draw and work on things to add to his game he actually isn’t into a lot of craft related activities. He enjoys colouring or things that are on paper but he doesn’t have the patience to sit still and knit or cross stitch. He is usually the type who is down for anything but he doesn’t do well in things that feel a bit too quiet, like yoga and meditation for example. He loves video games but he actually isn’t really into most cozy games as he personally gets bored from time to time, he loves the thrill of an adventure both in real life and in games! He isn’t a huge sports fan but he does enjoy playing some sport games from time to time, however he HATES fishing because he gets very impatient and bored.

📚Facts📚

Barley is a heavy sleeper, he can sleep through a hurricane! He also tends to be a night owl and can sleep in late at times. It is hard to wake him up!

As mentioned he loves to collect old amour and weapons, he has a huge collection now and he constantly wonders what adventures these old relics went on. He admires each and every one of them, even if some of them may be very rusty. He even gives them names just like he did with Guinevere!

He has an iron stomach, in both the sense he can handle gore and gross stuff shockingly well and he can eat slightly spoiled food or eat extreme amounts and be perfectly fine. Although he did have a few moments where he over did it. (It was mentioned in one of the Disney apps where he ate five buckets of fries and it didn’t end well). Regarding handling gross things or gore he can watch the most insane stuff, he can watch someone during an operation while snacking on cheese puffs just fine.

He actually secretly has a huge soft spot for animals, kids and cute things.

Barley doesn’t do a lot to take care of himself, he may avoid a shower every once in a while so he can focus on questing. On an average he showers once a day but it is not uncommon for him to miss just one day. This was implied in the movie as well.

Barley can sleep in his clothes just fine, he has even done that a few times if it’s been a long day.

Barley is a huge hugger and he gives the best hugs as well!

He may seem silly most of the time but he can be mature in other ways. While he seems impatient when it comes to what he is doing as of now he is very patient when it comes to others. Because of this he makes a great and understanding friend! He also tends to be very understanding and he never judges.

He has no fear of bugs, he just casually picks them up and lets them outside if they’re in the house. He has even held some huge spiders which always freaks out his family.

He isn’t the athletic type but he likes to go on walks, he takes his time and enjoys the scenery though, it’s not for exercise personally. He loves to explore new areas! He is very curious of the world around him and is thrilled to discover something new.

He actually knows how to play a lot of instruments and has studied music. He can read music notes as well.

When visiting a theme park he enjoys the extreme rides like roller coasters.

He is a huge fan of puns!

He loves riddles as well and likes to solve them and ask them. Although sometimes if you get it wrong multiple times he may drop a hint or two…usually in the form of ANOTHER riddle.

He is not only passionate about the past and preserving historical structures and relics, he often collects any litter he finds to help keep the streets clean enough. This is tied to his passion about the past as well, to keep the old kingdom clean of modern garbage. Sometimes he may find ways to repurpose the things he finds and has made some…bizarre things.

It’s not uncommon for Barley to help himself to a midnight snack. Depending on his mood sometimes he will snack on left overs from dinner or he might even make himself an ice cream sandwich.

He also has weird food habits. Some joke that he eats like a pregnant person at times! He gets cravings of things and they form into some bizarre combinations! He once made himself some toast and smothered it with ice cream for one example.

Barley is a big stress eater. He doesn’t normally get stressed though. (It was kind of implied in the movie when he tore through a bag of cheese puffs and went to get another snack when he got angry at Ian).

Barley is usually calm and cool but when he gets super angry he might punch at a few walls or posts. He has bruised his knuckles a few times when things got really rough.

Barley is the worst at lying, doesn’t matter what lie it is, what the circumstances are or who he may be lying too, he is just awful at it. (Was kind of implied in the movie as well at the beginning with Colt LOL)

Barley sometimes sings in the shower.

He has lots and lots of journals that are filled with his art, ideas and literature. He has so many scattered around him room and he probably has enough to make his own library. Sometimes he might just sit and doodle completely random things.

He is great at most mechanics related stuff but he struggles to understand a lot of computer related stuff.

Barley talks to himself when he gets nervous or impatient. So much so it can be like he has a conversation with himself at some stages.

He usually says whatever pops into his head. So sometimes he can be a little blunt and say things at a bad time. He rarely says things that are offensive though because he has a genuine and kind heart. The worst he may say is if someone is boring or a total buzzkill. (Usually towards Colt).

Barley will go out of his way to help a stranger in need. Like helping old people cross the road for example. If he sees a baby or kid crying he would usually try to make funny faces to make them laugh or cheer them up.

Barley has a FREAKISHLY good memory.

Barley may seem confident most of the time but if he gets a crush on someone he can actually be pretty shy about it to begin with. Basically he is all like: 😳🥺👉👈

🫂Relationships🫂

Ian

He obviously loves Ian a whole lot! They were very close when they were younger but when Ian went through puberty he sort of drifted from him for a moment before their big adventure took place. When his father died Barley was grieving heavily and Ian’s arrival helped him a whole lot! He is grateful to have him in his life and it’s all just one of the many reasons he loves him.

He feels a strong need to protect him no matter what! During school he would often go and check on Ian to make sure he was alright. When Barley graduated he has tried to sneak back into school just to make sure Ian was alright. This was also because Barley did have to deal with a few Aholes so he wanted to make sure Ian was ok. This of course embarrassed Ian greatly and a small argument did break out where Ian told him not to baby him anymore.

When Ian got his first facial hair Barley almost cried because his baby brother was growing up. He truely is like a brother AND father figure to him. It used to embarrass Ian as well because he made a huge deal out of it! “Did ya hear that? His little voice is breaking” “ugh….”

Barley has tried to play a few pranks on Ian before, usually by hiding behind a door and jumping out to scare him! It works every time. Although his main intention is to train him to be more alert and to have fun while doing it. It’s part of him lightly shaping him into being a warrior. He has gotten into trouble when Ian complained to Laurel though when his pranks went a bit too far, (not harmful at all! Just annoying and startling.).

When they were kids they played a lot! We have seen them go swimming, bike riding and play pillow fights! They often used to make their own pillow forts and watch tv together while snuggled up inside. Barley tried to play swords with Ian using sticks but Laurel quickly banned them from playing that game in fear of them accidentally hurting one another.

Barley actually used to get lots of nightmares about losing his dad when he was little and sometimes he has nightmares about his mother and Ian getting sick the same way Wilden was. He always goes into Ian’s room and watches him sleep for a while to make sure he is ok.

Laurel

Laurel loves Barley but is often frustrated with his recklessness, habits and the immature side of him. She can be strict with him but it is ultimately out of love, like “Look for a job!”, “Clean your room!”, etc.

Even though Barley is an adult she will still ground him sometimes. She says she has that power for as long as he lives under her roof. There have been a few times where poor Barley had his Quests of Yore campaign closed down earlier and she hides the box away somewhere for a while. A lot of Barley’s Quests of Yore friends think she is pretty scary.

It was hard losing her husband but it was also hard being a single mother. Because she had to work so hard it wasn’t uncommon for her to get home late from work. When Barley got a little older he used to help cook dinner when she got very tired of busy. Although he did used to make a huge mess of the kitchen, still Laurel couldn’t complain if it meant she didn’t have to worry about dinner so much. Barley is weirdly mature in some ways and immature in other ways.

Barley wasn’t able to spend lots and lots of time with his mother during childhood since she had to work twice as hard as a single parent. It is also part of why Barley was extra close with Ian because he was always there to play with.

When Laurel got stressed Barley used to try and cheer her up by telling jokes or making funny faces to try to make her laugh. It worked almost every time!

Colt

They aren’t exactly on the best of terms. Colt does care for Barley though since he is his stepson but Barley still cannot see him as his dad. For a while he felt angry because he saw him as a cheap replacement and had trouble understanding why Laurel suddenly wanted to start seeing someone else after so long. That feeling faded over time but he still isn’t fond of Colt.

Laurel and Colt met when Barley got arrested for one of his protests. He was completely baffled when his mother and the police officer started dating! After all he was like an enemy to him!

Colt tends to scold Barley a fair bit but he does still try to make an effort. Usually they still don’t see eye to eye though.

Barley was worried about Laurel getting her heart broken so he broke into Colt’s office at one stage to snoop through all of his stuff to find any sort of evidence. He found nothing that could prove he had any ill intentions though.

Sometimes Colt will start talking about something and it would be hard to make him stop. He hits Barley with a whole lot of “When I was your age” stories that tend to be very boring and they are often tied to some even more boring lecture as well.

Colt wants to be a good enough stepfather but has no idea how. He once asked Barley if he was interested in anyone and needed advice about that sort of stuff or if he had any questions. It was the hardest Barley has ever cringed in his WHOLE life!

Barley will sometimes stick his tongue at Colt when he or Laurel are not looking.

Manticore (Corey)

Barley is a HUGE fan of her and looks up to her a whole lot. He tends to be a big fanboy when it comes to her.

He sees her the way many others see celebrities and was actually a bit nervous when first getting to know his idol. He is always respectful around her but the first few months…perhaps even years…he has been a bit over the top. He would kneel before her constantly and always talk so formally even though they are technically friends now. Corey feels like she should tell him to just act natural but has no idea how too.

Barley frequently asks her to share some of her stories, as politely as possible of course. When she speaks he always watches her with a sparkle in his eyes, like an excited kid.

Barley usually says how she is like the coolest person in the world. Ian being in close second (which Ian always denies).

Barley did actually go to her tavern when he was only five years old. Laurel had an important meeting and lunch was being held there but she couldn’t find any babysitters at the time so she took her kids along. She had to do this more than once. Ian has no memory of being there but Barley absorbed every moment of it! The tavern was actually different back then, it looked more like how it did by the end of the movie but empty and worn down. Barley ended up wondering off for a moment and examined some of her old weapons and treasures. The manticore finds him and tells him a few stories about her adventures as he looked through her stuff. She seemed sad as no one else seemed interested anymore but was thrilled to see Barley showing interest and had to share her tales. Barley asked many questions about her old stuff and she was overjoyed to tell him everything! This is where his love for history and adventure began to grow. Laurel panicked when she realised Barley wondered off and Corey happily led him back to his mother who scolded him for wondering. The memory is a bit hazy now but Barley still holds onto that. Since it has been many years though Corey didn’t remember Laurel at all and she was just another customer at the time, since Barley grew up it was hard to recognise him. At some stage when Barley got a bit more comfortable around his hero he did tell her about it and asked if she remembered, this jogged her memory and her, Laurel and Barley had a good laugh over it whilst Ian stood there clueless as he was far too young to remember much about that day.

He felt sick when he saw the dramatic changes to her tavern halfway into the movie, with the gift shop and games and such. He felt as if his childhood was ruined in some ways! He hid it pretty well though. In the end he actually helped her come up with the idea of sharing her stories with her customers as an attraction like how we see in the end of the movie.

Shrub Rosehammer (a friend of his that was briefly mentioned in the movie and some books)

Shrub is a troll friend of his who is briefly mentioned. They both love quests of yore and play it together.

They met in kindergarten and had been good friends since. Barley was alone after just recently losing his dad. Most of the other kids ignored him as he sat alone but Shrub was concerned and asked if he wanted to play. Barley was a bit taken aback at first as he was still grieving but he was also surprised how someone at his school actually said something to him. Because of that he took the offer and they played during lunch break and their friendship grew from there.

Barley is like the wild card of the duo. Wild Shrub can get into mischief on rare occasions but he still isn’t nearly as chaotic as Barley and does try to avoid breaking some rules. He was what Barley would call a lawful good.

When Barley got himself into trouble Shrub would just chuckle a little, not in a mean spirited way but because he knew what was coming. Barley is so unpredictable that he has become predictable.

Barley is a lot more passionate and will go on rants about how old facilities of their ancient past are being torn down. Shrub just listens and lets him blow off steam. He would say “I agree that it sucks, but there’s nothing we could do.”. He didn’t really help Barley with that stuff in the sense of joining in on the protest. BUT he was somewhat supportive in the sense he would be like “Yeah that’s sucks. Hey man, did you wanna grab something to eat? I’m sure a doughnut or something will make you feel better.”

🏫History🏫

Childhood

Barley has an old teddy bear his father gave him before he died. It’s his most treasured possession and he still sleeps with it to this very day.

Barley would have had a lonely childhood if it wasn’t for Ian and a few friends he did have in school. He would sometimes feel upset about his father and felt robbed of his parents but just having Ian helped a whole lot.

He had to be independent pretty quickly. Laurel would often call for babysitters when needed but there have been a few times when they couldn’t get one and Barley had to take charge. Laurel was very stern about the rules of safety and repeated them to Barley literally thousands of times each and every time she goes out. She wanted to imprint them into his brain. Ironically though they were put into Ian’s head and he was often the one who reminded Barley not to do certain things.

Barley used to injure himself CONSTANTLY as a kid. He still does to this day but not nearly as much.

Barley was a super hyper kid who just wanted to play ALL the time, Laurel used to wonder how he never seems to get tired. Usually he would be bouncing around and then all of a sudden he will crash and fall into a deep sleep. There were no in between moments back then, his energy levels were just like a switch!

When Barley was little he wanted to be a knight but got his dreams crushed quickly by a teacher who told him there are no knights anymore.

High school years

Barley actually used to get bad pimples around the age of 13 to 16.

He had been picked on a little bit in school but it was nothing ever TOO extreme, mostly some name calling here and there. Although he still did get his feelings hurt from time to time. He used to do what he can to stand up for others who were being picked on. On rare occasions he did end up in a few fist fights against bullies.

Barley is incredibly intelligent! Although he struggles in subjects he has little to no interest in. His best subject was obviously history!

He used to struggle with chemistry, which he had insisted was just updated potion brewing…he used to get quite experimental with that sort of stuff and it usually would not go too well. He would also often complain about the “unnecessary modern equipment” that just felt like it made things far more complicated than need be.

Barley used to try and explore every single inch of the school to try to find any hidden secrets, it did used to be an ancient castle after all. He would make note of anything he felt was interesting or perhaps even a potential key to a hidden chamber.

Barley would sneak lots and lots of snacks into school. He always had lots of gum and it used to drive some of the teachers crazy!

