#spring day's warmth is a different aggressive though

[glowingreverie]

i don't like hyping my stories up too much cuz i feel like that builds expectations too high for it, but in terms of WRITING i'm excited for "spring day's warmth"

[onlycosmere]

OUTSIDE by Brandon Sanderson

Snow is falling. So I look up.

The world mystifies when you stare up through falling snow. Even standing still, you can soar. Even alone, you are surrounded. Even mundane, you find magic. I’ve spent my life chasing the fantastical, yet everything I’ve ever imagined can be casually matched by someone tilting their head up. The soft. Settling. Aspiration.

Of snow on an otherwise ordinary day.

When I was eighteen, I moved from Nebraska to Utah. Here, snow is fleeting, embarrassed to be an obstruction. But in Nebraska, snow squats. It claims land, builds empires. You fight it all winter, carving pathways, reconquering your sidewalks. The cold digs inside, frosting your bones with a chill that lingers, even after you return to warmth.

I often think of those snowy days, now that I live in a desert. But each year my memories are a little less fresh. We build our lives with layer upon layers of years, like falling snow. And like the new snow, most experiences melt away. In interviews, I’ve been asked to recount my most frightening experience. I struggle to answer because it’s the lost memories that scare me—the unnerving knowledge that I’ve forgotten the majority of moments that made me who I am. Those dribbled away when I wasn’t looking and joined the spring runoff of life.

Fortunately, some experiences do remain. In one, I’m fourteen, and it’s a cold night in Nebraska. My best friend at the time was a boy we’ll call John. Though we went to different schools, he was one of the only other Mormon kids around, so our parents often had us play together. When you’re very young, it’s proximity—not shared interests—that makes friends. This often changes as you age. By fourteen, John had found his way to basketball, parties, and popularity. I had not.

On that day, after a youth activity, another friend suggested we leave to go have some fun. I don’t remember where. Strange, that I’ve lost what this was about, though the rest of the scene is etched into the glacial part of my brain. One of us was old enough to drive, so we headed out to their car.

Five seats. Six teens. They’d already counted.

Without a word to me, the others climbed in. John gave me one hesitant look, then settled into the front passenger seat and closed the door. They left me on the curb. The car vanished, taillights flaring in the night like lit cigarettes.

The memory settled in for the long winter. That night. Watching. Remembering John’s face, which was so strikingly conflicted. Half ashamed. Half resigned.

I was no stranger to being outside. It happens when you’re one of three Mormon kids in a large school. You’ll be at a birthday party, and the wine coolers will come out. Everyone stands there worrying you’ll judge them—while you just want them to stop staring. But you leave anyway, because you know they’ll enjoy themselves more if you and your unusual morals aren’t there to loom.

It should have been different that night though, watching John and the others drive away. They were in my church group—ostensibly, my tribe. They’d still left me outside.

This event shocked me in how dramatic it was, as I wasn’t generally bullied. I tended to be adept at social settings. People generally liked me. At the same time, there was something I’d begun to notice. Something distancing about me.

It happens still. It isn’t that people shun me or don’t want me around; indeed, they seem to appreciate me. When I join a group, I generally end up leading it in some way, and I never sense resentment to this fact. But I also have an air around me. Some writer friends call me the “adult in the room.” I tend to attack projects too aggressively, tend to be the one who steps in and gets things done—even when they don’t need to be done immediately, and when everyone else would rather relax.

This comes, in part, from a certain…oddity about me that started in my young teens, around the time that John drove off. As my friends grew hit puberty, they became more emotional. The opposite happened to me. Instead of experiencing the wild mood swings of adolescence, my emotions calcified. I started waking up each day feeling roughly the same as the day before. Without variation.

Around me, people felt passion, and agony, and hatred, and ecstasy. They loved, and hated, and argued, and screamed, and kissed, and seemed to explode every day with a pressurized confetti of unsettling emotions.

While I was just me. Not euphoric, not miserable. Just…normal. All the time.

Often, it genuinely seems like I exist outside of human experience. It’s not sociopathy. I’m quite empathetic—in fact, empathy is one of the ways that I can feel stronger emotions. I’m not autistic. I don’t have a single hallmark of that notable brand of neurodivergence. It’s also not what is called alexithymia, which is a condition where someone doesn’t feel emotions (or can’t describe them).

I care about people, and I feel. I’m not empty or apathetic. My emotions are simply muted and hover in a narrow band. If human experience ranges between a morose one and an ecstatic ten, I’m almost always a seven. Every day. All day. My emotional “needle” tends to be very hard to budge—and when it does move, the change is not aggressive. When others would be livid or weeping, I feel a sense of discomfort and disquiet.

My emotions do go a little further than this on occasion, maybe once a year. It takes something incredible—such as being deeply betrayed by someone I trusted.

I’m not looking for sympathy; I don’t want to be fixed. I appreciate this aspect of my makeup—and it’s part of what makes me so consistent at writing. When everyone else is in crisis, I’ll just steam along. At the same time, when everyone else is elated by some good news…I’ll just steam along, unable to feel the heights of the joy they feel.

It makes people uncomfortable sometimes. Makes them think I’m judging them. While I’m absolutely not, I do try to be careful how I talk about my condition. Not as something to fear. Something, instead, I’m proud of—not because it makes me better than anyone else, but because it’s me. I like being me.

My neurodivergence came up in a recent interview I did. The interviewer latched onto the fact that I don’t feel pain like others do. (More accurately, some mild pains don’t cause in me the same response they do others.) I asked the interviewer not to mention it in his article, as I felt the tone to our discussion was wrong. I worry about my oddity changing the way people think of me, as I don’t want to be seen as an emotionless zombie. So I try to speak of it with nuance.

As the interviewer ignored my request, I thought I’d talk about it here. Profile myself for you—because this aspect of who I am has deep ties to another happening from my teenage years. In this, I want to answer a big question for you, the one everyone wonders about. The key to understanding Brandon Sanderson.

Why do I write?

Why do I write so much?

Why do I write so much fantasy?

Let me tell you about the first day, that beautiful day, when I found myself inside.

It was when I opened a fantasy novel. I was an isolated kid whose emotions were doing something bizarre. Even John leaving had left me feeling…disturbed more than angry. Alone, and outside. Then I opened a book where I found emotion.

In that story about dragons, and wonder, and people trying impossible things, I found myself. I felt a variety of powerful emotions through the characters—emotions that I remembered from when I’d been younger.

I hadn’t tried reading fiction in a long while, so I was blindsided by this perfect book. The experience transformed me, quick as a boy tilting his head back, looking up, and finding a new world.

When I read or write from the eyes of other people, I legitimately feel what they do. There’s magic to any kind of story, yes—but for me, it is transformative. I live those lives. For a brief time, I remember exactly what passion, and agony, and hatred, and ecstasy feel like. My emotions mold to the story, and I cry sometimes. I legitimately cry. I haven’t done that outside of a story in three decades.

Stories bring me inside.

My second published novel is called Mistborn. It’s about a world where ash falls like snow, and I can linger, looking up through it via a character’s eyes. Near the beginning of Mistborn, the teenage protagonist finds herself standing outside a room. It is full of light and laughter and warmth. But she knows, she knows she doesn’t belong inside that room.

She’s wrong.

Nearer the end of the book, I linger on as similar scene—only now, she’s sitting with the others. Light and laughter. Warmth. Mistborn was the first novel I wrote after getting the call offering me a book deal. Finally—after slaving over a dozen unpublished manuscripts—I knew I was going to be a professional writer. With that knowledge, I wrote Mistborn, the book about a girl who learns to come inside.

While writing Mistborn, I changed. Now that I’d made it inside of publishing—now that I’d joined those authors I’d loved for so long—why would I keep writing? I needed a new goal, and I discovered it that year.

So let me tell you why I write. It isn’t about worldbuilding; that’s a mistake everyone makes about me. Assuming I write because of worldbuilding is like assuming someone makes cars because they love cup holders. It’s also not because I’m Mormon, as some profiles bizarrely conclude. My faith and cultural heritage are both important to me, but if I were any other religion, that aspect of me would rightly be a footnote—not a headline.

I don’t write for plot twists, or dragons, or clever turns of phrase—though I enjoy all of these. I write because stories bring people inside. And I sincerely, genuinely believe that is what the world needs.

Lately, I’ve seen a resurgence of something that genuinely disquiets me: an attempt by some members of our community to hold others outside. Science fiction and fantasy is forever gatekeeping what constitutes good or worthy stories. Like my old friend John, who sought cooler friends, we renounce anything accessible—part of our perpetual (and largely fruitless) plea for legitimacy with the literary establishment.

Thing is, I can’t really get mad when someone does this, because I’ve done it myself in the past. The unfortunate truth is that we all probably have at times. The moment a group finds cohesion—discovering the warmth and peace of being inside—we decide there aren’t enough seats, so we start muscling and pushing. Readers who came in because of the latest popular teen novel? Outside. Fans of the film version of a story, instead of the book version? Outside. People who don’t look the same as the supposedly conventional fan? I suspect they know this struggle far better than I do.

To use a thematic metaphor, it’s like we’re dragons on our hoard of gold, jealously keeping watch, worrying that if anyone new enters, their presence will somehow dilute our enjoyment. The irony is that there is infinite space inside, and if we open the way, we’ll find many of these newcomers are the very treasure we’re seeking.

Fantasy, out of all genres, should embrace the different, even if it doesn’t match our specific taste. This is the genre where anything can happen—and should, therefore, be the most open genre. Only fantasy offers me the full range of emotion. The wonder of exploration. The magnificent highs of epic scope and the miserable lows of cataclysmic terror. In writing it, I can learn. Monomaniacal, I hunt experiences of people different from myself, then explore them in prose until I feel—in some small part—what they do.

This is why I write. To understand. To make people feel seen. I type away, hoping some lonely reader out there, left on a curb, will pick up one of my books. And in so doing learn that even if there is no place for them elsewhere, I will make one for them between these pages.

Those who interview me seem to have trouble understanding this fundamental part of who I am: that writing for me isn’t so much about performance as it is about exploration and elevation. I love prose both literary and commercial. And I think I write great prose. I’ve slaved over my style, practicing for decades, honing it for crisp clarity. My prose is usually intended to convey ideas, theme, and character, then get out of the way—because this is how I strive to bring everyone inside.

That said, I know my goal is impossible. Occasional strolls through the outside are part of being human, and I can’t eliminate that. And even I have to admit that there are lessons to be learned on those lonely paths. For example, contrast is the only way to appraise growth. Emotional alien I may be, but that very alienation has motivated me to understand. I value the connections I’ve made so much more for that struggle.

Moreover, I find that occasionally looking in through a window at everyone else gives a person a more complete perspective. Inside, things can get messy, and a streak of color finds it hard to comprehend the painting. I’m a better writer because of my time spent looking in. I don’t know that I could have written Mistborn if I hadn’t been left on that curb.