💙thanks so much for reading! I plan to do other characters in the future as well! At some stage. This took so long to make.💙

[slowd1ving]

hello!! Your fic is so cool and if your request is open, can I request DG x male reader when DG still in his James lee era while reader is the King of Busan

XENIA ゜゜・DG

Xenia, noun: the classical concept of hospitality to strangers. This, unfortunately, includes a wandering dog and his conniving owner—a most irritating, tooth-grinding conundrum the King of Busan has with Charles Choi and his boy-genius. sorry for the wait anon I was away from my laptop for the past week or so! and I couldn't write :'( first meetings and onwards for this particular work haha chicken and egg problem.. haha introspection on business and corruption... haha capitalism pairing: dg (james lee) + male reader warnings: male reader, canon typical violence, arguing (bickering) wc: 3.3k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

In the lengthy chronicles of Charles Choi’s grand plan—to mould the precarious South Korean underground into something far more profitable—James Lee finally came across his very own cause-and-effect conundrum. 

What came first, the chicken or the egg? Plutarch initially posed this question in The Symposiacs: a symbolic tug of war between creator and creation. James supposed, in his bored sort of way, that this question described the relationship between cities and Kings as well. Chronically, objectively, the cities existed first—tall structures and unique ecosystems that forged shadowy figureheads to rule the violent underbelly. But poetically, it was rather hard to ignore the hands etching—pummeling—a pathway for the power to flourish. Without those in charge, what were the cities? And without the cities, who were the people in charge?

Parsing the matter, it distilled into who influenced whom.

Of course, the dazzling sprawl of Busan refracting from the glass under his feet was no exception. Even he, who satiated his youthful wanderlust with blood on his fists, couldn’t deny his reluctance to sully this city more. But, what did it matter? The second most important city in South Korea (some would froth at the mouth and argue it was the first for its gateway to Eurasian trade, or at least for its world-class ports) was built from perfectly respectable trade; but alack! it was also protected by its snarling underworld. It had already been befouled: polluted by fists no better than his, trodden by legs more filthy than his own. Blood and toil smeared its golden sand, and its money was just as dirty.

 Sure, the city was propped up by honourable (hah) commercial deals, but it was shielded by the illicit ones. 

A defiled aegis, if you would.  

It was clear the current glitzy glamour of Busan night-life was carefully orchestrated by someone: from the specific mouthfeel the night air had, to the businesses that ran late into the witching hours. Those mythical beings and chaebols who fed and extracted money from this place, in endless loops, were culpable for these towering skyscrapers and glittering lights. 

Creators. 

In turn, the city cradled your grimy little body—chubby hands wrapping around index fingers of the metaphorical hounds—and made you. 

Did this metropolis represent you, or did you represent the metropolis?

It was not in a polite setting that James Lee scouted the venerable King of Busan: arguably the second most esteemed figurehead for the Kings of South Korea. In theory. In theory, since Busan’s reputation as a hub for trade and exalted trade (rather than the mere cold, hard cash ill-reputed other cities offered Choi) entwined with your own. Except, in practice, you were a far more reticent King than anyone could imagine. A shadow to fade into obliquity more than any other shadow. 

Underbelly, yes. This was the turf you were most at home in; he could forget all about the glamorous, illegal casinos in basements, he could forget about eavesdropping on business moguls and their lackeys, he could forget about waiting in the entertainment districts for the proverbial snake to finally rear his head. 

You were the fucking microcosm of this city: draped with expensive fabric and chainmailed with gold, but the blood on your knuckles stank of impurity. In a parking lot nestled on the outskirts of Busan, he witnessed the King in his court: complete with the luxury, the opulence, and the hamartia of brutality that came with capitalism. Yes, Busan had minted you as a shadowy side to a glitzy coin—as your eyes snapped to where he lounged against concrete, he couldn’t help but observe how your imaginary hackles raised. 

Thwomp. Casually, you tossed the grunt beaten black-and-blue to the frigid asphalt, with the magnanimity of tossing breadcrumbs to ducks in a pond. Like the lackey was the bread and James fucking Lee himself was the duck. A bloodied cheek squished into his sneaker, but you merely stared at him owl-like. No, cat-like, because it seemed to be the same nonplussed stare a cat would give someone after bringing them a dead rat. 

“Nice city.” Since you clearly had no intention of speaking first. Deftly, his fingers unravelled the mystic plastic of a lollipop: popping the cherry-flavoured candy into his mouth to soothe the acerbic irritation he tasted. “You treat all your guests like this, or do kings not follow xenia anymore?” 

It was a rather futile attempt to lighten the mood. After all, if he could help it, he’d rather negotiate to pave the way for the second generation before resorting to throwing his fist. No, that was a lie. His flexing fingers wanted nothing more than to curl into a fist to let off some of the steam he’d garnered from searching for you in this uselessly big city, but fate had him making stupid jokes based on The Odyssey he’d read just last week for his Classics competition. If he rummaged in his pocket, he could probably find the gold medal clanking against hard sweets. 

Your expression changed minutely—a slight disturbance in your brows. They furrowed, and for a brief moment James Lee thought his joke fell flat. With all the blood soaked into your expensive garb, maybe you just valued fists over Homeric hexameter. Violence over prose. Brawns over brains. You slinked like shadows. Crude. Ominous. He could barely see your face even with the city lights flashing neon in the backdrop, but when your loping gait came to a halt, there was an exasperation that afforded more subtle nuance to your character. A bitterness to tinge what he thought was mindlessness. 

“Mr. Lee.” Your voice curled low in your throat, as quick and elusive as mercury, and perhaps just as poisonous. Shadow King of Busan, the man who never introduced himself to you noticed. Silence was golden, and he suddenly understood why Charles Choi so badly wanted sway over the young King in charge of this port city. “I hope you’re aware that beating my subordinates would invalidate any sort of hospitality between us. You’re no god amongst men either, so ritualistic hospitality is a very weak premise to coerce my amiability with. Try again.”

Deity in the flesh. Perhaps James Lee was the closest thing to breaking the limits of humanity, but all men were fallible. That wasn’t what caused his brow to rise though; going in blind may have been risky, but it was worth it to find someone with a silver tongue like this. 

You looked about his age—treading on the precarious cusp between First and Second Generation, fists stained as red as his hair—but you spoke as if you were triple your years. 

“You wanna transfer to my school? It’d be fun to have you in the Debate Club,” he said on a whim, but it wasn’t really a whim either. His instructions were expressly to negotiate with Busan—the city was far too volatile to create a power vacuum in. For cities like Ansan, struggle was welcomed; but Charles Choi had too little of everything to contend with Busan, of all places. Just like in Seoul, the situation would resolve itself, and it was far too soon for the HNH Group to meddle in a place like this. “You talk like a teacher.”

His tone was as syrupy as his candy, but there was half-provocation, half-probing-curiosity entrenched in his cadence. Go on, it coaxed, throw a punch. Argue back. Unorthodox was his means of securing cooperation, but he’d have to be a little unorthodox to secure the deal old man Choi had painstakingly written out. A contract between Elite and the capricious man before him, between HNH Group and the microcosm of Busan himself; it sounded like every capitalist’s wet dream. 

“Good question, kid,” you smiled, but it was less of a smile and more of a sneer as you ghosted closer to him. Kid, like you weren’t one yourself. 

Crack. You stepped, heavy, on the hand of the man you’d pummelled—only his unconscious groan of pain re-alerted James to his existence. “The term isn’t over. You should still be in school. Playing around like this makes me far less likely to listen to whatever you’ve followed me for. Try again.”

The thick scent of metal invaded his personal space as you peeled your black gloves off; the rings beneath them were tinted with the blood that had seeped through the material. Just like that, you callously tossed the garment onto the slumbering man under your feet—though he truly wasn’t sure whether it was a final affront to a beaten man or throwing down the gauntlet towards James Lee himself. 

It was a reminder, once again, to not be hasty. There was the real possibility of fucking Charles Choi several times over if he didn’t get this right, but the thought of his imminent doom didn’t seem all too unappealing. On the contrary, he found his heart beating faster—pulse hot on his tongue as an intriguing challenge presented itself before him. 

“I’m sure your informants have relayed more intel than just my name,” he mirrored the jagged stretch of your lips. The Legend of the First Generation. The Genius. The original, associated with the base moniker of the Ten Geniuses to show just how unparalleled James fucking Lee was. “Take a guess as to how my scholastic life is going, then consider the opportunity that I’m bringing you.”

Ambiguous. His words were dusted with just enough information to seem straight to the point, but vague enough that it was tantalising. A hook to ensnare the snake of Busan himself. And rather than sating the itch in his fists, he found himself looking forward to a parley instead. 

You studied him, appearing to consider his words seriously. Syllables phrased like he was the one with the upper hand, when in fact the HNH group was still tentatively unfurling and in the process of negotiations with both yakuza and Triad alike. He awaited your favourable response, hearing the stats roll into your mind as you calculated the preliminary gains and losses to joining hands with Charles Choi. 

Bloodied fingers tapped a rhythm into your jacket absentmindedly. He watched, anticipating your invitation. 

“Fuck off.”

“Huh?” he spluttered. Maybe he misheard you. Maybe he finally choked on his candy and induced a coma in which he was now dreaming of your response. 

“Your boss sent a high-schooler to broker a deal with Busan.” Your fingers now drummed in irritation against your forearm, but he was just as irritated. He took care of every other prefecture and province, only to have this guy who was his age, nonetheless, tell him his presence wasn’t good enough. Like, what? “Tell old Choi to come himself to negotiate if he wants any sort of foothold in my city. If he truly wanted a respectable contract, why would he send you as a messenger?”

“Excuse me?” If he wasn’t restricted from fighting you—the only exception was valid self-defence—he would’ve made the asshole in front of him eat shit. Alas, Choi wasn’t that generous or lenient. “He sent one of the Ten Geniuses, the primero, for this. I’m one of his greatest assets.”

“Are you a damn car or a person?” you snapped, and it suddenly felt as though he was looking upon an ancient wizard as he lectured a troublemaker outside his tower. His eyelid twitched, and he was finding it quite hard to keep a cool head. “Talking about assets… can’t believe Choi’s sent the guy who’s fucked up all the smaller provinces to deal with us.”

The latter sentence was more grumbled to yourself; it appeared he annoyed you just as much as you annoyed him, which he found a delighted satisfaction in. 

“Tell Elite to come himself,” you uttered finally, not even letting him get in a word edgeways as you ambled back into the shadows—not even sparing a glance for the pile of bodies left in your wake. 

And despite his objective, despite the imminent yelling he’d no doubt face, he couldn’t help but stare at your blood-soaked coat fluttering in the frigid coastal wind. 

Out of hatred, obviously. 

・゜゜・

Charles Choi was a conniving bastard. You already knew it, but seeing him in the reception hall really drove the image home. He was polite, a little too polite; yet as soon as you slid that manila folder across the mahogany table, his demeanour prickled into something knife-like. 

Snake of Busan, you were nicknamed, but this guy was something else entirely. Once he sank his teeth into your determination to keep Busan flourishing, you could practically see his pupils contract into thin slits. Of course you’d dealt with tricky deals. Weaving through negotiation as though it were a riptide was how you clawed your way to the very depth of Busan’s underworld—navigating until you finally found that crown mired in cess. 

Or, more accurately, it was Miss Crystal Choi who’d pierced her venom right where it hurt. A Genius of Business, her father had called her—and boy, did it take all your wit to match her expertise in trade. 

But did he really have to bring that guy along?

The scion of the Geniuses was also in your office, leaning against the wall far behind Elite and his daughter. And though nobody asked for his input—not even old Choi spared his prodigy a glance—it still irritated you to no end that he’d tagged along. A bright, cheerful grin cast the sun against the city nightlife on the top floor of your building—one directed right at you, considering the only other two people he knew had their backs facing him. Quite the foolish move, but you weren’t one to concern yourself with people who were basically daylight robbing you. If the dog they’d raised bit them, all the better.

Or maybe he was beaming right at your bodyguard-turned-assistant, who stood discreetly in the shadows of the blinds: slatted light gently cresting over his tall build. Well. It certainly was one of the less strange things Mr Lee had done.  

Still, for someone who’d been glaring at you just a week ago, the change felt far too eerie to ignore. 

“—and onto the temporary personnel exchange section—” A feeble attempt to pry open the walnut that Busan was, which would only end with the unfortunate bastard failing. You’d choose a loyal subordinate, they’d select someone who was doomed to only grunt work—far from the impenetrable fortress of this building. Boredly, you tapped the pen on the contract, before freezing up at Miss Choi’s next words. “—we’d like to recommend James Lee to transfer to this office.” 

A pen snapped, and ink spilled onto the page. Dumbfounded, you barely registered her sliding over a fresh sheet, as though she knew full well this would happen. 

No, it was no recommendation. Her very mention of his name was a forceful shove of him into your office. No wonder he was grinning like the devil. No wonder he was here in the first place. At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to leave Busan behind. 

Your eye twitched. 

He kept smiling—an ominous prelude to the brimstone and fire you were sure to experience promptly.  

・゜゜・

“Aren’t I a better bodyguard than that useless one you keep around?” 

James Lee had been a bit too quiet these past few days; duly loping around behind the lower-ranked subordinates as they made their rounds, never crossing the proverbial line when you’d handed him his duties as interim grunt. Though, whenever you passed him, his eyes followed the shadows of your fluttering hem—two pinpricks of an arid glare sweeping on your back. 

But James Lee was a dog, and whatever command Elite gave him, he’d obey. Heel. Roll over. Serve under the King of Busan for a month. A jester, if you would, with a leash around his neck that kept drawing more and more blood from him. What were the limits? Just how far would he go for the man with a crimson shadow?

“No,” you said. He stood, far too proud, on a summit of lackeys that had been sent your way by one of the companies who’d attempted to cheat their way to getting a more favourable deal. It would’ve been a simple ambush—one doomed to fail—fated to end with you tossing blood-soaked gloves right on them before you postponed the meeting you were on your way to. 

But not today. It appeared the limit of the dog of Elite was passing up petty competition with the man two paces behind you.

“Unlike you, Song’s actually pleasant to listen to.” Yes, Song wasn’t the most useful of bodyguards point-blank, but it wasn’t like you particularly needed someone to take care of protecting you. He made people lower their guards. And he made a mean cup of tea. “I don’t have any use for you, so you’re still worse.”

“Semantics,” he shrugged. “I made your life much easier, did I not?”

He was smart. Too smart, but you already knew that from the intel that had not yet been erased. Hushed up, because of course Elite would painstakingly conceal his cards. 

And unfortunately, you were always drawn to a risky hand. A pleasure far removed from the mundane violence of your everyday life—a heart-pounding thrill of betting all your chips in a hazardous (though not desperate) gamble. 