This isn’t to discount the pain of those who have been forced outside. Nor is it an advocacy for extended periods spent in the cold. I also don’t know if I could have written Mistborn if the wonderful people of the science fiction and fantasy community (including many of the friends I now work with) hadn’t latched on to me in college and—at times—forcibly pulled me inside to be with them. Beyond that, as I’ve grown older, I’ve found people like Emily, who love me in spite of (and partially because of) my quirks. Blessedly, because of this, my times outside have been increasingly brief.

My goal here is merely to point out (as I’ve had occasion to remember recently) that beautiful moments do accompany the isolation. You can only watch the snow fall when you’re outside. Only then can you look up and experience that mystifying world, where fragments of the sky drift past and lift you toward the heavens.

I’m forty-seven now, enjoying desert snowfalls in early April. The man I am is separated by distance and time from that boy who stood on the curb, and I’ve forgotten most of the steps that led between the two. I still don’t feel strong emotions outside of stories—but I did tell an interviewer lately that I sometimes cry when writing scenes in my books. They just aren’t the scenes that I thought he’d expect.

I don’t necessarily cry when characters die, or when they marry, or even when they find victory. I cry when it works. When it all comes together, and in a beautiful shimmering burst of humanity, I feel what it is to be that character. At those times, I remember what I learned twenty years ago writing Mistborn. That there’s a reason I do this. And even if I’ve lost more memories than I retain, each of them had a point, because they collectively brought me here.

So when you find yourself in the cold, know that sometimes, there’s a purpose to it. Trust me; I’ve been there. I might be there right now. Feeling the cold on my cheeks—but these days, no longer in my bones. Knowing that this will pass, and that it might be for my good. Most of all, looking up so I can appreciate it. The still. Solemn. Perspective.

Of one who stands outside.

[lacrymatoryao3]

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 4: Three Months Later: December, 1899

[1][2][3]

To the world, Arthur Morgan is dead. As he tries to face the idea, in a lush valley in Ambarino he comes face to face with a woman from his past, and they must reckon with an era long gone. Especially when she has secrets of her own.

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

5,540 Words (AO3 Link)

Arthur awoke as the dawn began to break. He didn’t get up right away, lying in bed and finding comfort in the warmth of his covers and in the room compared to what he saw outside his windows. Once the winter came it seemed to never stop snowing for very long. The mountains were hard to make out, blanketed in white against the clouded sky. The mostly fur trees cascading down the land were so heavy with it the branches bent and sometimes it would slide off in sheets to the deep, icy ground. When the wind came through there was nothing but a freezing fog.

It made him think about those cold days and nights trapped within those dilapidated log buildings in Colter.

Arthur had to admit, as he was taking care of himself for the morning, there were some things about ‘normal’ life he was taking to easier than he had expected. He enjoyed having a bed instead of an old cot, having walls around him and a roof over his head once his instincts finally came to realize he was safe within. He now had a routine once Dr. Anderson deemed he was well enough to do so.

Still, his old life lingered in him. Fighting him.

Arthur shaved, mostly to please Ana, focusing more on the task than the man that was reflected back to him. He doubted she was up and around yet, but if she was she would comment about the things he usually muttered to himself. He applied a small amount of an aftershave she had bought for him. It had an expensive smell, though it probably wasn’t the case for the kind of town he was in, like a bunch of different herbs mixed with citrus fruit.

He put a bundle of plants into his mouth to chew, something to keep his teeth and mouth clean. She made the boy do the same. He slipped out of his night clothes and washed himself up as he worked the taste out of them. He opened his window and spit out them out, closing it it quickly to prevent the chill from entering.

He went to his dresser, looking at all the new things Ana had gotten him to decide what to wear. Even after so many years apart from him, she still remembered the kind of things he liked. She had picked out the same style of button down shirt in different colors and patterns, a few pairs of dark denim pants, and a couple of sets of buckled suspenders, socks, more union suits for the weather.

He simply threw on the first things his rough and calloused hands touched. She bought him more things to wear than he expected. Had he been able to go with her to the general store she would have treated him like a dress up doll. He was never one to care about fashion, but when he put himself together it made Ana happy. Which as nice, he supposed. In a way it was, having someone around who cared about him. She wasn’t as aggressive as Susan Grimshaw was, the poor woman, but she was about as bossy if she needed to be. Always was.

Hanging on hooks next to the door were three coats. For summer, which felt like an eternity off, there was short navy blue canvas coat. For spring and autumn a black knee length cotton duster. For the winter which everyone in Cain Valley was suffering with a chocolate brown sheepskin leather jacket lined with with cream colored wool. Draped over it was a scarf and in its pockets a pair of black deerskin gloves.

Arthur bundled himself up, putting a new hat on his head. It didn’t look much different from his old one that he gave to John, except it was made of fabric instead of leather and there was a fine silk ribbon around it rather than an old haphazardly tied rope. He carefully left his room, finding the kitchen dark and empty. He slipped out the back door, trudging through the frozen mounds and enduring the biting northern air to a roofed space with walls made out of piled of short logs. He picked up the old axe that leaned against a tree stump in the middle of them, gathering enough logs that would make a suitable amount of firewood. He placed a log on the stump, hauling the axe over his shoulder and chopping in in two with a single heavy motion. At first he needed rests between, but after a few weeks his muscle memory kicked in once he became accustomed to the monotonous chore again.

For a moment, it was like Arthur was with the gang again. Doing what he usually did when he was around, as everyone half alert wandered around him for a cup of coffee and Pearson’s leftover stew from the day before.

He carried the wood to the kitchen porch, dropping it into a rack. Returning inside the lights were on. Ana was at the stove, with a serious expression on her face at first that brightened when she looked at him.

“Good morning!” She said cheerfully, taking a ladle and pouring the hot type off coffee people liked to drink in Mexico made with spices and a cone of unrefined cane sugar from a clay pot into a matching clay mug. She placed it on the table for him.

“Mornin’ Anie.” Arthur replied, sitting at his place at the table. He took a sip from the mug. It had a flavor he found overwhelming the first few times he drank it, but now he enjoyed the taste of the sweetness and cinnamon that mingled with the cloves and a thing called anise.

He watched Ana check if the frying pan was hot, cracking eggs into it. As they cooked she prepared other things. On the plates she laid down warmed corn tortillas, spreading refried beans onto them. The fried eggs went on top before being smothered in a chunky red sauce made from tomatoes, onions, and chilies.

The smell brought Ana’s son trudging down the stairs. He scratched his head still tried and sat across from Arthur, not really noticing he was there at first. Once he did his posture changed, suddenly shy and looking cautiously at him. Arthur noticed he did that a lot around him. Arthur studied him every time, just as the boy was doing to him. His face didn’t have Ana’s features. He didn’t know what her husband looked like, but there was something oddly familiar about them. There was something in them that brought up a long, bottled up memory back to the surface. Then there was his eyes again. Not just their color, but the way they scanned him and took note of everything about the stranger in front of him.

“Hey there buddy!” Arthur said as gently as his drawl could, a tone he often did with Jack, “I don’t think we’ve really been introduced yet, have we?”

Ana set the plates on the table and sat between them. She shifted in her seat nervously, taking a deep breath, “You’re right! I’m so sorry I should have thought about that sooner!”

She reached over to the boy and rested her hand on his shoulder, “My son, this is Señor Callahan…”

Ana paused and looked at Arthur to make sure she chose the right alias she had discussed with him. He nodded and she went on, “He is going to be staying with us a while, okay?”

“Hello, sir.” The boy said softly.

Ana smiled and everyone began to eat, “I think you two will get along fine once you get used to each other. You probably have a lot in common! You both like animals, especially horses, hunting, fishing, shooting.”

“Outdoors-y kid, huh?” Arthur said.

“Oh yes! If I can keep him in here for more than 10 minutes I consider it a miracle.”

Ana was the one who mostly led the breakfast conversation. Mostly to distract herself from the myriad of thoughts in her head. She considered asking him if he remembered. At least, if his were the same as hers. She quickly answered that question: no, probably not.

She thought about the past a lot when she alone. Sixteen years old, fleeing into a country she never had been to and barely knowing the language. The night she met Dutch Van der Linde, a man she had after the years still respected. Though after what Arthur had shared, she felt he was no longer worthy of it. He saw her for what she was then, a girl all alone doing desperately what she knew to survive. Looking back it didn’t seem like an accident. Both of them targeting a drunk and fat rich man stumbling through the California city they wandered into, him agreeing to split whatever the fool had after she knocked him out with one punch. Was he really aiming for her? After all, he had a habit of taking the vulnerable under his wing, winning them over with his idealistic charisma. He bought her a meal. He offered a bed, safety, a community. All that silver tongue of his that dripped like a rattlesnake with venom, with the tone of a snake oil salesman peddling questionable cures of the street, did was take her from one gang into another. The cycle was exactly the same.

It wasn’t all bad. When she had met Arthur he was also young, still with a boyish face despite the rest of him being a broad and burly man. He wasn’t one to easily warm up to strangers, like her own son. He was wary of her, to the point of standoffish. He had always been watching her, scrutinizing her every move to learn what kind of person she was. It took months for him to hold a conversation with her. It took longer for him to trust her enough to work with him.

The night she left she considered it the last time they’d cross paths. Then like a miracle he was brought to her, on the verge of expiring. As he improved over the months she looked to see how much had had changed. It was hard to do at first. She had been so focused on him gaining weight, getting those nasty bruises to fade, getting his breathing back to normal. He did seem calmer, jaded by his old life, instead of the thrill seeking man he was when she ran with the Van der Lindes. Lord… When a robbery was a successful he turned into such a beast. Not in a bad way, as she could recall. There were times she would replay the night after he, Dutch, and Hosea had committed their first bank heist when she was comfortable in her bed.

The introspective sadness within him had now become his norm. It was there previously. She saw it after Mary chose her father’s wishes rather than her own, when they collectively mourned Hosea’s wife Bessie when she died, again after the murder of Dutch’s girl Annabelle, and the tipping point when he found out the fate of Eliza and that little boy she had with Arthur… Isaac, she thought he was called. It had started to become too much. Made him weary.

It wasn’t something she couldn’t feel in herself. He had been there when her brother’s men, ones he stole and corrupted when their father was hanged, had finally found her. He watched her slaughter them, men she once knew and trusted as an innocent child. He witnessed her come face to face with Fernando, planting a bullet between his eyes. An unforgivable sin… Murdering a sibling.

They were never completely different. They were both broken people. She just was the one with sheer dumb luck. Her loyalty was to herself and conditional to all others. He never would have gone willingly. Not for Mary, not for his son, not for her if her he knew what she was hiding from him for the time being.

The boy left for school as Arthur helped Ana clean up. The troubled face Ana had earlier returned. She took a deep breath, “Your death has reached out paper.”