“Maybe.” For it was one day removed from the multitudes of late meetings and burdensome glove changes. Your hands weren’t seeped in oily red, sliding and dripping onto your expensive clothes that were tailored—though still felt so fucking ill-fitting that it made you sick—right to your body. 

You considered the man toeing carefully past the dogpile located against a cargo container: donning what could’ve been your life. A beige school uniform, pinkie slightly indented from books and study, pen marks still dotting his fingers. Closer. He ambled lazily to your direction, and as he approached with the dying sun behind him, you could see his smile. Just as languid as the day you first met him, and just as irritating. 

Closer. Strawberry candy laced the iron odour, though you could faintly taste lemon in the profile too—testament to the yellow wrapper stuck crudely on one of the men. Closer—he was far too close now, standing chest to chest while he stared directly at you. 

If there was one thing that came from this ill-fated encounter, it was probably the permanent furrowed brows that decorated your perplexed face—the bloodhound had been reduced to this fluffy thing demanding your attention. 

And it was just as unfortunate that your impression had been chipped away for him too—a King whose expressions were utterly delightful to witness. A straight mouth, grinning ever-so-slightly when a deal went your way. A routine rhythm to your biro tapping your notepad. Eyes that shone with practical constellations as you breathed the briny air of the port in. 

A particularity to the way you treated others, steely to the strong, awkward with the weak. So utterly flustered, when it came to tiny kids tugging on your long coat, or the grandmas you lent your arm to on the streets. If he had to compare it, he’d attribute your personality as a non-Newtonian fluid: your very own mix of cornstarch and water. Tough with pressure, all soft without. 

Like now. 

“Come on,” he whined. Psychologically, he was doing a damn good impression of pitifulness—even if you’d just witnessed him commit a beatdown so one-sided that you could feel the second-hand pain. And little by little, he was watching you falter: breath caught in his throat as he watched your brows default to their furrow once more. “I saved you a good few minutes, didn’t I? Don’t tell me Busan can’t even acknowledge hard work and effort.”

“Fine, whatever,” you crumbled just like that, under the heavy weight of his triumphant eyes. “Good job.”

So cute, he thought, then froze almost immediately the moment the words came to mind.

Fuck. 

・゜゜・

[inazumass]

TAGS: Laios x Reader, Fluff, Comfort, Morning After, Canon Adjacent, Neurodivergent Laios Implied, Trust Issues, Mild Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reader is a Beastman, Gender Neutral Reader, Second Person POV, It's Sweet I promise ;-;

While there was no doubt in your mind that you had crossed a boundary with Laios, it wasn’t like you could turn back now.

Part II to Animal Attraction Word Count: 8.8k

Morning came with little fanfare. 

This deep below the surface, there was neither the sun to rise nor any birds to sing their early morning songs. If it weren’t for the party keeping track of time, you wouldn’t have been able to tell if it were night or day based on your surroundings alone. Hours passed without the help of the sun to guide you through the day; morning slipped into evening without notice. Days passed on the surface, lives went on, and the clock in your bedroom still ticked onward without anyone to watch its hands creeping across its face. 

The lack of sunlight was disorienting in the early days of adventuring, but curiosity ultimately won out, and you’d pressed on and learned to live with it.

As you began to stir beneath the sleeping bags, it was the chill in the room that hit you first. 

Beneath the covers, it was nice and warm, but your cheeks stung, rosy from the crisp air filtering in from outside the worn building. Shivering slightly, you snuggled in closer to the warmth behind you. Scruffy ears lay closer to your head, aching from the cold already. Though it had settled down some since last night, it was that sort of bleak, damp cold that had a way of working itself into your bones. It would have been enough to make your fur stand on end if it weren't for the heat surrounding the rest of your body.

While your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, you could feel the soreness creeping into your muscles from last night. The realisation that it hadn’t been a dream came rushing in, along with the dull ache in your muscles. Heat crept into your cheeks when the memories of last night began to flood your mind. The images of your little rendezvous were still so clear and fresh—every whispered word, every tender touch; the way he looked with his head thrown back against the pillows… every little sound he’d made that had butterflies swirling in your stomach.

It would be a lie to say that the thought of an intimate night with your party’s leader hadn’t crossed your mind before, but sitting here in bed the morning after, you still found it hard to believe. The weight of the realisation settled over you slowly, mingling in with the comforting warmth of the man next to you. His strong arm was still wrapped around your torso, holding you close even as he slept. It was gentle, innocent in comparison to the shameless images that whirled in your mind’s eye.

While there was no doubt in your mind that you had crossed a boundary with Laios, it wasn’t like you could turn back now. His breaths came steady against the back of your neck, oblivious to your inner turmoil as he slept soundly next to you. The subtle rise and fall of his sturdy chest was a steady rhythm against your back. 

You were careful not to wake him up as you turned your head toward him, gently shifting your body so you could catch a glimpse of his face. 

The adventurer’s cropped hair was a mess atop his head, the short, fluffy blond strands sticking up every which way against the pillows. He looked so sweet like this: content and peaceful. Soft pink lips parted slightly as he breathed, eyes closed, as he rested beside you beneath the worn sleeping bags. Pink cheeks and soft lips—under different circumstances, you weren’t sure you’d be able to resist kissing him awake.

Your stomach twisted. A big part of you worried about how he might react when he woke up.

You knew Laios was notoriously bad at reading social situations, and this was certainly a complicated one. This was new territory for both of you, and there was no telling what he might think of you now. Or what the others might think of you should they find out, for that matter. 

Then again, you knew him well enough to know his kindness. Even in the short time you’d been with their party, it was clear that he cared deeply about everyone on his team, yourself included. Whatever happened next, you would find a way to face it with as much grace as you could muster.

He’d always done his best to ensure the safety of his friends. He knew your strengths, your weaknesses, the best of your abilities, how to utilise them properly when it came down to it, and the areas where you could all improve if you just practised a little more. 

Laios knew what he could and couldn’t handle too, for the most part. But what if this one slip-up was enough to offset the delicate balance they’d all spent so long maintaining? What if this was beyond his limits? There was no telling what he might say after the fog of desire had lifted, when the dust settled and it was just the two of you laying naked together with everything out in the open.

The mixture of emotions was nigh on overwhelming. In another situation, you may have been poised to run already, to slip away into the morning sun and forget this ever happened, no matter how badly you wanted to stay. A walk of shame felt easier than facing the fact that it was more than just physical on your part. You had to take a deep breath to calm yourself down. Eyes closed, four seconds in, four seconds out. 

At very least, the rest of the party seemed to still be asleep. 

As hard as it was to hear through the stone walls of the old inn, you were certain that, with your sensitive hearing, you’d at least know if someone else happened to be awake already. There was no stirring yet. If anyone else were up by now, then you would have heard it. You would have heard Marcille trying to wake Izutsumi, the scrape of Senshi’s pan scraping across the wooden floorboards, or perhaps Chillchuck’s distant grumbling… but there was nothing.

The cavern outside was quiet, save for the distant dripping of water echoing through the tunnels—most likely the snow already beginning to melt. You’d have to remember to put on your warmer clothes when you got up to brave the day. 

You shifted slightly, trying to stretch your sore muscles without disturbing Laios. As you moved, his arm instinctively tightened around you. He could feel the warmth of your body against his, and it made him reluctant to break the peaceful silence that enveloped the room. Finally, he found his voice, still heavy with sleep, and murmured, "Good morning.”  

When he finally broke the stillness in the room, you could feel the way his voice rumbled up from deep within his chest. His voice was low and intimate in a way that made your heart twist in your chest. That lazy morning drawl you were rarely fortunate enough to hear. When he blinked himself awake, you were met with a tired version of his signature puppy dog gaze. The way he looked at you was as if he were taking everything in for the first time.

"Morning," you replied breathlessly, your heart skipping a beat as he opened his eyes. 

He felt your body tense slightly in response, a subtle movement that made his heart ache. 

Golden and warm, his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as he offered you a lopsided smile. The expression was familiar and unfamiliar all in the same moment; that soft look had your breath catching in your throat. But there was something new within them—something different in the way he looked at you now—that strange something that comforted you and set you on edge in the same moment. 

The feeling of the tallman’s thick bicep curled against your waist was like a lifeline, keeping you tethered to this moment before you slipped too far into the whirlwind of self-doubt that threatened to overtake you. That gentle embrace which kept you pinned against the firm muscle and soft fat of his chest so comfortably. 

His musky scent flooded your nostrils, dizzying you in a way you couldn’t describe. You could feel the firmness of his muscles and the softness of his chest and stomach against your body. You wanted nothing more than to nuzzle back into him and fall back asleep right then and there, to deal with the aftermath of last night’s activities some other time. 

There was no running away now.

There was a small voice in the back of your mind that nagged at you, begging you to just up and ask. Would your little slip-up change anything between the two of you? A tiny piece of you hoped that it would, but knowing that the others could wake up at any moment, you thought better of asking. Better to keep your mouth shut for the time being.

You couldn’t help but look away from him then, finding the worn sleeping bags covering your still-naked bodies much less polarising than the thoughts racing through your mind. Some of the threads were frayed, sticking out at odd angles to show just how well loved the equipment was. 

The discomfort must have been obvious on your face because Laios's expression quickly shifted from drowsiness to a mixture of confusion and concern as he came to fully. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

He could see the mixture of emotions in your eyes—comfort, affection, and a hint of uncertainty. It mirrored his own feelings—that strange blend of comfort and anxiety, teetering on the brink of something wonderful and terrifying all at the same time.

Laios felt the gentle weight of your hand resting against his chest lift. His arm lay against your waist, palm flat against your hip as he held you close. To him it was your touch that was like a lifeline, keeping him tethered to this peaceful moment, to you. But when he realised something was off his arm loosened around your body before he moved to sit up in bed and ultimately, let you go completely.

"I'm fine," you reassured him with an awkward smile, making no move to pull away from him. The words felt wrong on your tongue, nearly catching in your throat before you had a chance to spit them out. Lying to him didn’t come easy, nevermind the fact that he could see right through you.

As much as you wanted to address the so-called elephant in the room, perhaps the two of you were right the night before. 

Maybe it would be better to pretend none of it ever happened, or maybe you were just fooling yourself. Perhaps it would be easier to rebuild that wall. Less heartache in the long run. 

"Just a bit sore." You added, it was a half truth.

His brow furrowed with worry immediately, realising something was off but unable to put his finger on what exactly. His thoughts began to race as he replayed the events of last night in his mind, nearly wincing at the thought of your halfhearted protests. "Did I hurt you?" 

Despite the stubborn thoughts from some frightened corner of your mind, you couldn’t help but soften at the way he looked at you. His drowsy eyes now widened against his hard features, his big hands flexing against the bed sheets as he tried to decide whether to reach out to you again or to stay still and give you your space. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he’d hurt you, even if it were by accident in the heat of the moment.

His eyes searched yours for a second, looking for any further signs of distress, but there was something there that he couldn’t quite read. By the time he caught it, you’d already ripped your gaze away again, looking down at the bed.

You shook your head quickly and sat up on your elbows, careful to cover whatever was left of your modesty with the bedding. 

“I’m okay,” You repeated, “Really. I…” You paused as your thought trailed off, the words getting caught in your throat this time as you looked up at him again.

You placed your hand over one of his on the bed, squeezing it lightly. 

Who were you kidding? When he looked at you like that, it was impossible not to tell him what was on your mind. After your heart-to-heart and all the little conversations you’d shared over the journey thus far, it would be wrong not to offer him that same trust in return. Perhaps some walls weren’t so easily rebuilt.

Deep breaths again. You looked away from him for the third time this morning. It was easier to get the words out when you couldn’t feel the burn of his eyes against your skin. 

“I’m just not really used to… uh… this?... y’know?” 

The words hadn’t quite come out right, if not a little awkward, but at least he was pretty sure he understood the gist of what you were alluding to. It was enough to get your point across, enough to ease the tension in his shoulders as his thumb rubbed against the back of your hand.

You didn’t know what to call the situation at hand, but putting it at face value, you weren’t exactly prone to sleeping with your coworkers. Sure, there was a little crush here and there, but that was natural.  Certainly, before him, you’d never even considered sleeping with one of your bosses , especially not on a job this important. 

Yet here you were, hand in hand, wondering where the hell to go from here.

Laios nodded slowly, the tension in his face easing a little. Although he couldn’t see in the dark as well as you could, he could see the way you cowered slightly as you said the words. He could see the way that you seemed to want to curl in on yourself again. He recognized that look from last night’s conversation—vulnerability wasn’t something that seemed to come easy to you.

Perhaps the others didn’t give him enough credit when it came to being able to read those he was close to, or maybe it was your more animalistic tendencies that were more familiar to him that made it easier. He wasn’t sure.

There was something in the way your fuzzy little ears flattened against your head—that sheepish, downcast gaze—that stirred something behind his sternum. With a stance like that, he’d be willing to bet you’d have had your tail between your legs in any other position, ready to bolt. He paused for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts, before he offered up a soft admission.

“Me either.” 

It may not have seemed like much, but it was honest. He was looking away from you now too, his fingers slowly threading themselves through yours on the bed as he tried to find the courage to continue. 

For once, the quiet was getting to him; he wanted to hear your voice. That gentle tone you had in the early hours of the day threatened to lull him back to sleep. He’d always had trouble pulling his stare away from you when things were calm, though you and everyone else had simply chalked it up to his fascination with monsters and beasts. 

Lightly, you brushed a thumb over the back of his hand in return. It was an unconscious gesture, but that small show of comfort was enough contact to ease him into what he had to say. After all, it stands to reason that you’d already gone this far. He figured, what’s one more confession?

“I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with… this sort of thing either.” The blond admitted, nervously running his free hand through his tousled hair. It came to rest on the back of his neck for a moment, rubbing his muscles before he dropped it back down to his lap and picked at the fraying strings on the covers. 

He needed something to occupy his hands and keep him calm. Something to distract him from the way your attention settled over him now.

Sure, he wasn’t entirely clueless. He had been engaged at one point, after all.

It was completely different, though, probably not something he could compare this situation to even if he wanted to. It had been so long ago that it felt like another life, a blip on the timeline. Something that had been done to appease his parents for the time being. Something to keep the peace—if you could even call it that. 

It wasn’t as if he’d had any sort of long term relationship aside from that—hell, he hadn’t wanted one.

Still avoiding your stare, he forced himself to swallow the lump forming in his throat at the thought of what he was about to say to you. 