“Did it now?” Arthur draped the dish rag over the sink and picked up the Cain Valley Review that was on the table. He looked at the article. It was on the front page, but not the top headline. Seeing the title ‘ARTHUR MORGAN, OTHER MEMBERS OF VAN DER LINDE GANG, BELIEVED DEAD’ made one of the corners of Arthur’s mouth twitched, his voice was low, “So it is…’

“You are, officially, dead.” Ana said softly, oddly sad to say it out loud, “Good thing you’re using a different name. At least for a few years, until people forget.”

Arthur put the paper down and started slowly scratching at his cheek, wishing he had a damn cigarette, “They ain’t gonna really forget me. There’ll always be people lookin’ for me, no matter what is said. Especially if they wanted my head.”

It hit him like a slap across the face. He knew it was happening when Blackwater failed. That life was all over. He thought he’d be happier about it, like he imagined. The world was changing… It didn’t want men like him any longer. Instead it left an empty feeling in him, like he didn’t want it after so many years of badly looking for a way to have it. Maybe because it wasn’t completely on his own accord. Too much business was left unfinished.

Ana took one of his hands, covering it with hers, “It’s not easy. You will mourn yourself, and there will be times you don’t think you can adjust. Trust me, for a couple of years it was almost unbearable for me… But I know you, Arthur. If anyone can do this, it’s you. You are one of the most adaptable men in this world. Of all the things you’ve managed to survive, you can get through this.”

“I guess…”

They wished each other a good day. Ana watched Arthur from the window making his way to the stables. She wished she could have held him.

In front of the large barn doors there was a man with fiery red hair underneath a green plaid flat cap clearing away the snow to get them to open all the way.

“Mornin’ to ya, Mr. Callahan!” O’Hogan greeted loudly in a thick Irish lilt, “Just in time!”

“Mornin’, Mr. O’Hogan.” Arthur replied while being handed a second shovel, getting to work.

O’Hogan made a dismissive wave, “Call me Owen. What’s yer name, anyway?”

“Arthur.”

That made O’Hogan laugh, “Really now? Like Mrs. Gardener’s boy!”

Arthur blinked, then he sighed and shook his head, “Oh yeah?”

“Around here all the time, he is. Hands on learner, and a fast one fer a 10 year old. Not wonder he hates sittin’ at a school desk.”

10… I swear Ana told me he was 9…

After a couple of hours they finally went inside. The stables were bigger that it looked on the outside. The stalls were large, roomy and very clean for the horses who stuck their heads out over the gates to peer at who arrived. Arthur was in awe of the amount it held. Every stall had a horse in it mostly, save for the ones the children took to school. They were segregated by their use, on one side the horses the stage coaches used that were cycled in and out, the other the personal horses. The coach horses were big and hardy breeds, ranging from the usual Belgians, Shires, and Suffolks. A couple were Cobs. The horses that belonged to the compound were branded with a diamond with a G inside. They were all fine breeds. Ana always had an eye for the pretty horses, Dutch Warmbloods, Hungarian Half-breds, Missouri Fox Trotters, Mustangs, Norfolk Roadsters, Thoroughbreds.

Arthur approached the familiar Dalmatian Appaloosa, “Hey there, boy.”

Enrique sniffed at his hand, lowering his head to let him pet him between the eyes. It sent Arthur back to when Ana obtained him. He was so angry. Horse theft an offense punishable by hanging, the gang had bigger plans than that. At one point.

“Yeah…” Arthur whispered, “Gettin’ old. Ain’t we all?”

Surrounding the heating stoves in the middle of the stable aisle were buckets upon buckets of warmed melted snow. Arthur and O’Hogan used them to fill the troughs in the stalls. They hauled in bundles of hay and buckets with special grains for feed. When the horses had their fill the stage coach arrived. The two men led out fresh drafts and replaced the ones running for hours, covered in sweat from their hard work. They dried them and brushed them, putting warming blankets on their backs. They checked their hooves and put them in the newly vacant stalls, refreshing their feed.

“So, hear you’re havin’ a baby soon.” Arthur said.

“Number six! Should be here any day after that new year! Hopin’ fer another girl ta even it out!”

The new year… 1900. Damn…

“Six?!” Arthur cried, “How the hell do you fit all them in that house of yours?”

“Boys share a room. Girls share a room. The wife an’ I have our own. Lot easier now, that our oldest Mary Bridget is 15. Gotta get her prepared, ya know? Besides, we came from large families. My ma had 10. My Rosaline was one out o’ 12!” O’Hogan explained, “What about ya, Arthur? Ya have any kids?”

Arthur went quiet for a moment, “Once. He and his mama died some years back.”

“Sorry ta hear that.” O’Hogan patted him hard against the back, “Always rough.”

The least pleasant responsibility dealing with horses was shoveling their shit. With as many as Ana kept, there was a perpetual stream of it, and a lot of it at that. They were constantly hauling out wheelbarrows of it to go inside a large covered chest. Farmers loved the stuff, apparently. O’Hogan told Arthur once the planting season came all of them around the town would stop by. They raked plenty of money from it.

During lunch Arthur and O’Hogan sat on the floor in front of stove.

“So how’d you get into all this, Mr. O’Hogan?” Arthur asked.

“Always did it. Started out with them English bastards with their fancy estates in ta Irish countryside,” O’Hogan said, “Got tired o’ ‘em. Came here ta find they like us about the same as ‘em. Mrs. Gardener was the only advert fer a job that didn’t say ‘IRISH NEED NOT APPLY’. Here I am, better fer it.”

A few of the personal horses needed their hooves trimmed and shoes replaced as the task near the end of the day. They split the four, Arthur first grabbing the halter of a Tiger Striped Bay Mustang. It came back to him how to do it instantly. He bent one of the horse’s legs between his thighs, removing the old shoe and nails before cleaning the hoof with a knife that had a bent tip stroking it downwards. The knife also worked to trim the frog overgrowth away from the sole. The large nippers came next, taking excess off the outer hoof. He filed the rough edges down, trimming the sole a bit before brushing it and feeling it. He repeated with the other hooves, moving onto re-shoeing them with a fresh batch Mr. Johnson had made the day before. He lined the shoe up, they were well crafted and heavy, tapping the nails carefully into the hooves.

He took another, O’Hogan taking the last. It was amazing how good the disposition was on the horses, even the wild caught ones. The training they went through was rigorous, with expertise that the rich often only enjoyed.

The stable doors opened and the group of children came in on their horses after the school day ended. They were led by Ana’s son on his own Paint. The others were on smaller, shared Morgans. The three of Liang’s were piled at the front and back, the oldest girl at the saddle and reins. O’Hogan’s two school aged children had the boy in front, the girl sitting modestly behind him. The two boys of Johnson’s holding onto each other on theirs. O’Hogan and Arthur greeted the children and took the horses before they ran off to their homes. The only one who took care of his own was Ana’s son, who quietly dismounted and led Josefina to her stall. He took the harness and saddle off himself, carrying it to the storage outside her gate. He went into his pocket and took out the boiled egg he saved from his lunch, cutting it in half to share with his horse while he brushed her and blanketed her.

“Mr. Callahan!” The boy called out to Arthur with his books and lunch tin in his hands, “Mama wanted me to let you know she would like you to bring Enrique and whatever horse you’d like to the house. She needs to bring you into town for help with something.”

“All right.” Arthur answered, “Thanks for lettin’ me know, uh, Arthur.”

The boy ran out. Arthur wiped sweat from his forehead, trying to make sense of the small details he learned about him. He gave up for the moment, focusing on what was at hand. He got Enrique ready, then studied the horses.

“I know just the one!” Mr. O’Hogan shouted to him, leading a white and gray brindle coat Thoroughbred mare out of her stall, “This little lady here is called Delfina! Think she’ll suit ya very nicely.”

Arthur’s eye brightened in a gleeful delight. Delfina was a large and proud horse, a refined creature with a well chiseled body for her athletic nature especially for racing. He patted her on the neck and whispered to her, calling her a ‘fine girl’. Her spirited-ness came out as she nuzzled his pockets looking for treats, huffing when she couldn’t sense any. She was tolerant being tacked and saddled. It took him a couple of tries, which was embarrassing for him, to hoist himself onto her. He adjusted himself a bit, getting re-accustomed to it after so long by his standards.

He wrapped Enrique’s reins around the saddle horn, leading him as he learned to handle Delfina to the house. Ana waited for him on the porch with something hanging in her hand, that old gun belt Hosea had given her around her waist over her tweed coat holstering the same pilfered Schofield revolver and the knife that came from Mexico with her.

She stepped down to him, exchanging what she was holding for Enrique’s reins, “I have something for you. All I ask is you don’t wear it in the house and keep it away from my son without supervision.”

He looked it over, a gun belt with its weapons still attached. It was a thick and heavy thing, elaborately tooled into the black leather to have flowers and leaves all interconnecting with long vines. Among them on the holster was something written in Spanish in flowing, commanding lettering.

‘QUIEN CON LA ESPERANZA VIVE ALEGRE MUERE’.

Arthur buckled it around his hips, “What the hell’s that mean?”

“One who lives with hope dies happily.”

“I take it this was your daddy’s then.” Arthur pulled out the weapons, inspecting them.

“Of course. My Tia managed to recover it when they hanged him. Better someone use it than sit in a box in my wardrobe. I’ve maintained them, but couldn’t bring myself to wear it.”

They were old, but still in good condition. The handgun was a long barreled Volcanic pistol. The handle was a polished turquoise, inlaid in the stone was a motif of a skull and a rose tangled together with thorny stems. The blackened metal was engraved with a baroque style showing the silver underneath. The knife was customized the same. It had a long and wide blade, despite a few nicks it was still razor sharp.

Ana watched him with an amused smirk, “Looks nice.”

Cain Valley had a similar layout to Strawberry as Arthur followed Ana. The only difference was an actual bank and more houses branching out from the bricked main road on side streets. It wasn’t a dry town either. The saloon had the biggest sign, touting itself as the first business in the area since 1856. It was a busy place for being so remote, especially for the season. He saw many confused visitors carrying supplies for winter sports, Ana stopping and giving them directions. That must have been the biggest draw. The place was too well settled for just mining, or logging, or agriculture.

Ana had a name for herself, like the unofficial queen of the town. Every local knew her, greeted her. It was no different at the gunsmith when they walked in. She flipped through the catalog, Arthur perusing the displays.

“What would you recommend for a hunting rifle?” Ana asked.

“It depends on what you want to hunt, Mrs. Gardener.”

Ana nodded, “Something for medium to large game, but good for a beginner. This is going to be the big gift for my son for Christmas.”

The gunsmith left the counter and gathered three rifle models from their displays, apologizing to Arthur when he unintentionally bumped into him as he looked at the repeaters. He set them in front of Ana. The rifles he offered were a Springfield, a Rolling Block, and a Carcano. The Rolling Block and Carcano included scopes, good for long ranges. The gunsmith explained the advantages, drawbacks, and powers of the weapons. Ana picked them up and handled them, carefully considering the best one.

Arthur noticed the subtle changes in her when she held them. She was no stranger to rifles. She was no stranger to any weapon that could harm and kill. That angry, violence searching girl was still in there. He had a flashback to the time when she fully showed it to him. A bounty hunter had tracked them, after a high value robbery. She had thrown her knife into his groin. As he screamed in agony rushed to the shotgun he dropped, using the bullet meant for Dutch to blow off hunter’s head in a scarlet spray and emptying the rest of its ammunition into the limp body.

“I think I’ll take the Carcano.”

“Good choice, Mrs. Gardener. I’m sure little Arthur will love it. Want extra ammo on top of it?”

“Of course, thank you. Can you box it up? I don’t want him seeing it.”

The gunsmith hoisted a nondescript carrying case from under the counter, laying the gun and ammo inside and closing it. Ana paid for it in full. When it was Arthur’s turn he bought an Evans repeater with a few extras. He attached a strap onto it, slinging it over his shoulder to take out.

The ride back was silent after Ana secured the rifle case to the back of Enrique with rope. Arthur kept it to himself at first, until it threatened to boil over.

“Arthur, huh?” He muttered.

“Hm?” It didn’t register with her.

“That’s the name of your boy.”

Ana nodded, still not getting what he was trying to imply, “It is, yes. Arthur Francisco.”

Arthur sighed heavily, “You told me he was nine. Everyone else is sayin’ he’s 10.”

“Did I?” The tone in her voice was puzzled, but he couldn’t tell if it was genuine or the one she would use when purposefully being evasive, “He’s 10. His birthday was a few days before you came. Why?”

They were too close to home for Arthur to push it, “Just tryin’ to figure it all out is all.”

The house smelled of the dinner Ana had left to finish before she left. A meat stew made with fatty beef called Birria. Arthur observed Ana’s, Arthur Francisco, as they enjoyed it. He often would scoop spoonfuls of it into one of the tortillas, folding it and eating it.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to start getting the boy to talk to him.

“How was school, Arthur?” He spoke up, feeling strange addressing the child with his own name. He has met others before with it, but it still felt different.

Arthur Francisco swallowed before he replied, “Fine. We learned more arithmetic today. Miss Svensson drew a star in my book for it.”

“That means you’re good at it then!” Arthur commented, “Hey… If you got four apples and I gave you three apples, how many you got now?”

“Seven.”

“Right! Clever!”

Ana smile and joined in, “And there was no problems with the Millers today?”

Arthur Francisco explained while preparing another tortilla, “Weren’t there today. Haven’t been all week. No one knows why. Not that anyone wants to know, since no one really likes them.”

Everyone joined in the cleaning up. Arthur kept going with the boy to get him to open up, even as they moved from the kitchen to the living room and up until it was his bedtime. Arthur Francisco wished Arthur a good night before following his mother up the stairs.

Left alone Arthur sat down at the secretary desk, pulling his journal out of his pocket. As he opened it he became distracted the windowed cabinet. Inside where many other ledgers and a few business related papers. Slipped into the corners where the glass met the wood were cabinet card photographs. He took them and studied them. One of them was a younger Ana, sitting with a spindly looking man dressed like those Bohemian dandies that wandered around Saint Denis. He looked at least twice her age, and he didn’t resemble her son much either. On her lap was a toddler who was probably no more than 3. He flipped the picture. Written on the back was ‘Mr. and Mrs. Jacob M. Gardener with son. 1892’.

“That was your husband?!” Arthur blurted out in surprise, as Ana returned and passed him to go to her chair.

“He did the job.” Ana said plainly, “He had money. He had land. He died not long after we were married. I inherited everything as his only next of kin, with the provision my son takes it over when he’s an adult.”

Arthur was struck by the lack of affection in her voice. It only gave him more questions about it. He put the photo back, moving on to the others. The next ones he had a slight recollection of. Mostly because he was in them. It had been Ana’s idea to do them those years ago. They made a decent sum going after a train and she had convinced him it would be fun. One was just of him, mounted on that prized horse of his Boadicea with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a rifle propped up on his shoulder. That one said on the back in Ana’s writing ‘Mi queridísimo – 1888’. The companion to it was of both of them. Ana sitting in her traditional Mexican dress, her hair loose down her back. Arthur was behind her, one of his feet resting on the same crate and his hands hanging off his thigh. That one was ‘Arthur y yo – 1888’.

He took a pencil on the desk and started scribbling down his thoughts from the day.

I am dead. I guess not many men can experience their own deaths. I had always thought about it. What it would be like. I understood it as nothingness. No doubts. No fears. Yet, I’m still here and the unknown of that scares me. I don’t know if I can manage living this way. There’s no relief in it like I hoped. I’m not alone in it, I know that. Annie had done it. She’s certain I can, but I’m just not convinced. She seems to do it well. Makes it look too easy despite once being a prized heir of her daddy’s revolutionary gang down there in Mexico, who got her wings clipped as soon as she posed a threat to that brother of hers. She won. She made it. Can I really do it? Death might have been easier. I deserved that path for being the awful brute I am. I’m a bad man, I shouldn’t pretend to be anything else. I still don’t believe in a God or a Devil. Maybe I should after all this bullshit. If there was I would unquestionably earned the burning.

On the opposite page he did what he knew best to get the nervous energy out: he drew. He sketched out his intended grave on that beautiful spot near the Wapiti reservation, that nice cross Charles had created with his own two hands. He wrote underneath it:

Does anyone except Charles know where it is? Did anyone else go there by now? Would they even mourn me?

He moved on to his next sentiment.

There’s something about Annie’s son. There’s something she’s not telling me about him. I don’t think even he knows. I hope it isn’t what I think it is.

[cinnamonest]

Yandere Profile - Link (Legend of Zelda)

ABSOLUTELY YES. MY BOY. LOVE OF MY LIFE.

As some of you may know, today is the release date of Skyward Sword HD for Switch!! So I decided to release this one now in honor of that :3

NOTES:

I went towards the idea of a Princess!reader because that just opens the gate for sooooo much potential. I'm leaning heavily towards the ZeLink interactions in BoTW and Skyward Sword just because those games have the most interaction between the two.

Also! This is great bc it gives me the opportunity to explore an idea I've actually had a long time! I've always thought about how many opportunities there have been across the games for Link and Zelda to be kinda like "haha well seeya later" and just... bolt, run away from everything, abandon their roles and responsibilities and all that. Like, if OoT kid Link got her before Ganon did and ran, if SS Link just decided to get her on the bird and bolt before everything went down, if botw Link was just like haha what if we ran away from everything together... jk... unless...?

And final note, Link is a great pick for the very traditional yandere -- sweet and : ) but can snap into darker personas. I really liked writing this bc I tend to have more self centered yans and less of the "worships the ground you walk on" type of yans like I think Link would be, so it's a nice change.

As usual now the nsfw section is divided by a ---- line.

TWs: fem reader, heavily implied Zelda!reader, stalking, murder, very brief mentions of gore/dismemberment of rivals, manipulation, very brief suicide mention, themes of reincarnation (I’ve been told this can be triggering to some people so just in case)

TWs (nsfw section): noncon, somnophilia

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

Severity Scale

Intelligence/Perceptiveness: 4 Brutality: 8.5 Physical capability: 8 Mental/emotional instability: 7 Restrictiveness: 6 Sexual sadism: 5 Stubbornness: 8

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

The primary trait of Link that any darling -- any person, really -- would notice is that he is, well, quiet. He has always been a man of few words, and really, he often doesn't know exactly what to say. On his own, at a first glance, he really does seem like a gentle, humble spirit, someone who blends into the background pretty well, who isn't particularly prideful or reckless or aggressive.

Which is why, to be honest, he might sort of evade the gaze of most people -- he doesn't stand out. You remember him as the boy that smiled at you now and then, it's a soft, gentle sort of smile, one that you feel conveys nothing but the utmost innocence and contentment with the world. You know he's pretty good at fighting, but doesn't get into fights needlessly, he's accomplished and respected, but has never been the guy everyone is talking about -- he's in the background, against the wall. Never speaking, always looking out, sometimes at the sky, sometimes carefully watching people. Sometimes you see him, gaze blank and tranquil, and wonder what he's thinking about. Whether he's the village boy in the time of Twilight, the trained and honored warrior that slept for many years, the boy that came down from the sky -- you can't help but feel at ease around him, safe, you can't help but find him endearing and pleasant.

Yet, you always seem to notice him. Other people... forget he exists, sometimes, he's so quiet. You never do, for whatever reason.

When he needs to get something across, he prefers to express himself through actions, not words. If you lived in Skyloft, or Ordon village, you might find problems mysteriously solved, work suddenly done that you don't remember doing. That fencepost outside your home that broke has been replaced overnight. A village child went missing and he comes back a few hours later with them in tow. Always humble, never demanding or expecting thanks, he tells you in his quiet voice that he's happy to help you.

And should you ever ask him for anything, he'll drop whatever he's doing to help. Anything for you, he says with a smile, which makes you feel a bit guilty when, honestly, you're not even sure you're remembering his name right.

And yet, sometimes, you feel so at ease around him it seems unnatural. He seems so easy to trust. You feel like you've known him forever. And sometimes you feel... for just a split second, less at ease. You find yourself randomly stiffening at his calm, sweet voice. You find yourself looking around when you're alone, as if you feel someone is there, and for some reason, his face flashes through your mind. Sometimes when he looks at you, you feel sort of cold. It's almost like invoking a memory you don't have, like some kind of learned instinct you can't recall a reason for. But those moments are fleeting, they come and go before you can even process them, replaced by warmth and comfort.

If you do spend time with him, if you find yourself gazing out your window when he's training, the next thing you notice besides him being quiet and sweet is that he's strong. It's almost ironic, how all the other knights or village boys are so aggressive and rowdy all the time, many of them taller or bulkier, and yet, none of them could ever dream of defeating Link. Not one can match his agility, speed, prowess. Such a pleasant, calm person, with so much skill, strength, and power, but that power is so rarely seen exerted. People marvel at his talent, they say it's as if he has the experience of lifetimes and lifetimes of battle in his blood.

And it's why you feel at ease when he's assigned the task of guarding you. His capabilities are unmatched, and yet you'd never fear any harm to you from him. Both of those traits put together make him the best candidate to protect you.

Of course, you do find yourself doing most of the talking. Sometimes you find yourself rambling to fill the silence, and you fear you're annoying him, but when you stop he raises an eyebrow and asks why you got so quiet. Did he do something wrong? He seems to worry about that a lot -- has he done something bad? Has he made you upset? Are you mad? At first you think he's worried about his position security, but after a while you realize he genuinely worries about it.

And when you do continue your ramblings, you're surprised to find he remembers your words -- every little thing you say. Things you don't even remember telling him. He asks you about that relative you mentioned one time, his eyes light up and he walks a bit to the side because look, it's your favorite flower over there, he'll get it for you. It's impressive, really, how he manages to remember such things. He must take his job very seriously.