"About last night…”

You tensed beneath his grip, your blood practically running cold at those words. 

Nothing good ever followed a start like that, and you knew it. Though you weren’t particularly well versed in the way of one night stands, or romance for that matter, you had read that line countless times in novels before. You knew that nothing good ever came next. 

Even when you felt your throat tighten up, you swore to yourself that you would not permit the tears to sting your eyes. Not today, not now. 

You’d told yourself that if rejection came, you would find it within to accept it with grace, you could feign indifference. Stick to the plan and put on a brave face for the sake of all that you’d built with the group in your short journey alongside them. For the sake of the mission and your safe return to the surface.

Laios cleared his throat quietly, still trying to force the words up out of himself. 

“I want you to know that I care about you.” He added, and you looked away from him again. 

His eyes were soft. Pity , you thought. You couldn’t stand it, the thought threatening to have bile rising in your oesophagus. He must have felt sorry for you. Part of you wanted to scoff at him and tear your hand away, but you remained still. 

With grace, you reminded yourself.

“I know,” you replied quietly, hesitant to reciprocate his sentiment in fear of what came next.

Those words were sharp against his chest. Not exactly callous, not quite cold, but not what he’d expected either. The edge to your words cut deeper than he expected, leaving him questioning everything.

They sent a million different calculations running through his mind in an instant. Did he misunderstand your intentions somehow? Was he reading too much into all of this? Again, he found himself searching for the answers in your form. However, you had turned away a little bit more, your gaze hardening as you stared at the wall opposite the bed. 

He couldn't read your face now. It was as if you were poised to run away for real this time. Though you hadn’t yet let go of his hand, it felt like a physical barrier had been erected between you. Laios couldn’t read your expression anymore, and the uncertainty was maddening. It was like you’d shut down before he’d even begun. He was terrified he’d pushed you too far. Was he fucking this up entirely? 

“No, I don’t think you do.” He said it softly, struggling to keep his tone light. 

It wasn’t an accusation, but merely a fact.

There was a new edge to his voice, though, bitterness seeping across his tongue when he spoke despite his best efforts to keep it at bay. Laios didn’t snap often, but the idea that the one person who seemed to understand him the most in his current party could brush him off like that—especially in a moment of vulnerability—had his resolve weakening. 

His words held no malice that you could detect. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you might think he sounded… hurt? 

Oh.

You looked back at him then, brows knit together with concern as you looked up at his face. His expression was somewhere between sadness and confusion, fingers twitching against yours while he considered whether or not he should let your hand go for good this time. 

But you squeezed his hand back, keeping the warmth of his palm against yours. You’d opened your mouth to speak, but you couldn’t find the words.

“I mean, I care about you.” His voice was quiet, and even now, as he calmed himself, his eyes squeezed shut. He needed to say this, no matter how hard it was.

It was easier for him too when he didn’t have to feel the intensity of your gaze against his exposed flesh. Vulnerability in this manner was a skill he had yet to learn, but for the sake of salvaging this he would do his damn best. Laios focussed on the warmth of your palm against his own. He spoke in hushed tones, as if he might scare you off if he talked too loud. 

Or perhaps because, despite the fact that you were alone in the room, these words were meant for you and you alone. 

“I care about you more than I can explain. I care about you because... because you mean something to me. More than just a party member, more than just a friend.” He continued, his thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns into the back of your hand to keep himself grounded.

He felt a lump in his throat as he spoke, the raw honesty of his words making him feel exposed. He searched your face for any sign of understanding, any indication that you might feel the same way.

“It… probably wasn’t a good idea.” He admitted with a sad smile.

He wasn’t wrong. Chilchuck’s lectures and rants about professionalism and intraparty relationships hadn’t been for naught. Laios had seen it for himself once or twice, and he was no stranger to being taken advantage of. Despite the way your heart sank further at what he’d said, you knew that workplace relationships could easily spell disaster. 

Lives and careers could be ruined in an instant if just one person made the wrong move. If someone or something else got in the way, it could cause irreparable damage to a relationship. And that was on the surface. Down here, where the sunlight never reached you, surrounded by monsters and isolated from polite society, it should have been obvious that things could be much, much worse. If not deadly.

Yet, selfishly, you wouldn’t take it back. Not even if you could.

“But it wasn’t a mistake to me.” He said it firmly as he opened his eyes and finally looked back at you. 

You couldn’t help but feel hopeful at those words. There was a faint glimmer of it in your eyes, peeking through the cracks in the metaphorical walls you had yet to fully tear down. Those same walls he’d done his best to help you demolish in the short time he’d known you. His gaze had flickered back up to your face, his eyes teeming with sincerity as he spoke. They were warm as sunlight, captivating like a summer storm when he held you in his stare. He did his best to gauge your reaction before he said anything else.

His mind raced, each thought vying for attention. Was he saying too much? Not enough? The fear of rejection clawed at him, but he pushed it aside, determined to make you understand. The vulnerability was almost unbearable, but he knew it was necessary. If he didn’t open up now, he might lose you before he even had a chance to try.

He watched you closely, searching for any sign of what you were thinking. Your hesitation cut him deeper than he expected, but he tried to remain patient. He squeezed your hand gently once more.

That look of hope in your eyes was so faint, he almost convinced himself he’d imagined it. Still, he was nothing if not a brave man. He held you in his gentle gaze as he waited for a response, golden eyes almost pleading.

It was hard not to smile when he looked at you like that.

“I don’t regret it,” you admitted at last. 

Your heart fluttered in your chest again, whether it was from the nerves or the way he regarded you with such kindness, you weren’t sure. 

“And I care about you too.” 

Though it seemed obvious enough, you felt like you owed it to him to say it out loud. While it may have been wise to figure this out under different circumstances, it was entirely possible that there may not be another time to sort through this. 

There had already been so many close calls on this journey as it was right now. The thought had crossed your mind in a flash, bubbling up before you’d even had the time to process it in full. 

Would you be alright if something happened to one of you, knowing you had your chance and had thrown it away because you were afraid of something real? Something human?

He finished your thought for you. “I know last night was… unexpected.” Though not unwelcome. “and I got carried away but… it meant something to me.” 

This wasn’t how he wanted to do this. It was unconventional, but it was better to be honest than to push it aside. 

“I...I don’t want it to just be a one-time affair.” 

It was obvious that he was struggling to get the words out; he was not used to speaking so candidly in uncharted territory. He knew monsters like the back of his hand; he knew the dangers that came with his job, and he revered them for what they were. But human nature was not so kind; the hidden dangers and buried subtext that he often struggled to detect– it was all but alien to him. 

You swallowed hard, looking back down at the way his hand seemed to hold onto yours like a tether. As if it were the only thing keeping him anchored here in this room, as if you might fade away if he let go. 

The silence stretched on for seconds, but it might as well have been hours with the way the tension hung heavy in the air between you. 

"You... don't have to answer me right now." Laios added quickly, afraid that he may have crossed some unseen boundary. Pressuring you into something you didn’t want was the furthest thing from his mind right now. Not only would that stress be entirely unnecessary for the both of you but-

“No, I want to- I just…” You stammered, watching the way his other hand continued to unwind the fraying strings at the edges of the bedding. “That’s not what I was expecting you to say, I guess.” 

A shy smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Laios was usually the one to be straightforward, whereas others might tend to beat around the bush a little more. Seeing him wrestling with himself to confess his feelings was such a stark contrast to the leader you knew outside of closed doors. 

While you were a force to be reckoned with as well, all bite and no bark when it came to urgent situations, this was so far out of bounds in terms of what you’d grown accustomed to. Beastmen were not treated so delicately or with such tenderness and respect. You were meant to be a tool, a commodity. 

In some sick way, maybe that felt safer.

But you enjoyed this, having him so close to you. Your fingers were still laced together loosely against the bed sheets as you considered what to say next. The intimacy was welcome—strange, but welcomed wholeheartedly. Something unrecognisable was bubbling up within you now, something you couldn’t quite place. It was that warm feeling in the middle of your chest—feelings that you had long abandoned, fantasies of comfort that you’d banished into some forgotten corner of your psyche that were threatening to leak back out now.

You took a deep breath before responding, your other hand lightly brushing along his forearm as you sat together. "It doesn't have to be." You muttered nervously, "I mean... I.. don't want it to be uh... a one time thing.”

Finally, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate. Laios looked back down at where your hands were connected, a small smile playing on his lips. He shifted slightly, moving closer, until his forehead rested gently against yours. The warmth of his breath in the crisp air mingled with yours, creating a cocoon of shared space and warmth that tickled your skin. It was safe, it was exhilarating.

"I’m glad," he admitted quietly. "It meant a lot to me."

He’d hardly had time to grapple with the fact that there was more to his fascination with you before you’d crept into his dreams each night. The curve of your back when you would bend and stretch in the morning before pulling the straps on your leather armour tight against your body. The way he would have to force himself to rip his gaze away, feeling ashamed and embarrassed for staring so long. Wondering why it was that he couldn’t get you out of his head and knowing it was something more than pure curiosity.

In that moment, you took it upon yourself to close the distance between you, leaning into him and pressing your lips to his. The covers slipped, but you didn’t care. His arms slinked around you, pulling you closer until you were chest-to-chest again. 

There was a strange sense of relief that had washed over you both, mixing in with the excitement of new possibilities. This time it was him who pulled back, a dopey grin on his face as he looked down at you.

A hand reached up to brush stray strands of your hair from your face. 

“We should get dressed.” He said, though he made no move to let you go.

“Yeah…” You agreed, although you didn’t seem to be in a hurry to pull away from him either.

Time was precious, although one could argue that allowing your team to sleep in and rest a little more might have been better in the long run.

You rested your cheek against his shoulder for just a moment longer, giving him a light squeeze before pulling away to find your forgotten articles of clothing. Even with your night vision, it was rather difficult to pick out the darker fabrics of your clothing against the dimly lit room. Your body shifted slightly in bed, hands roaming against the sheets carefully so as not to disturb the stillness. Laios followed suit, finding his discarded boxers along with your undergarments hanging haphazardly off the side of the bed. 

He passed them to you immediately, watching as you slid the fabric up over your legs before walking across the cold wooden floor to your bag. He couldn’t quite make out what you were doing, but he heard rustling as he stood up and pulled the rough linen of his trousers back up over his hips.

You’d pulled out your lantern from your bag, deciding that you could spare the oil so long as it meant not having to walk out in mismatched or backwards clothing. The match hissed as you struck it, leaning it down to kiss the wick. 

The room was illuminated in an instant, the dim orange glow casting long shadows across the floor. You picked up your bag and set it on the empty bed, rummaging through it for a moment before you looked back up at the tallman across the room.

His honeyed eyes were transfixed on your body, a deep blush on his cheeks as he watched you getting ready for the day. The sight of you, even in this mundane act, brought another soft smile to his face. Your body was drenched in the soft orange glow of the flames, illuminating every fold, curve, muscle, and patch of soft fur he could get his hungry eyes on. The tail behind you swung lazily with every movement.

Laios couldn’t fathom how he’d been so lucky to know you in the first place, let alone to know you so intimately. His heart leapt back up into his throat as he drank in the sight of you.

From Laios' perspective, every detail was captivating. The gentle sway of your tail, the way the light played across your skin, the grace in your every movement—it all left him breathless. He could feel a warmth spreading through his chest—a mix of admiration and awe, you really were perfect to him.

He remembered the first time he saw you, how different you had seemed from anyone he had ever known, not just your form but the little things you did. The way you laughed and stretched after being brought back from the brink of death like it was nothing. It made him want to know more. Now, as he watched you, he realised just how precious all those little moments were. There was something about the way you carried yourself— a blend of open mindedness and witty charm— that resonated with him on a level he hadn’t fully understood until now.

Laios felt a surge of emotion, a blend of gratitude and longing. He wanted to reach out, to pull you close and hold you, to express everything he felt in a single embrace. But for now, he simply watched, content to admire the person who had become so important to him in such a short time.

Finally, you looked up and met his gaze. His blush deepened, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he let his smile grow, hoping you could see the depth of his feelings in his eyes.

“You’re staring again,” you huffed, stating the obvious. A hand rested on your hip, shifting your weight to one leg as you felt the familiar sting of anxiety creeping back under your skin. It felt silly, especially after last night, but some insecurities weren’t so easily quelled.

“S-sorry.” He stuttered, quickly turning away and grabbing his shirt.

You felt like a hypocrite the second you laid eyes on him, your eyes widening as you caught sight of the long, rosy scratch marks across the pale flesh of his back. The way his thick muscles shifted beneath his skin with every motion, his shirt stretching over his broad shoulders as he moved to pull his shirt over his head. 

You’d had an idea of it before now, but gods above, everything about him was thick. Even for a tallman he was large, it was no wonder he’d made such a great guard before now.

“Laios,” you breathed out softly, reaching a hand out to brush your fingers against the reddened skin in a mixture of awe and embarrassment.

He shivered under your touch, the gentle sting a reminder of last night’s intensity. 

“Oh, yeah.. Those,” he replied with a soft chuckle, “I guess we did get a little carried away last night, huh?”

“I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be,” he cut you off with a smile, tugging his shirt down over his torso before turning to face you fully. “I wouldn't trade it for anything.” 

It was a reminder of the night the two of you had shared. While guilt and pride mixed within your chest, he found himself giddy at the idea of being marked by you. He pulled your hand away gently, holding it in both of his for a moment. He cherished how soft they were in comparison to his, calloused from years of hard labour and training. Fingers brushed against your claws in admiration before he brought your knuckles to his lips in a soft kiss.

Despite his brute strength you knew that this softness came naturally to him. His lips grazed gently across your knuckles, and you couldn’t help but take a step closer. So hopelessly lost in his orbit, your cheeks burning at the gesture.

“I didn’t realise…”

“That I get to wear those marks as a reminder of what happened?” Laios asked, his voice low. “I’m not sorry for that.” It was obvious in his smile that he meant what he said.

Your heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his voice impossible to miss. You leaned into him, resting your forehead against his chest as his arms encircled you.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt.

In this line of duty you knew it was impossible, but you could dream. At very least you could go without contributing to his injuries.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and against yours. “I can handle a few scratches,” he reassured you. “Besides, it’s worth it if it means being with you.”

“I guess so.” You smiled.

"Good." Laios murmured, his arm tightening minutely around you in a light squeeze before the hand on your hip slid back through your hair, scratching at the base of your ears teasingly before returning to hold your face. 

He adored looking at you, and he prayed to whatever higher power would listen that someday you’d grow fond of the way he liked to stare.

Something told you he liked being marked a little more than he let on. You’d have to note that for next time, if you were fortunate enough to have another encounter with him before this journey inevitably came to a close. He pulled your smaller frame into him, then wrapped his arms around you in a soft hug.

Laios held you close, savouring the heat and comfort of your embrace. The steady beat of his heart under your ear was soothing.

The moment was intimate and sweet, with a quiet understanding passing between the two of you before you eventually broke away, knowing that you needed to get ready for what might lie ahead. 

The chill in the room had lessened since last night, but it still made the fur at the base of your tail bristle and stand on end. You both finished dressing in a comfortable silence before you sat back down on the edge of the bed to finish packing up your bedrolls.

Shadows danced across the decaying furniture and cracked wooden floorboards, your lantern flickering and dancing in the cool air of the dungeon. Your comrade sat down beside you, tightening the leather straps on his bag as you got ready. The silence stretched on for a while before his thoughts broke through, and he found himself musing aloud.

"...I've never wanted to be in a... relationship before, but…” He trailed off, his eyes widening as he realised that he’d spoken out loud by mistake. Though his voice was barely above a whisper, he knew you’d heard it from the way you stopped mid motion to stare at him.

“But what?” You asked, your voice gentle despite the gnawing curiosity. You tried to hide your hope for what he might say next but it would have been futile if he’d had the courage to spare a glance in your direction.

Laios simply shrugged it off, the corners of his lips pulling up into a little smile as he looked down at his hands. The memory of your fingers threading through his made him feel all warm inside. He’d hold them all day if he could. 

“But with you it feels different,” he said timidly. “There’s something about you that makes me wanna try.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at those words, your heart pounding as you scooted closer to him on the bed. The soft glow from the lantern cast an almost ethereal glow on his face, strong features softened by the caress of the warm firelight. He was a work of art in his own right, but if he had been a living painting you were sure you could spend forever in his masterpiece.

“I feel the same way,” you admitted, reaching out to gently squeeze his larger hand in your own. “Being with you, it feels… right?”

He turned his head to face you then, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and relief. “I was worried it might just be me,” he confessed, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. Nothing had ever felt as easy as spending time alone with you did. 

“I’ve never been good at this.” Despite having said it already, he couldn’t help but remind himself too. 

You smiled reassuringly. “Neither have I, but maybe we can figure it out together.”

“Right,” he replied, still a little flustered by your gentleness with him.

It felt silly considering everything that had transpired between the two of you in the past twenty-four hours or so, but it wasn’t unpleasant in the slightest. If anything, he felt strangely hopeful, but he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. “I may not be good at this whole…” people thing, reading emotions, understanding the nuances of intimacy—his mind scrambled to find the right words for a moment before he finally settled on: “relationship thing…”

“But I wanna try.” For you, for him… to be able to introduce you to Falin and to see the two of you hit it off like he knew you would. “I want to be by your side.” 

His palm came to rest on your cheek, his thumb grazing across your cheekbone delicately. It was a strange feeling for him. Finally acknowledging that the pull he’d felt toward you was something more than simple envy or curiosity had been a huge step, to admit it out loud had been like pulling teeth. Sure, those were a part of it too, but the way you had just shown up and accepted him for what he was– eccentricities and all –had his heart warming from day one. You’d had your walls before now, but Laios was completely defenceless when it came to you.

“I want to take care of you too… Please bear with me?”

It was more of a plea than it should have been, but the thought of fucking this up somehow had crossed his mind countless times already since he’d woken up. It scared him, especially after the confrontation with Toshiro. He knew he had a lot to learn when it came to interpersonal relationships, he’d had to confront that head on in the days following. But he was trying . 

The connection Laios had with you felt like a fragile yet precious thing, something worth nurturing, worth exploring. You tightened your grip on his hand again, your thumb gently caressing his soft skin.

“It’ll be my pleasure.” You replied with an easy smile, leaning across the space between the two of you to press a kiss against his cheek. 

“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, okay? I told you, I don’t really know how to do this kind of thing either." You murmured, pulling him into a hug in an attempt to ease his concerns. 

Sure you weren’t completely clueless, but before now any sort of romance like this had been completely out of the question for a multitude of reasons. People on the surface weren’t kind to things out of the ordinary, yourself included.

“I already like spending time with you just the way you are.” You added, your lips pressing against his collarbone. 

He could feel the way your tail brushed against his arm through his shirt, the cosy warmth of your body pressed against his as he hugged you back. 

Laios let out a soft sigh, the sensations making his face flush again as he squeezed you a little tighter. “Yeah… me too.” He muttered, resting his chin on your head. It was a little embarrassing, but he couldn’t help but smile at the praise and the careful way you handled him.

Your lips trailed softly against the smooth expanse of his flushed skin, kisses littering the surface while you cuddled into him. “Just let me know if it’s ever too much, okay?”

"Mhm." Laios hummed softly, content with the way you showered him with affection. He wasn’t used to it either, not yet, but he definitely wouldn’t mind getting more accustomed to the sweet touches. "...I will." He replied softly, though he couldn’t imagine ever having too many of your comforting touches.

"Thank you." You replied, offering a soft smile in response. You pressed a gentle kiss against the sharp curve of his jaw, then ran a hand through his ash-blond hair.

The bond between you felt stronger now, more real, as if the events of the previous night had awakened something deep within you both. 

Despite the awkward start to the morning, it was only cemented by the conversation you’d had. For a brief, precious moment, everything else faded away—the dungeon, the stress of this mission, the uncertainties. All that existed were the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms.

“We should probably get ready,” you finally said, breaking the silence but not the connection. “The others will be up soon.”

Laios nodded, his smile lingering as he reluctantly pulled away.

He didn't want to admit it, but he was already addicted to you, body and soul. It’d only been a night, but he already couldn’t get the taste of your lips out of his mind. He could only imagine-

Just then, a knock on the door broke through his thoughts as if on cue. "Are you two awake? We're getting ready to move out." Marcille called from the other side of the door.

Laios glanced at you, then back to the door. "We'll be right there," he called back. “Just putting on some extra layers.”

“Sounds good, I think Senshi’s about to start on breakfast.” Marcille added, not sounding overly excited at the prospect of choking down more monster food. No matter how good Senshi’s cooking skills were, she couldn’t shake the sense of dread that came upon her at the idea of eating those creatures . Her footsteps faded down the hall and back toward the others.

You couldn't help but smile back at Laios, suppressing a laugh at the way he’d frozen in place when he heard her outside.

“We probably shouldn’t tell the others yet, though.” He suggested with a sigh as he leaned down to tug his boots back on. 

It wouldn’t be a good idea, both for the fact that it would absolutely make things harder to navigate if it were out in the open already and also for the fact that Marcille was a sucker for anything involving romance. There might not be any stopping her if she found out about your ‘forbidden love’. After seeing the way she’d gush about it anytime she’d inquired about her friends’ love lives, you could already hear the comments and questions ringing in your ears.

“Definitely not.” You agreed with a shudder.

As you both got up and started to prepare for the day's journey, you felt the weight of last night's decisions begin to lift. There would be time to figure everything out.

Soon enough, the two of you made your way out into the hall, and you padded over toward the room where everyone else had already gathered. The two of you slipped in to join the group seamlessly. Cooking utensils were already clattering together as Senshi began to explain to Laios what he was doing and how he could assist in making the morning meal. 

Izutsumi yawned and stretched, groaning at having to be awake and on the move again. 

For someone who swore she’d be able to brave the dungeon faster on her own, she really does love to sleep in , you thought to yourself as you tugged your jacket a little closer around yourself. You couldn’t blame her though. After all, she was still growing and being constantly on the move was exhausting on the best of days.

The cat girl scowled when she caught you looking at her, and you couldn’t help but smile back at the grouchy teen before Marcille quickly stole you away from the others. 

Long, delicate fingers pressed against the sides of your face, squishing your cheeks as she began inspecting you with concern evident in her wide green eyes.

“Uh… gwuh mernin’?” You inquired, your voice muffled by the way she pressed her hands against you.

“You’re okay right? He didn’t ask you any weird questions or make you uncomfortable-” 

“‘m fine,” You chuckled, cutting her off as you lightly pulled her hands away from you. 

“You could have shared a bed with me or Izutsumi, y’know?” The blonde reminded you of the sweet whine of her voice undercut by the Eastern girl’s protests almost immediately. 

“Dogs sleep outside.” Izutsumi grumbled, shooting a glare in your general direction.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her remark, shaking your head and offering her a semi sarcastic “Good morning to you too” before resuming your conversation with the mage.

With a yawn and a smile, “I actually got the best sleep I’ve had in a while,” you replied earnestly, shrugging off her coddling.

It was hard not to feel guilty about hiding something from the group that had been so kind to take you in, especially so late into their journey. They could have easily sent you away, and yet they were generous enough to share their limited resources with, as Izutsumi put it, some random stray . 

You knew she meant well, but sometimes Marcille’s concerns were more unsettling than the questioning you received from others in the past. At least those types tended to keep their distance more. 

It was true that longer-lived races tended to see others as much younger than them, so you chalked it up to that whenever she’d baby you. A little part of you did appreciate it in some strange way though. Being cared for like this was a precious thing, and she loved with her whole heart and nothing less.

If it had really been that much of an issue, you’d have made it known.

Marcille gave you one last scrutinising look before finally sighing and releasing your face. 

“Alright, alright. Just making sure you’re okay,” she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us, so I’m glad you got a good rest in. It felt good to finally sleep in a bed again after so long.” The blonde sighed.

“ Really?” Chilchuck cut in, regarding Laios with a suspicious look, “Because I couldn’t sleep for a while last night.” 

While his gaze wasn’t set on you, you felt a shiver run down your spine at the implications of what he’d said. 

Shit. 

You’d forgotten about the half-foot member of your party for the better part of the night. 

They weren’t common where you’d grown up, but you’d heard tales of them and their heightened senses. Especially their heightened sense of hearing. In fact, to say that his rivalled your own would be an understatement. Thinking more clearly now, you quickly recalled all the times he’d been able to hear enemies approaching well before you could. 

The thought made your stomach twist with unease.

Laios, seemingly having the same realisation you did, froze for a moment before trying to play it off with a nervous laugh. He casually stepped behind Senshi, as if the much shorter dwarf might be able to shield him from the half-foot’s wrath. He continued on with prepping the harpy eggs, stirring them in a bowl as he spoke. 

“Me too; it got pretty cold last night, huh?” He replied with an awkward laugh.

Yeah, you didn’t want any part of whatever this might entail. 

As much as you wanted to try and cover for him, you knew that there was no way of getting out of this. It's probably best to stay out of it. Panicking slightly, you reached out to Marcille for support with a wobbly smile on your face. 

She was still busy getting herself ready for the day, brushing her long blonde locks as she stepped away from the others.

“Hey Marcille, do you mind showing me how you braid your hair? I’ve always been curious.” You asked, doing a piss poor job of hiding your anxiety. “No one ever taught me.”

The elf either didn’t notice or was too excited at the prospect of sharing her knowledge with someone else because she happily stole you away to another part of the room. She’d grabbed your wrist and tugged you along to sit beside her on the nearby bed, a bright smile on her face. 

“I’m so glad you asked! Hair is a magic user’s life force, so it’s like an extension of that. It’s also really important to practise good hygiene and self care, especially when you’re underground like this because-” 

You listened to her with a smile on your face, half interested and half happy to be out of Chilchuck’s line of fire for the time being. 

Unfortunately, your previously fearless leader wasn’t so lucky.

“ Laios , can I talk to you for a second?”

[pedropascallme]

Occam’s Razor

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader; no use of y/n

Summary: “Philosophically speaking—logically speaking—Occam’s razor is a principle that recommends searching for explanations with the least possible set of elements. In other words, the best answer, the correct answer, is often the simplest.”