He does enjoy giving you such things -- he loves giving you gifts. It's usually things he finds, wholesome little things -- makes a crown out of the flowers you like so much, finds something interesting here or there, while he was off-duty he saw something in the markets he thought you'd like and got it for you. You almost feel guilty, it's so constant that he's giving you things.

Sometimes you ask him about himself, you realize he knows so much about you and you so little about him. He blushes, he rubs the back of his head, he insists there's nothing interesting about him, he wouldn't waste your time like that. It takes time to get him out of his shell, but eventually, he tells you this or that, little stories from his life.

Sometimes you take long walks, you like to get out of the stuffy walls and have fun outside, he accompanies you across Hyrule. Sometimes it feels familiar, you pass places you've never been that give you a feeling of nostalgia, deja vu, a sense that you've been here before.

He’s protectiveness incarnated. Insanely so. He can spring to his feet at a moment's notice and deals with anything that comes for you before they can even get close.

It makes you feel safe, but there's something else there. It's a ferocity that is so contrasting to his normal self, different even from the times you've seen him fight as he trains. It's a glint in the eyes, an aggression in his expression, that almost makes him seem like a different person. And it lingers for a moment, once the creature is dead and his sword hand falls to his side, he turns and glances at you to his side, a hand raised to wipe the blood off his face, and for that lingering second, it's still there, his blank expression and wide eyes -- a ferocity so intense it starts to look like bloodlust, chaos, destruction. And then, it's as if you imagined it. Smiling and telling you it's gone now, you're ok. You're glad he's so truly devoted.

In fact, he's so dedicated to his job that he starts... doing it... outside of his job hours...? Well, today he was given the day off, and you were told to stay inside because you didn't have to go out. He comes knocking on your door, says not to be startled if you hear someone outside your door move or shift or anything, but he just wanted to let you know in case. He'll be right here. Keeping watch. So don't worry. You're safe.

And likewise, he was supposed to have a day off when you were supposed to enter the town. You were assigned two other guards to watch you, since it's a special trip, so you're surprised to find just Link waiting for you. He took care of it, he says, he didn't feel right leaving your safety up to someone else, he doesn't trust them. So they agreed to let him take over for today.

All of this said, he doesn't have to grow alongside you, he doesn't have to be the childhood friend, the knight who guards you. He doesn't even have to have met you. Fate works in odd ways like that. There's a sort of inexplicable instant attachment he takes to you, almost as though it's some kind of destined, divinely inspired sort of thing. He would describe it as saying you feel familiar to him.

He's also, notably, prone to a more traditional trope of what you might call humility whiplash. For the most part, he's got that overly humble, worshipping, "I don't deserve to even stand in your presence" sort of mentality. However, although it's rare and requires a lot of wearing down his mental state, if pushed far enough, he can have brief moments where he snaps into more or less the complete opposite -- entitlement, arrogance, aggression, getting mad at you for the behavior he'd normally take with a smile on his face. Thankfully, unlike some yanderes that have a whole snapping episode towards their darling, his are very very brief, usually only a matter of seconds or a single snarled sentence before he snaps back to normal, wide-eyed and apologetic and telling you I don't know what came over me. It’s... a little frightening to say the least, but you blow it off, tell yourself that hey, everyone has moments like that... Right?

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

For the most part, he doesn't need it, he can pretty easily cling to your side well enough to be assured of your safety, and he manages to scare off the undesirables not with a glare, but a smile that's just a little too sweet and far too persistent -- it unnerves people. You hear a lot of people say that something about that guy rubs me the wrong way. Or that he gives me goosebumps for some reason. Even the people he scares away themselves can't pinpoint exactly what it is, all they know is that, despite being reputed as kind and quiet (and maybe a little dense), somehow a lot of people agree that something about him puts people at unease, and that's all he needs. Because they stay away from him, and if he’s by your side all the time, that means they stay away from you too. Why keep you trapped when you can just be isolated?

An aware Link is a a unique scenario. One scenario that's rather... interesting to imagine is a Link that defies fate itself, a Link that decides to be selfish in one of those rare snapping moments of his. Perhaps he makes a decision when everything starts going down, when the chaos is beginning, or perhaps he has somehow managed to gain knowledge of the bigger picture at work, the reality of the nature of your existence and his.

Perhaps he begins to think it's unfair. To suffer again and again. To prove himself again and again, and not always even to reap any benefits, to work so hard and yet still -- still -- you slip out of his grasp. He longs for a life with no tribulations, no struggle, no fights to be fought. He begins to feel like it's what he wants the most. He begins to feel like maybe it's what he deserves. So many lifetimes of struggles, if the higher powers won't give him a reward, he'll take it himself.

And perhaps, for all their higher power, not even the great goddesses themselves would have ever predicted it -- humans are ultimately creatures of will. To defy fate and to run away from destiny -- it wouldn't be the first time a human has tried such a thing. Sure, Hyrule may be destroyed. The people may all die. There may be nothing left. But you know what? He's stopped caring. If you're alive and he's alive, tucked away in your little corner of the world where you've found respite, well, that's all he needs. Even if you're on the run from forces that would want to find you, even if the threat of the final third of the triforce owner looms over your head. He'll ignore it, he'll look away.

You'll live a quiet little life together, a happy life without suffering, without quests and enemies, without strife, without worry. That's what he tells you when he steals you away, lifts you out of your bed one night. Says to be quiet, there's danger outside your door, he's rescuing you. You have no reason to not believe him. He waits until things go down, a castle under siege, but rather than taking you to where you're supposed to go, he climbs onto the horse and starts... riding away. It gets further and further into the distance, and you might ask why, what's going on? You have a job to do, he has a battle to be fought. But he says you're going far, far away, someplace you'll be safe.

But what about the divine beasts, the seals, the Twilight, whatever threat runs in this world in this time, what about the threat of Ganon, you ask? He says it doesn't matter anymore. You were doomed to fail, he thinks, it's either stay here and die, or run away. All that matters is you. And he'd like you to feel the same way for him. You will with enough time, don't worry.

He just wants this happy, quiet life with you that he’s been denied time and time again. It’s all he wants. If fate won’t give it to him, he’ll make it happen himself, and carve out the life he is determined to have, defying even the will of higher power.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

He gets it. Really, he does. "Stop following me!" You yell. Well, he understands why you might feel that way, but this is kinda his job. He thinks you're naive. Not that he would ever, ever have a thought that you're imperfect, of course! It's because you're so perfect and pure that you're... less aware of the dangers all around.

He'll let you think you're free, perhaps. He's more than capable of being quiet, quiet is kind of his thing. Watching you from a short distance is easy. Of course, his horse might make a noise, he can't really help that, or he might misstep on a branch or something. And then you turn around and get all mad again. Now you're even more angry. Well, he can also tell your guardians/father, who will encourage you to accept it. You can't help but feel a little bad -- he's just doing his job.

Now, our aware, runaway Link, well, does he really need to keep you restrained? What would you go back to? Certain death, a land destroyed? Sometimes you mention home, and he's quick to remind you that home doesn't exist anymore. His home is where you are. Can't you feel the same way? You found peace here in this little place -- a village far far away. Travelers, you call yourselves. What's the point in going elsewhere? How would you ever survive without him? He's not very good at being subtle or skillful about the psychological manipulation, it's obvious he's trying to scare you into not leaving, but... it still works, because really, he has a point.

He doesn't want to have to use physical restraint, in any case. And for the most part, it's not needed, because one important aspect of your relation is that his job kinda revolves around you (in some incarnations), or, perhaps you live in the same little village, but either way the thing is that his presence does the job well enough -- he's always there, perhaps more so than almost any other yandere. Even when you think you've managed to get away from him for a moment, somehow his face pops up out of nowhere. How he manages to pull it off is a mystery, you swear he manages to find you so well and predict your movements it's inhuman.

But if you really, really pose a problem, a smarter and sneakier darling that somehow manages to keep slipping out of his grasp and running off (you never get away for more than about 20 minutes or so, but nonetheless), you keep trying to run off when he's sleeping (he wakes up in approximately 25 seconds if your presence is absent from the bed, but that's still enough time to run out the front door), every time he turns his head (which isn't often) you're trying to disappear... well, in that case, he can reach a point of deciding more straightforward measures are necessary. He hates to do it, really, at least when he's not yet at a snapping point. But it's for your own good. And he says so, quite apologetically.

But it's not so bad, it's not like you're being chained to a wall or anything. For one, he got leather ties so you'd be more comfortable, but more importantly, as your guardian, he figured the best thing for you to be tied to would be... himself. Think of it like friendship bracelets! It's just... got a 5-foot chain connecting them. This way you can't sneak off at night, and you won't get too far when he's distracted. It's a safety measure.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

He's a learner. At first, it's easy. Honestly, he is a rather naive, gullible boy, sometimes he reminds you of a happy dog with his bright eyes. He likes to believe the best of people, give them the benefit of the doubt in all circumstances, and that goes double for you, who he believes can do no wrong.

And even when you do lie to him, it's still not wrong. You didn't do anything bad. Clearly there has simply been a misunderstanding, and you thought you had to lie. Or perhaps you simply forgot a detail or were confusing something with something else. It wasn't malicious on your end, he knows that.

He's actually significantly smarter than he lets on in practical knowledge, though. Those dungeon puzzles pay off, you know? He's got pattern recognition down. So over time he learns how to distinguish when you're lying to him or attempting to deceive him, and sees through it increasingly well.

And yet, he doesn't really... get mad over it, most of the time. Again, he's just capable of deluding himself into believing there's a reason. He believes so strongly in your goodness that he finds a way to interpret everything you do as out of benevolence. So you snuck out the window and didn't tell him you were going for a walk because you just wanted to get away from his suffocating presence for once? You were just thinking of him. You didn't want to burden him and wanted to give him a break. Well, that's thoughtful, but don't worry, he doesn't need a break. He thinks it's precious you're so considerate of him though!

You don't tell him you were talking to that person, and you lie and say no when he asks, because you don't want him to worry, and because you underestimate how dangerous others can be. He's told you a million times and you don't listen, but that's ok, it's because you're just so pure you see the best in everyone. Everything you do is good.

Because he perceives your lies, he will still work against and around it. He won't confront you on your lies, he'll just make sure to deal with the situation -- you lied about sneaking out, well, he'll just keep watch and be ready to meet you outside next time. You lied about talking to a person, well, he'll just have to make sure they stay away from you instead.

If you're trying to trick him, he just plays along until necessary. Smiles and nods. He gets the suspicion you're planning a break-out when he told you he was leaving to go get something from town... rather than saying so, he just decides, you know what? Why don't you come with him? Oh, you're feeling sick, you tell him it's ok, go without you? Well, he can't leave you alone then! Because you're clearly not and just trying to get him to leave... or, as he says, he can't just leave you alone. He'll go another day.

He's fairly manipulable when it comes to praise and affection. You can easily Pavlov him into certain behaviors or patterns with just the slightest words of praise and affection. He's not a very outwardly expressive person, tends to stay quiet, but you can tell how he feels inside when you give the slightest praise, a hug, a kiss on the cheek -- you can see that soft hint of a smile and tell that inside, he's basically melting, even if it's not obvious to most people. And, much like the lying, he’s honestly often aware of it, but he just can’t help it.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He tries to get you the things that he feels will make you happy. Your happiness is incredibly important to him, and he usually thinks about how any action he plans to take might affect you, spends a lot of time debating choices of things to do or say and try to determine how each one will affect you and choose accordingly.

As such, he goes out of his way to support the things you want to do. Have a hobby? He'll find the best materials available. Want a book or a food? He'll obtain it through some means. Even if procuring it involves a side-quest-y set of mundane tasks or scouring the world for 70 of this and 50 of that to exchange it for the item from an obscure specialist, it's all worth it.

The only thing he just doesn't give up on is the constant vigilance and insistence on being by your side more or less every waking second. And every sleeping second. And just every single moment you're alive. It's for your safety.

This is actually one of the things he can get a little nasty about when it comes to how he deals with it, because he quickly has the bright idea that if you don't get it, he'll make you understand. Of course, he can't actually risk you getting hurt, so he stages it. Allows you to sneak off, or at least think you have, and walk right into the path of those monsters he lured, or the people he hired to intimidate you. Of course, it's only natural that he shows up at the last possible second, right on time to save you. You should expect that, after all, it's his responsibility to protect you, of course fate works out perfectly like this. See, he was right, it's so dangerous, and without him you'd be dead. Hopefully you grasp that now.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

His is mostly related to vigilance. Where are you? Who have you been talking to? Who was that person you were talking with just now? What did they say? He's not nosy. He just cares about you. It’s in the job description. You ought to understand just how much certain bad people would love to find you and hurt you. That's why he has to know.

This isn't our modern world, so there's no phones or tracking devices to speak of, just himself, which, well, might as well be a tracking device since he never seems to have difficulty finding you. Sometimes you're not sure how he does it.

He tells you that you don't have to be with him 24/7, but you will be, even if you don't realize it. He's aware enough to know that you'll feel suffocated and get mad if you're aware of his presence all the time, so he gives you your "alone" time, aka, the "follow her quietly from a 20+ foot distance" time. It all feels the same to you. Well, sometimes you feel eyes on you, but you shake the feeling off as paranoia.

So it's not so much that he sets rules and reacts when they're broken, but rather, he works his way around anything you might do so well that he doesn't need you to follow his rules, or really, you take them more as suggestions. But honestly, that's kind of worse. It's enough to drive a darling to the brink of a mental breakdown very quickly. With Link you will inevitably become paranoid, nervous, you feel like you're going insane because he manages to pop up everywhere, he always knows what you did when you did it and you have no idea how it is even conceivably possible for him to know some of the things that he knows. He confronts you very plainly and quietly, often sweetly, asking why you did this or that or telling you it's ok, you don't have to hide anything, surely there’s a good reason, and if not, he forgives you anyway. In a way, it's worse than an angry confrontation. You begin to feel like he's omnipresent, like he can read your mind, and it truly takes a mental toll and affect you worse than any normal yandere's concept of punishment.

This ultimately works out well in his favor. The more you just do what he wants, the less it feels like a violation or intrusion that he knows these things, since he was there with you, it makes sense, and you continuously get bent to his will.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Ah, and thus we get to that brutality rating.

It would be unthinkable to think that any sort of scum would even dare. Even he isn't worthy of being with you, and someone else thinks they could be? So, he more or less views "rivals" as an offense. When they're threats, well, he's allowed to deal with them. When they're not, well... he has a wonderful reputation. If he says he overheard that person planning usurpation or assassination, that they realized he was listening in and wildly attacked him, everyone will believe him. Even if the death seems a little... non-immediate. And uh... frankly... overkill. How exactly... did those limbs get perfectly severed during equally armed combat? And was it... really necessary... to kinda spill entrails all over like that? He'll apologize, of course, he was just so outraged by the thought of someone hurting you or your family, you know? You notice his eye twitches a bit as he says it.

He has a lot of... bottled up frustrations, which we'll touch on in the nsfw section as well, but it tends to manifest in those two ways: sex and violence. Rather than exerting stress and anger and frustration as it comes, he lets it fester. He tries to maintain being the noble, humble, self-sacrificing person he feels he should be. That is... difficult to do for a long time. People expect a lot from him, even in timelines where he's not necessarily realized as the hero quite yet, he usually has a lot of responsibilities. But then you tack on the whole hero thing? The weight of the world is sometimes, quite literally, on his shoulders. Do you have any idea the kind of stress that comes with that knowledge? It's not pleasant. And it quickly bottles up, a very very fragile bottle set to eventually shatter in a matter of time.

On a longer sort of quest, he just kinda... leaves a trail of destruction in his wake. Enemies don't actually just poof out of existence the way they do on-screen, you know. Anyone coming across an area he's just been through is met with literal piles upon piles of corpses, sometimes monsters, but sometimes people. He takes a very scorched earth sort of policy when it comes to dealing with things.

He's able to easily get close to people, with that sweet face and puppy eyes and lithe body, people don't really feel on guard around him nor intimidated. That makes it significantly easier to infiltrate enemy hideouts, earn favors, and work his way in to be able to commit mass murder more easily. Granted, no one thinks too much of it because they *are* truly enemies, after all, they *did* need to be taken out and well, if the rulers can choose to either send a group of ten soldiers or just one guy and get the job done equally well either way, they'll go with the latter option. No one thinks anything of it, except the occasional person who laughs and says something to the effect of remind me to never get on your bad side, haha! He gives that sheepish, sweet little smile, and jokingly tells them that yeah, better not.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

For you, nearly impossible. For others, at a hair trigger.

For the most part, he conceals anger well until, as aforementioned, it bottles up and bursts. The truth is he gets irritated virtually all the time by other people. People who talk to you. Look at you. Smile at you. He’s actually rather easily annoyed even when you’re not involved, but again, he’s good at hiding it until it builds.

His rage has a commonality with his calm -- it's quiet. At least, at first. When it's directed at others, his eyes narrow. It's the telltale sign that someone has ignited his rage. It burns on the inside, it starts off as a spark that builds and builds and grows larger and larger until it's a blazing fire that consumes everything in his path. It's a loss of composure, a rare moment of complete loss of self-control. From his own perspective, it feels like he's not in control of his own body, it's all a blur happening in front of him and when it's over he's looking down at his own hands, unable to process his own actions, sometimes unable to remember them.

But it's violent, merciless, unforgiving. It does not yield to begging, it does not leave anything alive unless forced to. You remember the first time you realized how unnatural it was, how shocked you were at how he did something that certainly went against the code he was sworn to follow, the very first time you felt truly afraid of Link. It was a walk in town -- someone called out to you, spitting obscenities about you and your family, your lineage, threw something at you -- he caught it in his hand and crushed it, and quickly, without a word, advanced on the offender. And, to make a long story short, you had to prevent him from beating a man to death in public in broad daylight. He was forgiven by his superiors, but even they seemed shocked. You had to pull him off, and when he jerked his head around to look at whatever was stopping him -- before his face softened as he recognized your own face -- the split second you saw the burn of hatred and fury in eyes that were normally so soft and loving, was nothing short of unsettling, you still recall the chill that ran down your spine.

And honestly? It's terrifying. And the first time, it's shocking. Sure, you knew he could fight. You've seen him fight off monsters, bokoblins and lizalfos and the like. But something is different about seeing the blood of a human being run down his sword, dripping onto the ground, to see the bodies and the blank, numb gaze on his features he always has after it's over. The absolute lack of hesitancy he has to run human enemies through before they even have a chance to explain themselves, how unbothered he seems by the carnage left in his wake. The way he turns back to you, drenched in red and smiles, tells you it's ok, you're safe now. There's no need to look so scared.

And it changes how you view him, in the long run. Less of a guardian angel, more of a guardian dog, one that defends your name when you never asked him to. Pleads to tell him not to fall on deaf ears -- you just don't understand why it has to be this way, he says, you can't comprehend the threat they posed. From the sweet boy that leaves you flowers and repairs and instead leaves a wave of destruction in his path you would not have thought possible.

Directed towards you, though, it's entirely different. He tries his best to have patience with you, no matter what. He smiles, he tries to make excuses as to why you'd say this or do that, why you'd feel a certain way, and he's rather good at deluding himself to give you the benefit of the doubt.

But when it reaches an end, when he can no longer lie to himself, when you push it to a point that you truly make him mad, it's more of a snap. The times he'll lay hands on you in a truly violent way are rare, and as aforementioned, very brief. It's usually not so much of actually a blow, so much as a grab. He just can't get what he's trying to tell you through your thick head, so he stresses it, trying to make you understand as he grabs you by the upper arms, shaking you with each word, and he only stops when he sees the pain and fear in your eyes, drawing his hands back at lightning speed. He saves you from some danger very narrowly, one of the few times he lost track of you for a moment and had to frantically search before coming across you being attacked. What would I have done if something happened to you? Don't you understand that? He's so lost in the relief it takes him a moment to feel you beating on his arms in the embrace, choking and wheezing that you can't breathe, that his grip is so tight it feels like he'll snap you in half. He draws back again, and he apologizes, but it will certainly happen more than once.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Above. Like, so, so, so far above. He feels like he doesn't even deserve to look at you. Of course, neither does anyone else, so he's just, you know, stepping up to bear the burden of wrongdoing to keep people even worse than him away from you.

So it's less that you're just above him so much as you're above everyone. He's actually, perhaps surprisingly, a little bit of a pessimist about the world. The world is full of so many terrible people and so many horrible things happen that he's borne witness to. It's a "world cold and hard, (y/n) soft and warm" sort of thing. You're the one good thing, the thing that makes him happy, the ultimate source of comfort he has, and he has to prevent you from being defiled by the evil of the world, keep you innocent and sweet (even if he's just deluding himself to think you are those things in the first place).

This ties into, again, how he interprets every action you take as good and benevolent -- he has the "you can do no wrong" mentality. Even very blatantly malicious things, he'll interpret in a way that makes you somehow still come out a perfect, innocent angel. If you do harm to others, well, they simply deserved it. You did something technically wrong, but you knew no better, or you were desperate. You can't be held responsible for any of it. And if you're mean to him, well, he probably did something to make you upset.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

Sort of a duality. Yes, he's very persistent. He thinks about it all the time. Every time you yell and try to run and hurl nasty insults at him, it hurts far more than you realize. He doesn't let it show on his face or in his voice, but it really does, and it gets to him sometimes. He's hyper observant of every little thing you do, your body language, your tone, the way you look at him, and the slightest of differences can change his mood internally, although it tends to look the same outwardly.