Warnings: Smut (18+ MINORS DNI), age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel is early 50s), dom/sub dynamics (dom!Joel x sub!Reader), fingering, oral (m receiving), p in v sex, praise kink, daddy kink, sir kink, size kink if you squint, mild degradation, mild brattamer!Joel??, canon typical violence. If i missed anything please let me know!

~~~

Philosophically speaking—logically speaking—Occam’s razor is a principle that recommends searching for explanations with the least possible set of elements. In other words, the best answer, the correct answer, is often the simplest.

But more on that later.

Joel miller was a man of few words. Rugged; stoic to his core. Ellie, on the other hand, was perhaps the chattiest of Cathies you had ever met. When their little party picked you up, you and Ellie quickly fell into the habit of talking through and over anything and everything together.

Much to Miller’s chagrin.

Despite his stern demeanor, you couldn’t deny that Joel had that southern charm to him. He’d clear branches out of your way, place a hand on your back while you walked over uneven terrain, call you “darlin’” to get your attention. You’d be a fool not to notice how handsome he was; despite the obvious signs of age and trauma, despite the fact that he was quite a bit older than you, and despite the fact that he clearly had everything but you on his mind…there was no denying how gorgeous Joel miller was.

You liked to imagine he had a soft spot for you, liked to imagine that the hands on your shoulder when you climbed a steeper-than-expected hill were for more than steadying the both of you. You liked to think that when you made camp and he offered first shift it was because he cared. Maybe it was the way he looked at you during meals, as if he was undressing you with his eyes, that fed into your delusions. But, hey, the world had ended—crazier things could happen.

Still, you would be snapped out of your fantasies when he gave you the stink eye for encouraging Ellie’s dirty jokes. Your attempts to force him into a conversation were shot down almost every time. He had yelled at you more than once, most recently for “trying so damn hard to get us all killed”—his words—when you had almost tripped an old landmine that raiders had set up in a field. So maybe it was all in your head. You tried not to take his words to heart, choosing to focus on his kinder actions. But Joel had you hot and bothered. And, oftentimes, pissed.

Who gave a fuck. At least you had Ellie.

It had been days and days and days of walking and camping and then walking again. When you weren’t talking to and giggling with Ellie (the younger girl reading her joke book and getting you to guess every punchline) or staring at the back of Joel’s head as he led you onward, you reflected on why exactly the two travelers had let you stay with them. Why Joel had let you stick around. It wasn’t like he had to—hell, when Ellie had found you, Joel pulled a gun to your head, and Ellie had to convince him to bring you along. It took ten minutes for him to let his gun down, and it still felt like he hadn’t let his guard down around you. Maybe Joel thought the girl needed a more maternal figure, maybe he thought you, in your ratty jeans, at 20-something, could provide that energy. That seemed like the simplest answer, and it felt to you that Joel didn’t care for you all that much, despite your daydreams. You were grateful, really, you were, but there were times where you wished he would address the fact that you were there. A “thank you” would be appreciated. 

You were pulled out of your own head when you heard Ellie gasp; immediately you reached for the gun on your hip, eyes darting up and around in search of whatever danger she had reacted to. Before you could do anything, though, you heard her speak:

“House!”

Your shoulders slumped a bit in relief that it had been a good gasp. But you still stood behind Joel with Ellie as you made your way forward to the house. Just in case. Joel held up his rifle, expecting the worst—he was always expecting the worst. Slowly but surely, you made it to the porch of the run-down cabin.

“Stay.” Joel’s voice was firm when you and Ellie got closer to the entrance. It was an order, even though it had been barely above a whisper. He walked through the front door as quietly as he could, keeping himself low and his gun high. After a few minutes he walked back out and stuck his thumb towards the entrance.

“S’alright. Doesn’t seem like anybody’s been here for a long while.”

Ellie ran into the house, no doubt in search of a bed to call her own for however long you three would be staying. You trudged up the steps behind her, looking around at the decomposition of the interior. It would’ve been a nice house to live in before. 

_______________________

Night fell just as quickly as the day had begun.

By some miracle, despite the house’s decay, there was still running water. You relished the time you got to spend in the shower, rubbing all of the dirt and grime off your body and watching it swirl down the rusted drain. 

Once dressed, you rounded the corner and sat on the dusty couch in the middle of what had once been a living room. You had spent so much time in the shower, you assumed Joel and Ellie would’ve been asleep by now, figuring that you would take first shift in your shiny clean state.

That was not the case.

Heavy footsteps came down the stairs, and by the time you turned yourself around to look at the source of the sound, Joel was already standing on the bottom of the staircase.

“Ellie’s asleep. I’ll take first watch.” He walked towards the couch, sitting himself down at an arm’s length from you. 

“I can take first watch. I don’t mind. I’m up anyway.” You drew your legs into your chest, suddenly feeling a bit exposed in your white shirt as the excess water on your body from the shower had started to make the fabric see-through.

“M’up, too. Bedroom’s the first door on the right. Can’t miss it.” 

“Miller, I can watch. Take a break.”

“Ain’t no breaks, darlin’.” Your heart skipped a bit when he used the nickname. It was embarrassing how one word could get under your skin and cause heat to rise in your cheeks so easily.

“Well, sure. But I’m taking this shift.” You didn’t know why you were arguing with him over something so futile. He would end up winning, anyway. Really, you just wanted an excuse to talk to him one-on-one. “So be on your way.”

“No, you’re not. Go upstairs.”

“Who died and made you king?” Those were fighting words, and you knew it. 

“The whole fuckin’ world died, sweetheart.” You could tell you were getting to him. “Go.”

“You’re a real piece of work, Joel Miller. You’re not in charge, you just have the most ammo. If I said I’ll take first watch, then I’ll—"

“Jesus H. Christ, girl, d’y’ever shut up?” Joel cut you off.

“You got a mighty big stick shoved up your ass, Miller.”

Joel stood up, refusing to back down from the fight you had started. You decided to stand, too. You weren’t about to let him win just because he had you cornered into the couch.

“‘Nd you’re still over there runnin’ your mouth. What’s this, hour four o’bein’ here? You still got somethin’ new to say?”

“You want me to be quiet?” You were standing right in front of him, looking him directly in the eyes. 

Fuck, he had pretty eyes.

“Mm.”

“Make me.”

Remember Occam’s razor? The simplest solution.

Joel grabbed you by the waist, attacking your mouth with his. You yelped at the sudden contact, but he silenced you just as quickly by forcing his tongue into your mouth. You relaxed into him, letting his hands explore you while you wrapped your own around him, fingers tugging at the curly hair at the nape of his neck. He pushed you back down onto the couch.

“Need me to make you shut up?” He undid his belt, calloused hands sliding it out of the loops. “I’ll show you what that fuckin’ mouth is good for, sweetheart. Get on your fuckin’ knees.”

You were never one to disobey a command. You inched yourself off the couch, settling on your knees in front of Joel. He traced a hand down your jaw, placing his thumb on your bottom lip. You opened your mouth for him, and he placed his thumb inside.

“Use that mouth, baby.” He watched you close your lips around the digit and hollow your cheeks to suck. “Tha’s right. Need’a teach you some manners. What’tya say?” 

“Thank you, Joel.” You managed to mumble out, still sucking on his thumb.

“Uh-uh. You treat me with some fuckin’ respect when you’re on your knees for me. What do you say?” He pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a pop, tracing it over your cheek and smearing your spit across your face.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Good girl.” He unzipped his fly and took your hands in his, placing them on his crotch. You could feel how hard he was, how his cock throbbed for you in his pants. He put your hands on his hips, then pulled down his jeans to release himself. 

You had spent a lot of time imagining Joel’s dick. You knew that it had to be big, considering the way he carried himself, considering he always had to adjust his pants after sitting down. But even then, nothing could have prepared you for how fucking hung he was. He was so beautiful.

He grabbed one of your hands, making you wrap it around his cock.

“What are you waitin’ for, darlin’?” He looked down at you expectantly. There was no way you would be able to fit all of him down your throat, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try.

You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, giving experimental licks and kisses. He groaned, grabbing your hair and holding it in a ponytail.

“Gonna be a good girl f’me?” He asked, and all you could do was make a noise in response. “Gonna let me use this mouth how it needs to be used?” Again, you could only make a noise, this time higher pitched in anticipation. “Wanted to fuck this pretty mouth o’yours for so damn long. You gonna let me?” Now all you could do was moan, and he took that as a “yes.”

He pushed himself forward into your mouth, and you could feel the burn of your cheeks as he got deeper. He got maybe, maybe, halfway in when you started to gag, choking on his length, your spit dripping down your chin.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby. Messy girl. Lettin’ me use you like this. Fuck!” You had reached a hand down to cup his balls, giving them a small squeeze with your mouth still wrapped firmly around his shaft. “Knew you’d be a good girl. Knew you’d be a fuckin’ whore.” He began to shallowly thrust into your mouth, making you choke and drool all over yourself. You could feel the wet patch on your underwear growing bigger with every move he made and every word he said. Tears streamed down your face as he pushed himself against the back of your throat.

He pulled out, slapping your cheek with his cock. “Doin’ such a good job. Should’a shut you up like this before.” Joel slapped your cheek with his dick again, drawing a whine from you. “You need more, sweet thing? L’il slut needs more than what I’ve already given her?” Now he was just teasing.

“Please, sir…” Was all you could manage, opening your mouth again in the hopes that he would stuff his cock back inside.

“Please, sir, what?”

“Please can I have your cock, sir?” You weren’t one for begging, but God did you love seeing Joel stand above you. How could you deny him what he wanted when he was gripping his cock like that? Looking down at you like that?

“Get up on the couch.” You did as you were told. He grabbed your face and pulled you into him for another kiss. It was filthy, all spit and tongue, and you fucking loved it.

He began stripping you of your clothes. He tugged your shirt off over your head, drinking in the way your naked chest rose and fell with every breath you took. You shimmied out of your jeans, but before you could get rid of your panties, Joel was pushing you onto the couch.

“Lemme help you, pretty girl.” He pulled your hips up, one arm under your ass for support while he ghosted his fingers over your clothed cunt.

“Look at that fuckin’ wet spot. Did I do that to you, baby? Daddy get you all wet, fuckin’ your pretty mouth?” He rubbed a knuckle in the middle of the wetness on your panties, and you moaned at the contact. “Answer my question.”

“Daddy got me wet—yes!” You bit back a yell as Joel pulled your panties to the side and unceremoniously pushed his middle finger into your weeping cunt. 

“Fuckin’ soaked f’me. Barely fittin’ one finger in, beautiful. How you gonna take my cock?” You opened your mouth but no words came out, instead you heard yourself let out a string of high pitched moans.

“God, this tight little pussy…gonna make you all mine, sweetheart.”

“I—ah!—I’m all y-yours alrea-dy.” You breathed out. Joel added another finger and you felt yourself squeeze him.

“Tha’s right, wanna feel you cum on my fingers like this. Can you do that, baby? Be a good girl and cum on daddy’s fingers?” You could hardly breathe you were so turned on, so focused on how Joel’s fingers were brushing against your most sensitive spot. Eyes closing in concentration; you felt a smack against your clit. Opening your eyes, you met Joel’s gaze.

“Be a good girl ‘nd look at me while I’m usin’ this pussy.” He started pushing his fingers deeper.

Your head rolled back on the couch, mouth dropping open in a silent scream, trying your best not to break eye contact with Joel.

“So quiet all of a sudden, baby. S’at all you needed? Needed to get this pussy filled up so that I could get some fuckin’ peace and quiet?” You nodded your head in response, feeling yourself at the tipping point. Your face was hot, your body coated in sweat, and all he had done was fuck your face and use his fingers on you. You were a fucking goner. You felt a rough finger on your clit, and Joel’s voice calling you a “good girl,” and that was all you needed. The rubber band snapped, and you were cumming all over his hand.

“Good fuckin’ girl. Fuck, getting’ my hand all messy.” You were breathing heavily, still able to feel the fullness of his fingers inside you as you came down from your orgasm. 

Suddenly you were empty again, and Joel brought his fingers up to your lips. You opened your mouth without any fuss, tasting the tang of your juices on his fingers. He watched you like a hawk, unable to tear away his gaze from the way your lips pulled his fingers in while you sucked your cum off of them.

He pulled his fingers away, and you whined. You needed contact—any contact—with him. He gave you another kiss, pulling away to ask you what you needed.

“Your cock, Joel. Please.” 

“Already gave you my cock, didn’t I, darlin’?” 

“Want more, sir.”

“Gonna have to be more specific.” You could feel his breath on your face.

“Can I…I want you to… please?”

“God, you can’t even remember your words now. Pathetic little mess f’me.” He wrapped a hand around your throat. “I know what you want, baby. Want me to fuck your little pussy? S’at it?” You nodded. His insult went straight to your core.

He got up on the couch next to you, shifting you to lie on your side, your legs pressed together in what was essentially the fetal position. He pulled your ruined panties down, letting you straighten your legs for a moment before throwing them somewhere and pushing your legs back up. You felt him lining his cock up to your hole, nudging you with the tip.

“Tell me what you want.” He urged again. 

You felt a newfound confidence surge through you. “Want daddy to fuck my pussy, please.” You followed all his rules, using your manners, using his title. It didn’t go unnoticed. Joel growled as he pushed his cock inside you. Every inch of him filled you up, dragging against your walls. You let out a long moan as he seated himself as deep inside of you as he could.

“Tiny l’il girl, look at you takin’ this big cock. So fuckin’ good.” He began to thrust himself shallowly in and out of your cunt. Every movement made you feel how good he was stretching you out, your wetness dripped between your legs. 

You let out a particularly shrill moan as he hit a spot deep inside of you, one you hadn’t even realized existed. He smacked your ass hard before cupping his hand over your mouth.

“Just when I thought you were learnin’ to be quiet. Gonna have to fuck this lesson into you, huh?” He sped up, snapping his hips into your ass. You could hear the wet sounds your pussy made around him. The hand that had been on your mouth dipped between your legs, pulling the one on top up and over his shoulder.

“Tha’s what I like to see. Pretty girl all spread out for me. Thought o’this view every fuckin’ day.” He was absolutely ruining you, kneading your clit and pulling you up onto his dick. 

“Gimme another one, sweetheart. Cum on my cock.” He let your leg drop off of his shoulder, leaning in to kiss you while you tried to keep your moans quiet. His fingers still worked your clit, rubbing your bud in time with his thrusts. 

“J-oel,” you gasped, “I’m—fuck! I—” 

“I know, baby. Show me what a good girl you are.” He kissed your cheek, and you clenched around him, making him groan. Your vision went blurry from the tears leaking out of your eyes combined with the absolute and utter pleasure that Joel had coursing through your veins. 

“Shit! So fuckin’ good for me, atta girl. Cum for daddy, sweetheart, there y’go.” 

You were shaking, turning slightly to lie on your back and look up at him.

“Th-ank you, sir…” You could barely keep your eyes open, your orgasm had knocked all the energy out of you. But at least you remembered your manners. 

“Good job, darlin’.” He was getting sloppy, his arms resting next to your head on the couch while he lazily drove his cock inside of you. “Where d’ya want me, baby?”

Through your haze you shot him a smile. “Inside. Please, will you cum inside me, daddy?”

He moaned, speeding up slightly at your request. “Want me to cum in this sweet pussy? Wanna feel me paint you with my fuckin’ load, pretty girl?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into you for another heated kiss. You moaned into each other’s mouths.

“Please,” you whispered against his lips, “please cum inside me, Joel.” 

He let out a groan, followed by your name over and over again, grinding himself into you. You felt the warmth of his cum in your stomach, wiggling your hips on him while his own hips stuttered above you, draining his cock into your greedy cunt.