He makes little mental notes of it -- today she didn't flinch when I touched her shoulder. Today she didn't frown when she saw me coming. Little things like that will make his entire day. Likewise, the inverse kills him inside. He aims to make every day one of the former days, where the littlest signs of acceptance or even kindness and affection give him a sort of high that makes him feel like he's floating.

He tries his best to do things that he thinks will, well, earn love. Every opportunity to do something for you, he takes it. Everything he sees he'd think you'd like, he buys (or steals, or... loots from a dead body) for you. On and on that idea goes. And although he doesn't say too much, when he does speak to you, he usually has something nice to say. He views it in a formulaic way -- ironically, think about it like those collectibles in overworlds. You get enough of this or that thing, and once you have enough, you can go talk to this or that person and donate them all and get a reward, right? He's accustomed to viewing things that way. Love should be the same way. If he just completes enough tasks and gathers enough items, eventually he'll unlock your love.

That being said, even if it doesn't happen, much to your despair, he just... doesn't. Give. Up. He doesn't quit. No matter how many times you tell him, it doesn't make a difference. You can tell him you'll never love him, and it's like it goes in one ear and out the other. He keeps trying. And he never, ever, ever stops trying. What did you expect? The boy's been fighting the same enemy over and over across lifetimes, needless to say his spirit has build up some persistence.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Bonus: Zelda/Triforce of Wisdom Darling

And don't worry. If it all goes wrong, when he fails, those divergences in time where the hero is vanquished and evil wins out -- it's not the end. Somehow, that's the feeling he gets, holding your little lifeless body up, running hands across your cold skin. Somehow, he feels oddly calm. Like it hurts, but it's ok. Like he'll see you again. Maybe not soon, but one day. This time didn't work out. But the next one will.

And that's the feeling you'll always have. Every time you meet him and you feel like you've met before, the lingering memories when you wake from your dreams -- flying through skies and sailing on oceans, a child, an adult, a boy you've never met, or one you've known all your life, but it's always the same face, the same voice, the one right beside you in the waking world. You sometimes wonder if he has the same feelings, the same dreams, the same sense of something greater than yourselves at work, the sense of being just smaller pieces in a much bigger picture.

The sense of permanency, that each other is all there will ever be -- regardless of how it makes you feel, regardless of how that scares you, sometimes you feel like you can never be free. Sometimes, when you think of running away, those dark moments when you think of even escaping from life itself, it feels futile. It's as if you know it would never hold him away forever. As if death is insignificant. Perhaps in this lifetime, you'll become aware of why that is, or perhaps not.

With other obsessive lovers, just the idea of til death do us part is a terrifying thought. But, for Link, not even death can keep him away from you. Your suffering is already determined by the will of higher power, for the sake of a greater good. 

In truth, it’s the goddesses who made him this way intentionally -- it’s designed to ensure your safety, even at the cost of your suffering. Again, for a greater good. Sure, you may live one lifetime to the next desperately locked in the same cycle in which your freedom and will is stripped from you, but in the end, it serves a purpose. 

Nor will he change -- perhaps this one this time is a bit more spirited, more calm, more pessimistic, more optimistic... but in the end, at their core, they're the same soul, with the same will deep, deep down. The same drive to find you and protect you. The same love for you, an all-consuming love that destroys everything in its path to you and leaves ruin in its wake.

And if fate should one day keep you apart, should things change, for whatever reason, it’s unable to change him. There's another force even more powerful than fate determined to keep you together. The only thing more unavoidable, inevitable, and unescapable than fate, is Link himself.

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General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

In moments of passion, he changes a bit, unlike other more submissive yans who stay consistent in their reverence and desire to please.

You see, after a while, being as lenient and tolerant and flexible and completely devoted as he is... constantly self-sacrificing in so many ways, to you, to Hyrule, to the world... some frustrations build up. It's a big, big bottle of emotion, all tucked away and festering, getting greater and greater and eventually it has to explode somehow.

His reservations and inhibitions fall away. Perhaps a darker, more selfish side comes out. Perhaps that's why he's so rough. He knows he'll regret it later, the bruises from how hard he grips, the marks from the bites, but the hormones and the heat takes over. He'll feel bad for defiling you. He'll apologize. And he'll do it again. And again. And again.

But once the resolve crumbles, it topples. That is, he can't partially maintain it -- if it's partially gone, it falls apart completely. He lets go, so to speak. And when he lets go, you find that underneath that carefully constructed resolve and willpower that holds him back, he can be a very, very rough and possessive lover. In his normal state, he wouldn't dare think of you as a possession, or as something he's even worthy of. He would like so, so much to think that, to feel like he's allowed to -- but he doesn't. He chastises himself for even having such a desire. But in those moments, when his resolve is gone and his brain isn't thinking quite too clearly, he might even have to audacity to say "mine." Even if it's not true, not now, maybe it will be. He would like that so much. His and his alone.

And in a moment of clarity, he might even throw away the inhibition on purpose. The more selfish side, the same Link that drags you away from your destiny -- he's already forsaken his responsibilities, hasn't he? Why care anymore about the structures that no longer exist, your status and his, if there's no kingdom left? He likes that it happened, even. This way, this time, you can throw off those titles, those roles. Without your status, your title, there's nothing stopping him from making you his. And you will be his, and nothing more. It's all you need to be. So he doesn't have to care anymore about any of that, he doesn't have to stop himself from going wild. Biting into every little spare patch of skin, covering your body with marks that make him feel comforted to see.

As far as drive it's a bit of a two-sided duality. Outwardly he's not a very sexual person at all, blushes and stutters and averts his gaze at the slightest mention of suggestive topics, tries his best to be Respectful(tm) by always looking away when you're in a compromising position, or your skirt flies up, etc etc. Given how constant his vigilance is, he has a tendency to accidentally walk in on your changing or bathing, except unlike with many yanderes, it's genuinely an accident. Not that the image doesn't stick in his mind, nor does he wish he hadn't gotten to see, but he does feel guilty, and it was genuinely unintentional. He kinda freezes up, so it takes a moment for him to actually snap out of it and run out.

That being said, he quickly develops something of a masturbation addiction when he's younger, it starts as more of a stress reliever than anything, He's so sweet and always feels bad about talking about his problems and feelings, so that and, well, violence are the only ways he can get it out. Thus he learns to channel stress and nerves into sexuality, and once he has a real living body and not just his hand, that dependency on cumming to relieve it doesn't change.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Particularly so, yes, cares quite a bit. And it takes a while for him to feel comfortable. Even consensually, the first few times he touches you for several months, he's got trembling hands and stays quieter than ever, constantly freezes up every time you move or make a noise because he thinks he's done something wrong. He has to be coaxed into feeling more comfortable before he gets used to it, but he will build confidence over time.

As addressed before, though, if he's pushed and pushed and pushed long enough, you can get a darker side to come out. This is most likely something that would only occur post-kidnapping in a distant time, once he's far away from any possibility of consequence and destruction has set in to the world around you. He starts to get a little bitter, if you've been mean to him. It all builds up. Don't you get that he's literally saved your life? That he devoted every waking second to you? Isn't he kinda entitled to some thanks? The cycle of time never rewards him. Even the figures he helps over time rarely give him more than a verbal praise and thanks, maybe an item here or there, and then disappear. His role feels thankless. He starts to feel like he deserves something, something tangible, in return.

Surprisingly, though, he actually does not take the route of guilt-tripping or emotional manipulation or gaslighting his way into it like a lot of the sweeter yanderes when he does have that snap. His snaps/breakdowns are rather extreme in terms of how much of a polar opposite they are to his normal state, rather than just a slight bend of his normal personality. Rather than taking the route of most yanderes like himself, he just gets directly physically forceful. Still somewhat sweet, though, reminds you he loves you, he'd die for you, you're his entire world. You'd argue that doesn't really change the actions, but considering how frightening he is in that state, you're not dumb enough to vocalize that.

The guilt consumes him alive afterwards. Like, immediately afterwards. He's still panting and twitching and buried inside when it sets in. That being said, he doesn't get to stuttering and profusely apologizing, like he does over smaller offenses. It's all done and he can't take it back, so he just kinda collapses and says nothing. He's not the best with words, you know. It's an odd mixture of guilt and, honestly, a bit of satisfaction and relief. It feels like letting go of some self-imposed burden, that feeling of finally surrendering to some deep want, even if it comes with a lot of remorse, the relief of finally letting go does have a good feeling as well... and because of that, it’s another one of those barriers that, once broken, can’t be built up again.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

In all honesty the boy is, for the most part, a fairly gentle and vanilla lover. He doesn't really need anything special to get off -- he's easily excited and cums very very easily too. Just the prospect of getting to stick his dick in you in any capacity is enough to make him nearly burst at the thought honestly.

In general, as aforementioned, he's very very cautious and gentle to a point, but has a tendency to get actually kinda rough once he gets into it. The thing is, the roughness aspect is actually unintentional. He's one of those boys that is a little bit unaware of his own strength, doesn't process exactly how hard and fast he's going. He just gets lost in the feeling, kinda enters a dazed lusty haze where he's less aware of his actions. Doesn't realize he's literally got an iron grip pressing your head down on his dick or into the bed until you start flailing your hands because you can't breathe. Doesn't realize how hard he was gripping until he sees the bruises on your arms and hips later. That sort of deal -- poor thing is just unaware and doesn't have enough blood in his brain to think straight.

Biting

Surprisingly a really big one for him. (Remnants of a past life cycle with some lupine experiences perhaps?) In all seriousness, he could not explain exactly why if asked, it's one of those "I just like it" sort of things. It feels like yet another way to conjoin the two bodies, pulls you close. The marking aspect is also nice. Granted, he feels guilty afterwards, tries to help it heal. He has that same duality where moments ago he was this intimidating beast of a human being, rough and growly and jerking you like you were weightless, and now he's back to this bright eyed softie stuttering while he apologizes.

The guilt is mixed with a bit of enjoyment, though. It's constantly conflicting -- sure, part of him understands it's embarrassing and will help you cover up, but part of him doesn't want to, he wants people to see. Part of him looks at the marks and tells himself internally to never do that again, and part of him sees them and just wants to give you even more. It's a constant internal conflict, poor thing.

As far as a place, he likes the neck and shoulders best, simply because it's the most visible and it's the most passionate ones to create, when your bodies are tightly locked together. That being said, though, he also has a thing for biting at the insides of your thighs. It's another one of those I just like it sort of things.

Sometimes, when you're asleep, or pretending to be, you can feel him trace the bite marks with his fingers, softly running them over the circular pattern, just enough to barely ghost over your flesh.

Somnophilia

It puts him at ease. This one is particularly prevalent towards the beginning of your relationship, before you really know... how he is. He has this image of you as so pure and he couldn't bear the thought of defiling you with his horrible horrible thoughts. The guilt eats away at him for a while, but eventually he just can't hold back, but how could he ever do anything to you and risk consequence? So... the solution he comes up with is waiting until you sleep.