He held himself above you, hair sticking to his forehead. You traced lazy shapes on his back and smiled up at him.

“You’re chatty when you fuck.” You goaded him.

“Yeah? You’re chatty all the time.” He spoke bluntly, but kissed your forehead. He pulled out of you, and your cunt clenched around nothing at the empty feeling. His cum dripped out of you. He sat up and pulled you into his lap. You sat silently for a moment, holding onto each other.

“Didn’t think you liked me all that much. Definitely didn’t think you liked me enough to fuck me like that.” You broke the silence. “Always felt like you didn’t want much to do with me.”

“Y’kidding?”

“No.”

“I like you too much.” Joel whispered into the top of your head.

“What do you mean?”

“Dangerous to like someone in this world, darlin’. Didn’t want either of us to deal with more hurt than we already have.”

“Oh…” You were silent again. Then, “So why’d you let me come with you two in the first place? Didn’t have to let me stick around.”

“’Cause you’re pretty.” He chuckled to himself. “’Nd Ellie needed someone a little more her speed. Someone a little more caring…maternal…” So, you had been right! 

But he continued. “‘Nd, you know…”

“What?”

“I told ya. I like you.”

“Didn’t seem that way when you held a gun to my head.” You said, recalling your first encounter.

“It was a precaution.”

“Mhm.”

“Well how does it seem when my cum’s drippin’ out o’you?” You laughed lightly, reaching your fingers down to feel the sticky mixture of his cum and yours that had leaked onto your leg. You put the fingers in your mouth. He sucked in a breath, watching you intently.

“Seems like maybe you’re telling the truth.” You let your fingers go, wiping the remaining spit and cum mixture on the couch.

“I am. Like you a lot. So much. I’d be willin’ to prove it again, y’know.” He smiled, wiggling his brows. You could get used to seeing Joel Miller joke around after fucking you stupid.

“Like you a lot, too.” More silence.

“So y’meant what you said?” He asked.

“What’d I say?”

“When we were fuckin’. Y’said you were mine.”

You leaned yourself into him. “Of course I meant it. Did you mean it when you said you wanted to make me yours?”

“Of course I meant it.” He parroted. 

“Good.” You sighed, letting the smell and feel of him surround you. 

“Y’finally ready to get some sleep?” He asked. And for the first time, you heard the genuine affection behind the words, not just the affection you thought you only heard from him in your imagination. 

“You said the bedroom is on the right?” You caved.

“I did.” 

You prepared to stand up, but Joel wrapping his arms around your stomach stopped you.

“Where th’hell are you goin’?”

“To the bedroom.”

“Why?”

“You told me to sleep, Joel, I’m gonna go to sleep.”

“Simpler to just stay here.” He pulled you closer to him. You gladly cuddled into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

He was right. That was the simplest solution. 

[indigosunsetao3]

Submission for @glitterypirateduck‘s ‘#GhostChallenge’

Title: Body Heat

Pairing: Ghost X Female Reader (callsign Cypher)

Warning: Canon typical violence, fluff, smut, 18+

Scenario: The heat goes out and it's freezing & Ghost or Reader wakes up in the other person's house/safehouse/etc. after being rescued

Word Count: 2.8k

Your leg felt like it was on fire but there was no time to worry about that right now. The zodiac that you were currently belly down in on the floor is flying up the river but it is rapidly taking on water. There was no way you were going to outrun the helo tailing you, the boat had taken too much damage.

"Ghost we have to bail," you yell out as the helicopter clears the trees from around the bend. "We're not getting to the evac in this."

"Watcher this is Ghost," you hear him come over the comms, "we're four kilometers out from the evacuation site. Boat is fucked, we need an alternate option."

"No alternate at this time," Laswell came back. "Find a place to lay low and-"

The rest is cut off as the helicopter launches a missile that hits the water a few feet behind the boat. It doesn't matter that it wasn't a direct hit, the effect is the same. The aftershock of the wave sends the boat flying up out of the water and you scramble for purchase to try and ride it out.

"Cypher!" Ghost yells out, though it's barely audible over the rushing wind and the gasp you let out as you hit the frozen water back first.

The water feels like a knife stab right to the gut as you sink below the surface. You can barely think as you kick out before flinching at the pain in your calf at the movement, it hurts even more than the knives of cold all over your skin. You stretch toward the surface, your hand hitting a chunk of ice from the flows that were moving rapidly with the current.

"Ghost!" You yell out as you finally break the surface, though it sounds more like a squeak and a splutter as you spit out water. It's too fucking cold to be in the water, you had minutes to get out before you froze to death.

Kicking your legs again you push toward the shore as the helicopter blows past. You turn your head to see if it's going to continue, satisfied with its destruction but it's circling back. Fuck. You swim faster, though it feels like you're trying to lift an extra hundred pounds of weight with each movement. The water is sweeping you rapidly up river but your feet finally hit bottom and you stumble onto the shore.

"This way," comes Ghost's voice as he stomps through the snow and grabs your arm. He's soaked as well and you can hear the tension in his voice as he drags you toward the trees, practically carrying you with your arm slung over his shoulder. The helicopter is coming back and you hear the staccato of bullets hitting the water.

"We're fucked," you mutter as Ghost clears the tree line. You throw out an arm to catch yourself on a trunk before he yanks you onward. "We have to get out of these clothes," your numb fingers on your left hand fumble for your vest but Ghost stops you.

"We have to get out of range," he orders, his eyes trailing back behind the way you came. The snow has messy trenches in it where you both had pushed through but they are tinged red. Your leg was openly bleeding and you'd be a bit more concerned if you could actually feel it. The numbness that you had been hoping for before finally settles in but now it was making it difficult to walk.

"And go where Ghost? We're in the middle of nowhere," you stumble but his hand digs hard into your side to hold you up. "Fuck it's cold," you mutter as you see your breath puff in front of you with each word. "Didn't ever picture human popsicle was the way I'd go," you say with a false laugh as bullets start to pepper the trees.

Ghost drags you deeper into the woods, trying his comms as you both stumble and slip over snow covered tree roots. His voice sounds like it's coming from far away after a bit and you only know he's there because you can feel him pressed against you. His own body shakes hard from the cold and you can feel each involuntary tremble as he continues to tout you along.

"Little more," he grouses and you blink slowly up at him realizing he's slapping your face to get you to look at him. How long have you been walking? How was he still walking? Maybe just a small break, both of you could use a rest, your knees buckle at the thought.

"Knock that shit off," Ghost snaps as he hauls you back on your feet again. "Cypher," he warns as you buckle again, your grip on his body slackening from lack of energy to hold on anymore. Your knees hit the snow and the last thing you see before toppling down further is Ghost scrambling to catch you.

Cold. That's all you can think as soon as consciousness hits you again. Then the pain follows a few moments later and you groan as you shift trying to figure out where you are. Something is holding you back from being able to move too much and you push against it weakly.

"About fucking time," a voice comes to you and you realize what you are pushing against is soft and while it isn't exactly warm, it's warmer than you are. "Going in my report you're sleeping on the job," Ghost says simply as you tilt your head back to look up. You hiss as your soaking wet hair hits your back before his hand comes up to lift it up and away before fixing the blanket wrapped around you to keep your hair off your skin.

"Where are we?" You ask as your body wracks with shivers again and you curl your arms tighter against your chest to try and hold in some heat. That's when it hits you that your hair has hit your bare skin and your hands are pressed between more of your own bare skin. And Ghost's. Was this one of those mortifying dreams when you realized halfway through you were naked?

"Old hunting cabin," Ghost answers as his arms tighten around you, his hands splaying on your back to rub some warmth back in. "You passed out on me, had to carry you the rest of the way," he explains as he looks down at you. His face is free of his balaclava, the eye black smeared and splotchy down his cheeks. Your eyes trail down to see he's also shirtless as he has you pressed tightly against him. "Been out for a good while now, didn't even flinch when I tied up your leg. Through and through shot," he tacks on in explanation.

You shift a bit on him, as if to lean down and look at the wound, when you realize you aren't only shirtless. The blanket scratches the skin on your hips and you can feel his curls against your own pubic bone. You're completely straddling him and tucked tightly to his body in every sense of the word.

"Body heat," Ghost says simply as if he is not fazed by the fact his sergeant is fully naked pressed against his own naked form.

"I hardly think," you splutter as you move to pull away. Just the few inches you create between your bodies sends a jolt of goosebumps down your body and you see the same reaction over his chest. You may be inside somewhere but it was still cold enough to see your breath. The scant body heat you were sharing was not going to linger if you were apart.

His hands slide down your back and grab your ass to tug you tight against him again. You huff at crass gesture before giving in and pressing tightly against him, your arms moving to wrap around him as well. He shifts so your fingers can fit between his back and the wall and you rub at his back a bit. His skin feels frozen and you can feel the muscle twitching in an attempt to generate some warmth.

"It was this or we both froze to death," he says. "Can't light a fire, the helicopter is still circling," and as if someone turned the volume back on in your ears you hear the whir of the blades overhead. "And while you were resigned to be a popsicle, I refuse to let that be the final entry on my service record."

"How long until extraction?" You ask quietly doing your best to not think about the fact Ghost's hands are still on your backside holding you tight to him. Or that you are nuzzling your face into his chest as your fingers dance over small ridges and valleys of scars on his back.

"Not sure," Ghost answers as he looks down at you. "Johnny is going to have a field day when he finds us," he smirks at the thought which only makes you groan a bit. "I mean you can put on the soaking uniform if you want," he inclines his head at the red tinted snow fatigues.

"No," you answer quickly. Even now, the places where your skin isn't touching Ghost's are frozen, you can only imagine trying to put those back on. You shift a bit on him trying to find more skin, more warmth, to burrow into. He flexes his grip on you for a second before sliding his hands slowly up your back to your shoulder blades. It's a soft gesture and you feel yourself arch to it despite yourself.

"Just for the warmth Sergeant," Ghost says after a second, obviously feeling the subtle shift of your body.

"Right, of course," you answer back. If you could see yourself you knew you'd be bright red. "Sorry, I didn't mean," you continue before Ghost adjusts himself and you realize he wasn't admonishing you. He was saying that however your bodies were acting it wasn't your fault. You were pressed in a compromising position because you needed the body heat and you couldn't help what was happening outside of that.

You swallow as you both sit in the silence, listening to the helicopter circle overhead. How many times have you thought about this? Perhaps not this exact scenario, but getting Ghost alone and his body pressed against yours. It was a thought that kept you company many nights, different situations that always ended up with you panting under him. He barely paid you any mind aside from the job so it was just a fantasy that occupied your lonely mind to pass the time.

Yet, you could feel him pressed up against your center. Feel how his hands shift to rub at your sides and the sweep of his thumbs graze over the sides of your breasts with each pass. You grip his back a bit harder as his hands move down to now run along your thighs, his fingers massaging some heat into them as he works his way from your knees up toward your hips.

"Lieutenant," you barely breathe into his neck and you feel him twitch against you. A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold goes through you and you press your hips against his length and hear the small gasp of air that escapes his lips. His pulse is jumping in his neck and you dare to brush your lips over it and he grabs your hipbones hard in response. "Just body heat right?" You ask softly, your lips still whispering along his skin. "Just us trying to keep warm."

"Right," Ghost nearly growls as he flexes his hips up into you and you sigh against his neck. The blankets shift as he moves to grab your face to make you look at him. You stare at his hazel eyes, watching as he surveys your face as you slide your hands from behind his back to wrap around his neck. You are careful to keep pressed against him in all the movement, not wanting an ounce of heat to escape your small cocoon. "I don't want you to," he starts but cuts off as you grip the back of his head and pull him in for a kiss.

This may not be exactly how you wanted him, but you were going to take what you could get. He doesn't hold back from rolling your hips over him now, his hands helping move you knowing the injury to your calf. You whine into the kiss as he moves your effortlessly over him, the head of cock passing over your clit over and over working you into a frenzy.

Ghost dares to slip a hand between your thighs to your core and you gasp into his mouth. He finds the slickness there that he glides his fingers through as he ever so slowly pushes a finger in. You groan as he curls his finger and slowly pumps into you, letting you rock on him as he feverishly kisses you through the pants.

"Fucking warm down here," he taunts as he slips another finger in. "Are you going to share?" He continues as he lets you rut your hips over him, letting his palm give you that friction you were desperate for. "Or just going to let me freeze out here?" He chuckles as you let out a particularly needy whine as he scissors his fingers.

You push up on your knees, ignoring the burn in your leg as Ghost pulls his fingers away. It's a bit awkward as he lines himself at your center, careful to not let the blankets slip as you grab at his shoulders, but when you feel him notched you lean back. The slide in isn't painful, but it takes a moment for your body to get used to it.

Not that Ghost seems to mind you taking a moment to adjust. He tilts his head back at the sensation of you fully seated on him, his mouth slightly agape. You watch him for a second before grinding down on him, biting the inside of your cheek at the fullness.

"Warm enough?" You ask after a second and he lifts his head up to smirk at you.

"So fucking warm," he answers back.

You start slow as you ride him, wanting to savor how his eyes seem to devour you as you move. Commit to memory how those normally cold and calculating eyes seem at peace watching you. Ghost lets you take control at first as you use him for your pleasure and survival, seemingly enjoying being able to sit back while you put in the work. But as your movements become a little less coordinated and put a strain on your calf he takes over without you having to ask.

Pulling you tight against his chest, Ghost loops his arms around your back to grab at your shoulders as he shifts. You gasp at the first experimental thrust he makes, and he chuckles in response before he beings to fuck you in earnest. He gives you no warning as he thrusts up into you and you cry out loudly against his ear as he hits that spot inside of you over and over.

You can feel the slickness of sweat on your chests as Ghost grunts and groans into your ear. One of his hands slides back down to your ass to help lift you as the other on your shoulder slams you back down on top of him. The rhythm has created an obscene slapping noise but you both drown that out with your moans and gasps.

"Don't fucking stop," you say into his ear as you grab hard at the back of his head, your fingers scratching against the short hair on his scalp. You can feel he's close, feel him twitching inside of you, and how he's moving to pull out to finish. "Fuck, please," you say as you move your hips over him not caring about the strain on your injury.

He doesn't stop. He fills you up with a growl that seems to erupt from his chest and you let out a satisfied sigh as he continues to fuck you through it. The additional slickness, and feel of it between your legs, finally gets you over that edge and you come with him with a loud cry that you stifle by biting down into his shoulder. He moves your body over him until you finally come down, shaking from the high of your orgasm and not the cold.

"I told you body heat was the solution," he teases after a moment as you look at him. Both of your cheeks are flushed and you can almost feel the heat wavering off your bodies from under the blankets. You don't move from your position, keeping him buried inside of you as he holds you close.

Just for the warmth of course.

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 1

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence

Credits: The lullaby Gil-galad sings is an original Quenya song by Forest Elves and can be found here. Sindarin phrases referenced from RealElvish.net.

A/N: I was not originally going to publish this AT ALL, but hey - it's going to be a long time till S3. I'm mostly sticking to ROP lore; other lore used when it's convenient. Beta-read by the amazing @stellar-solar-flare. This story is an original work of fanfiction; I do not own any canon characters and I am definitely not making any money on this (but if someone wants to pay me to write fanfic, LET'S TALK). No LLM/AI was used in any aspect of the creation of this work.

This is a WIP and I don't know how long it will be, but I'm having fun with it, so thanks for coming along for the ride.

Part 1

Little was left of the great realm of Eregion.

As he walked, the High King Ereinion Gil-galad grieved for the beauty of the city that had been destroyed. A few lonely buildings were still half-standing, but they were barely more than a few stones leaning atop one another; a piece of a window arch here, a twisted metal spire there. Personal effects that caused his heart to jerk each time he saw them: singed clothing, shattered works of art, a child’s doll torn to pieces.

And the library of Celebrimbor, piled at the center of the plaza. It was still smoking, even though the fire had been put out, and Elrond was kneeling next to it, tears running down his face as he sorted through the charred fragments. There was a tiny stack next to him: a few lightly-singed books and scrolls that had been toward the center of the heap, protected from burning by their brethren. But it was pitifully small, and he felt like weeping along with Elrond, seeing the hundreds of years of knowledge that had been lost.

Of Celebrimbor himself, Gil-galad could not bear to think. Not yet.     

He left Elrond to it and continued onward. The wound he had taken in his leg was well on its way to healing, but the muscles still ached, and he was content to keep his pace slow. He leaned on Aeglos for support, and it also helped that he was interrupted every few moments by a steady stream of those coming to him for reports and orders; the searchers, made up mainly of those few survivors from the Lindon forces, were combing through the shattered homes and shops for anyone who might have lived. Their efforts were seldom yielding fruit, but they could not abandon all hope, especially in the face of so much loss. 

He had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

He turned swiftly, looking back to Elrond behind him for confirmation that he hadn't been mistaken, and he got it - the herald was alert, his head swiveling towards the building as he slowly rose to his feet. There was something strange about the sound; hearing it had reduced the lingering pain in Gil-galad’s leg to a background throb, buried beneath the desire to find the source of that small cry, to relieve the suffering of whoever had emitted it. 

They hurried, as much as he could, and he saw her as he drew closer. She was curled against one of the walls, huddled tightly into herself, and her face was a mass of grime and blood. Gil-galad dropped to his knees instantly, his leg no longer of the slightest concern, and he peered at her through the gloom. “Lady?” 

A soft mutter was his only answer, but she uncurled herself slightly. Even in the dim light, he could make out that her tangled hair was a rich chestnut and her ruined dress had once been a deep forest green. 

And then her eyes opened, and he lost himself.

Ice blue, in a face that would be the color and hue of fresh cream when it was clean. But not cold, frozen blue - crystalline and pure, like a drink of fresh rainwater from when the Elves had first been awakened near Cuiviénen. Eyes that promised peace, and healing, and rest - except they were glazed with pain, and it obviously took effort for her to focus on him.

“High King,” she muttered. Her voice was rough and tired. “I am sorry - please forgive me, I - “

With horror, he saw that she was struggling to rise. Her left arm was cradled against her body, and he saw - with a wave of fresh alarm - that a piece of twisted metal had embedded itself in her forearm and had pierced straight through. The arm of her dress was bloodstained and wet, and as she moved, he saw that the blood had dripped down to pool on the fabric of her skirt.   

“Hush,” he said swiftly, reaching out and gently pressing on her uninjured shoulder. “Hush. Do not move, you are safe.” 

Even the light touch subdued her; she sank back against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed. A great beast came to life inside him, roaring with anger at her state, and he turned to Elrond, who stood hovering behind him. 

“Why has no one seen to her?” he bit out. “Do we not have healers here?”

“We do, High King,” Elrond said quickly. “I will summon one. The searchers must have missed her.”

He spoke no more, but hurried off, and Gil-galad turned back to the injured woman. His heart had stopped at the sight of the metal, fearful that it would be - like Galadriel’s injury - beyond all but the greatest power to heal. But he could see the wound well enough through the tear in her sleeve; there was no corruption that he could feel from either wound or metal, naught but torn flesh and blood.

“Elrond is fetching help,” he murmured soothingly. “What is your name, lady?”

“Linnea,” she whispered. “I was - I am a weaver…”

Even through the blood and the swelling, he could observe that her hands were elegant and fine. The wound was alarming, but did not appear to be anything that an elf could not heal from; she would not lose her craft in addition to her home. 

“Was this your workshop?”

It was a foolish question for the moment, but he wanted to try and distract her from the pain. Where was Elrond with that healer? They had brought several with them from the valley to the north, where the rest of the survivors were gathering. Surely there was one close.

She lifted her head again and looked at him, and her crystalline eyes brimmed over with tears. They cut clean tracks through the dirt covering her face and dripped off her jaw - and his hand reached out of its own accord, before he could even think or decide, and he cupped her cheek in his hand and gently wiped the tears.

And he didn’t take his hand away when it was done.

The skin beneath his palm, even covered in filth, was the softest thing he had ever touched. Softer than his most comfortable robes; softer than the blankets on his bed. Soft, soft, soft, and he wanted to draw her close to him and wrap his arms around her, have her fed and her injuries tended and all else she might need. And preferably, without him having to leave her side or let her go. 

“With my parents,” she whispered, answering his question. 

He didn’t need to fill in the rest.

The building was almost completely destroyed. Even an Elf couldn’t withstand an entire wall falling on them. He wondered why they had still been here, why they hadn’t run - but perhaps there had been no time, or perhaps they’d thought they were safer sheltering in place and waiting out the siege. It didn’t matter, and it was the last thing he would have asked at that moment. 

“High King.”

Elrond’s voice, coming over his shoulder. Gil-galad slowly removed his hand from Linnea’s face and turned, seeing a young man standing next to Elrond clutching a bag. He recognized the Elf from the Lindon supporting forces; Tinwendur was his name, young but competent. He nodded approval at Elrond’s choice.

“Sire, if I may,” the healer said softly. He was peering past Gil-galad, at Linnea, and Gil-galad understood that he was being gently urged to move out of the way.

The great beast growled, finding that idea very much not acceptable.

He settled for shuffling to the side, and Tinwendur quickly knelt beside him. “Her name is Linnea,” he said. “This was her weaving workshop.”

“Linnea. My name is Tinwendur. May I see your arm?”

And she looked to Gil-galad, uncertainty written on her face. 

The urge to fold her against him roared up again, to protect her from anything, including someone who was just trying to help her but would likely cause her more pain. He stomped it down and offered her a gentle, encouraging smile. 

“He is one of mine,” he murmured. “He is here to help.”

At that, she extended the arm willingly, letting Tinwendur take it. Tinwendur gently probed along the bones with careful, delicate fingers, eliciting more whimpers that Linnea tried to hide. To keep himself from throttling Tinwendur - which would have been exceedingly counterproductive - Gil-galad turned back to Elrond. 

“I will stay until she is tended,” he said firmly. 

“High King, there is - “

“I will stay.”

There is much to be done, had doubtlessly been what Elrond had been about to say. And he was not wrong. The choice of shield or sword was before him, now that Sauron had taken over Adar’s army of uruk; the decision to fall back and fortify their defenses, or to take the fight to their enemy. And Galadriel still lay unconscious; Nenya and Vilya had preserved her life, but he did not yet know what it might have cost.  

But he could no more leave Linnea’s side than he could cease to breathe.

Elrond didn’t say any of the multitude of things that he could have. Instead, he simply dipped his head, murmured a soft High King, and left.   

“The arm is not broken,” Tinwendur said. “Once the metal is removed, it will heal in a few days. I would suggest you allow me to do so now, as it will reduce your pain greatly.”

Once more she looked to him, those crystalline eyes seeking out his thoughts. In that moment Gil-galad would have bared his entire heart to her had she asked it; would have composed a poem on the spot if she had bid him to; would have single-handedly hauled the rocks free of the Glanduin and restored the river’s flow. Part of him understood what was happening, how it had been no accident that his ear had heard her cry for help - but the rest of him scarce believed it, that after so long…

He nodded at her. And the great beast purred in satisfaction as she extended her right hand to him, and he took it, closing it gently within his. 

She shifted, getting herself as comfortable as she could against the wall. Tinwendur was busy removing supplies from his bag: bandages, a small knife, dried herbs, a jar of salve, flasks of water, a small bowl. He paused in his preparations, looking at Gil-galad hesitantly. 

“Speak.”

“Sire, I - I carry athelas. If you would be willing…”

He needed to say no more. Gil-galad nodded, and without any further delay, the healer swiftly opened one of his bags of herbs. One of the flasks had contained hot water, and he set the herbs to steeping in the bowl. Finished with his preparations, he gently took hold of Linnea’s arm again, examining the metal carefully from all angles.

“It should draw out straight and true,” he pronounced. “I see no barbs that might tear the flesh further. Are you ready, my lady?”

“I am.”

It was going to hurt. He knew that Tinwendur was going to be as careful as possible, but it was still going to hurt. His jaw clenched, frustration building that he could do nothing to help her - 

No. There was something.

“Linnea,” he said softly. “Keep your eyes on me.”

She turned, meeting his gaze, and a soft smile graced her lips. He squeezed her hand, and felt her squeeze back. Her eyes told him she was not wed, and of course she wasn't, not yet, because she'd been waiting for him and he for her and now neither of them would ever be alone, ever again.

But that would wait for later. For now, he had something to offer to take her mind off the pain, as small as it was, and he opened his mouth, and he began to sing softly.

“Ter i lóme, nai lye ómanya rahtuva,

Or i súre, nai lyenna órenya wilyuva...

Nai loruvalye,

Hendu holine...

Nai loruvalye,

Éli calime...

Á sasta ingalya or telcunyat, nanwie nauvar ilye olorilyar

Á pata ter fend' ex’ Ardanna,

Á papátu mina tyelepta cala

Nai loruvalye,

Hendu holine...

Nai loruvalye,

Éli calime...

Á sasta ingalya or telcunyat, nanwie nauvar ilye olorilyar.”

It was a lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was small, to soothe him when he was restless and could not sleep. And it had the effect he’d wanted it to have now: even as Tinwendur firmly and smoothly pulled the metal from her arm and she gasped, even as her blood welled up and pooled on the ground and Tinwendur worked to stanch the flow, her eyes were still on him, still listening to him sing.

The healer was quick. By the time Gil-galad had finished the song twice through, the wound was sewn shut and Linnea’s arm had been washed, and Tinwendur was handing him a clean cloth and the bowl of steeped athelas.

“All you need do is bathe the wounds again, sire,” he said softly. “The virtue of the herbs in a king’s hands will speed her healing.”

Tinwendur had sliced away the sleeve of her dress, drenched with blood and caked with grime. There was nothing in the way of his hand touching her soft skin - soft, soft, soft - and he tenderly cupped her elbow while he carefully ran the cloth over each side of her arm. And in a way it was a salve for him as well; he would never forget how helpless he had felt only a short time ago, bringing all of his might as High King to bear against Galadriel’s injury and failing. But this, he could do; the stitches still oozed blood, but Tinwendur had done good work, and it would stop soon.   

Sweat had beaded Linnea’s forehead through the whole process, but she was looking much better now that the metal was out. As he finished, the healer wrapped the arm in a clean bandage, and offered them both a smile.

“You will mend soon, my lady,” he said. “Is there aught else I might do, High King?”

“No. You have my gratitude for your skill. Continue with those others who need it.”

“Sire.”

Tinwendur bowed, and departed. Gil-galad turned his attention back to Linnea; as much as he wanted to stay, he knew he could not remain for long, not when so many others needed him. 

But she had needed him. And his place, as he had said to Elrond, was where the need was greatest.

“Can you stand?” he asked. “With my aid?”

She nodded. “I took no hurt to my legs. I am bruised, but that is all.”

He reached for Aeglos, realizing with a slight pang of guilt that he had carelessly let the spear clatter to the ground when he had dropped to Linnea's side. His leg was aching again, but he ignored it; once he was up, he leaned down and offered Linnea his hand, and helped her to her feet. 

She hadn't missed his wince as he’d used the spear to stand, and those crystal eyes turned sharper. “You are injured,” she said softly. “The healer should have seen to you before you sent him away.”

“There are others more sorely in need of his aid than I,” he said, and despite everything, he very nearly laughed as she frowned at him. The Valar had indeed chosen well for him, when they had placed her in his path.

But instead of laughing, he dared to lift his hand, gently touching her cheek again with his fingertips. “I must go,” he murmured. “I would that I could stay.”

“Nonsense,” she smiled. Strength was coming back into her voice, and her color - even beneath the dirt - was improving. “You are the High King. You have already lingered beside one simple weaver for far too long.”

“The farthest thing from a simple weaver to me, my lady. As I think…you know?”

The last was surprisingly intent, and he couldn't help but add that tiny hint of a question at the end. He knew little of courtship, even after thousands of years - he thought she felt the same, but it was always possible he had been mistaken.

She smiled again. There was grief on her face, for her parents and for her city - but also a light in her eyes, not the light of the Trees but gentle, dappled light, like the light on the moss in the deep forests. And she leaned, just the slightest bit, into his hand, bringing his fingers more fully in contact with her face.

He wasn't mistaken.

“I think that we have much to discuss, my lord,” she whispered.

He could not have been more filled with joy if she'd just told him that Sauron had been expelled from Arda for good. The weight he carried of the decision before him; the grief for the city, for Celebrimbor, for the thousands of lives that had been lost - it was still there, but the burden was eased, as if by her mere presence she had taken part of it for him.

No, she was no simple weaver. She never had been.

He slowly released her face, but his boldness had not been exhausted; he reached down, taking her hand again. And the ease with which she gave it to him, the firmness of her grip, the lacing of her fingers with his, told him again that his heart had not been wrong when it had said yes, this is her.  

“The survivors are gathering in a valley to the north,” he told her. “We return to Lindon soon. You will be safe there - if that is where you wish to go.”

He was on firmer ground now. He knew what his answer would have been had anyone proposed him going somewhere that she was not, and his certainty was rewarded with her nod. “I will see if there is anything to be saved here first.”

She looked over her shoulder sadly, her eyes sweeping over the ruins of the building. He could see the doubt on her face that it was anything but a futile effort, but he also understood that she had to try regardless. Hope is never mere, even when it is meager.  

“I will send someone to help you,” he promised. “They will ensure you are cared for. And…once we return…”

He had managed to put himself back together after the battle, if only slightly. But once they returned to Lindon, he could have a real bath, and a good meal, and actually be in a proper state to begin that courtship. He had some idea of how to go about it; perhaps she could join him for that good meal, the first of many.

“There will be time,” he finished. “Once you are settled.”

He wanted to kiss her, as absurd as it was. But this was no place for that momentous step, and neither of them was in any shape to share it. Not with both their injuries, and not with the loss she'd endured, and not with his obligations as High King awaiting him. He could wait, and he could settle for lifting her hand and brushing the back with the lightest whisper of his lips.

And when he raised his head, that light in her eyes was shining bright. 

“Do not make me wait too long, my lord.”

Continue to Part 2