He tests the waters to see how heavy of a sleeper you are. Calls your name at increasing volume, lightly runs his fingers over your hair, pokes your face, whispers in your ear, runs his hands over your arms. Just to see what makes you rustle, if anything, so he knows the limits. If it turns out you're an incredibly light sleeper, well, unfortunately that means he's limited to just jerking off to your sleeping form, but that's ok. Just seeing your soft face and the cute way you breathe, the slightest way your lips open, that's enough for him.

If it turns out you're a heavier sleeper though, well, he tries to fight the temptation, but ends up going further. Slowly climbs onto your bed, careful to make the weight shift as gently as possible. Slowly pulls the covers back. Runs his hands up and down. It's a lot better when he can actually see your body as he jerks off, honestly. If he's feeling particularly risky, he might press your thighs together, feel how soft your skin is to his cock, how nice the squeezing pressure between them is.

He gets easily lost in a haze, though, so he inevitably ends up accidentally cumming on you and has to frantically find a way to lightly dab it up without waking you. He panics quite a bit, but that doesn't stop him from doing it again the very next night.

Overstimulation/Forced Orgasm

It just means he's doing a good job, really. Sure, you squeal and kick your feet back and forth and tug at his hair, but that's just because it feels good. Orgasms equate to love and feel good, right? Sure there's a little bit of pain when you go overboard, but then it just leads to feeling even better, right?

It's kind of an irrational compulsion rather than a logical goal, though. He just has an impulsive need to feel you quiver and spasm and clench, it basically gives him a chemical high hit and a wave of reassurance, makes him feel good in both the physical sense and the emotional sense. The first one sends him into this compulsive need to feel it over and over and over again, as many times as he can. It's another one of his internal conflict things -- sure, he knows it's hurting, but he just has to get one more. Just one more. But of course, every time turns into "just one more" when he's been saying that for half an hour now.

And, to be honest, it kind of gives him a pride boost to think he can make you cum against your will. How many people struggle to achieve that even when both parties are trying? It makes him feel good in an adequacy sort of way, he feels needed.

Size Kink/Distension

You know, there's a well-known thing among the male-lovers in this world when it comes to size. It's never the arrogant, loud guys, it's never the social butterflies, it's never the tall guys, it's never the beefy muscly guys. No, they're not the ones that end up somehow bestowed with absolute monster cocks. It's always the soft, lean boys who don't talk much. And they're always painfully unaware of it, too.

He's no exception. Not to the size or the complete lack of awareness. He hasn't spent a lot of time around guys his age too much, he's always been the one sent for some special task and ends up out in the wilderness by himself on journeys, or, in some lifetimes, accompanying you most of the time. He doesn't know what the average dick looks like, so he has no idea he's far above average.

This might sound like a plus, and of course in some ways it is, but also he doesn't think about the fact that the average body isn't properly equipped to handle it. You're supposed to just kinda put it in, that's how the sex works, right? Poor thing, especially if it's entirely consensual sex, he's just kinda ???? because why are you in pain? What is he doing wrong? You have to eventually explain it's literally just his body, not something he's doing.

That being said, naturally, he's a humble person, but hearing you say that does kinda... make him feel good inside. A little bit proud. He's not a person who takes a lot of pride in many things, so he likes having this one thing, and quickly notices you can visibly see it through the bulge it makes in your stomach. Especially if it's in a position where your back is pressed to his front, every little movement creates the bulge, so expect to get a lot of that.

He doesn't really bring it up much or talk about it when he's actually fucking you, it's more like, as with many things, something he's quietly aware of and silently enjoys a lot internally, even if it's not voiced.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

Yes and no. It has to do with his overactive protection instinct. What if something happened or went wrong? He couldn't take that. He couldn't lose you.

At the same time, he likes kids, and he's very good with them, very patient. And over time, realizes that a kid would be the perfect tool of manipulation, and besides that, isn't it a beautiful thing, an ultimate manifestation of love?

So how to work around that... Ultimately, what he decides to do is have a kid... Just not by blood. There are plenty of orphans in Hyrule, wandering the streets and the wilderness, picking one up is easy. ...You wouldn't leave this poor child to suffer out there, to fend for themselves, would you? Nor would you leave him to take care of it by himself... Right?

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

Oh, it's not like he thinks of it that way. He would call it... a reminder. You put yourself in danger again? You tried to go back again? You were gone and for ten whole minutes he didn't know where you were? What could the solution to this issue be? The only thing his brain can really come up with is making sure you need him. Making sure you're content and satisfied here with him so you don't go running off.

Thus we return to the forced orgasm thing -- see, you do need him. It feels good, right? You say it hurts, and maybe it does a little, but ultimately you wouldn't be cumming if it wasn't good. No one else can ever do that. No one else knows you like this. No one else was made for you like this. You can't replace him. You need him. And he can keep going as many times as it takes until you see that, too. Even if he gets milked dry, he has a mouth and hands for a reason.

And by "until you see that," I mean until you say it. In his more... emotionally intense moments, he gets a bit insistent. He needs to hear you say it. Admit it to yourself. And to him. That you need him, that you depend on him, that you'll never leave again. And don't think your patience and tolerance can stand a chance of outlasting his -- it will keep going until you say it.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

He's one of those wholesome type of boys who goes with something sweet. He says maybe your hair, your face, your skin, your eyes. It's all so comforting. So familiar. Of course, not to say that he doesn't like your less wholesome mentionable parts, but he wants to be chivalric about such a question, and feels answering that way would be too disrespectful.

In his unspoken thoughts, though, he likes the hips. It's a part of you he can grab onto and hold you close with. He puts his hands there a lot and holds tight, like he feels like at any moment you could slip out of his grasp. And, I mean, it's nice to look at, can't forget that.

[waithyuck]

beautiful

pairing: cambion! lee donghyuck/haechan x reader (f) **halloweenie special**

genre: smut, supernatural au

word count: 4.6k

warnings: brief allusions to darker themes, brief thoughts/desires to harm the reader in a consensual sexual context (reader is really into it and encourages it), explicit language, sexual content, unprotected sex, cumming inside, blood, rough handling, hyuck has a big dick whoops, hyuck is also a half demon so he gets a lil sadistic you have been warned

a/n: this was really fun to write and I’m really excited to see all of your reactions after reading lol

{cambion: offspring of a demon and a human; commonly has physical deformities and can exhibit evil and malicious behavior.}

< previous | next >

~10/17/2020~

~~~~

the world you lived in now was one that society probably could have never predicted back a hundred years ago. you were sure no one thought that humans would live amongst creatures far beyond the common imagination, nor did you think that they thought the human race would still come out on top.

most would assume that supernatural creatures would have taken over the hierarchy easily, but that was not the case for this world. even though there were demons, angels, dragons–you name it, they existed– somehow the humans still ruled.

from what you could understand, it was because the supernatural were threatened since the very beginning of their known existence. unfortunately for them, the human government now had the means (and the firepower) to keep them subdued. they were essentially forced to keep their powers subdued, for the “greater good of the population”, as the people in charge put it.

ever since you were a child, there had been at least a handful of non-human children that were part of your classes at school. not many, since there were fears of bullying and harm from other students toward them, but enough to make a lasting impression on you.

at first, you were curious. you remember one instance back in grades school where you wouldn't stop staring at a young werewolf boy; too young to hide his teeth or his tail. you didn’t stare because you hated him or wanted to pick on him; you really thought he was amazing, but didn’t have the words to explain that to him at such a young age.

you’re proud to say you’ve grown a lot since then. now in college, you treated those different to you as equals, as you should. you try not to stare or question, and of course you’re never mean and you don’t bully, nor do you condone bullying.

seeing the supernatural constantly being picked on was something that always made you feel sick. they weren’t legally allowed to use their powers or strength, leaving them at a disadvantage to cowardly human bullies. you didn’t doubt that if the supernatural were able to fight back, the humans would cower in three seconds flat, and you would have yourself a good laugh.

speaking of bullies, you unfortunately had to pass by a group of girls who were berating a boy you’ve seen across campus a few times. as you walked, you couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you could see the boy becoming visibly more upset (or angry, rather) as time went on.

lee donghyuck was usually an individual who kept to himself, most definitely because of his genetic makeup. the experts around the school determined that he was a cambion; a half human half demon offspring, to which donghyuck apparently confirmed. people would constantly come at him for his singular red eye or the talons that were only on his left hand.

to be honest, you were always a little afraid of him. sticking up for him was very heavily outweighed by the fear he might lash out at you for helping, making him feel weak or something. but today something inside you screamed for you to help him, no matter the consequences.

you just hoped he didn’t tear you to shreds with his sharp talons.

you changed course and walked straight up to the group of nasty girls, them not even noticing you until you stepped in front of donghyuck, much to his surprise as well as theirs.

“can you guys leave him alone?” you stupidly asked, your voice not coming out as strong as you would have liked it to. the ‘leader’ of the pack looked shocked for a second, before laughing in your face.

“oh my god!” she laughed, clutching her stomach. “why are you trying to defend this freak? hoping he’ll fuck you or something?”

you felt your face heat up in embarrassment but you held your ground, not tearing your eyes away from her or moving from your spot in front of the half-demon boy.

“no,” you firmly stated, “I’m just trying to defend him from low-lifes who think it’s cool to pick on him for things he can’t control.”

you gave yourself a mental high five for maintaining your composure. you couldn’t see donghyuck’s face but you were really hoping he wasn’t angry. you didn’t turn to face him just yet.

the girl in front of you dropped her smile, a scowl replacing it as she scoffed in your face. she let out a “whatever,” before motioning for her posse to follow her as she walked away.

well, that was easier than you thought it was gonna be.

“why did you do that?” the boy behind you suddenly asked, his voice soft but it still managed to startle you. you turned to face him, putting on your biggest smile.

“I can’t stand when people pick on others for things that can’t be controlled.” you explained simply, looking him in the eye even though your heart was ready to explode out of your chest. “you didn’t decide to be what you are, so no one should belittle you for that.”

he cracked a small smile at you, and at that moment a friendship formed, whether the two of you realized it or not.

donghyuck allowed you to grow close to him, which you thought was the most amazing thing. he opened himself up to you, and you became great friends over the course of the winter semester into the spring. in turn you opened up to him, and the two of you had a pure and healthy friendship.

he smiled with you and joked around, laughing and being playful in your presence. not many people bothered him when you were around, most likely because they didn’t feel like fighting with someone, which you and hyuck were grateful for.

hyuck was always gentle; he never wanted to hurt anyone or anything, not even the smallest ants on the ground. he was very careful not to touch you, in fear he would be unaware of his inhuman strength and hurt you or accidentally scratch you with his sharp claws. you didn’t mind him being wary, but there was a part of that wished he would be comfortable enough for at least a hug.

of course you didn’t push him.

currently you sat with him in an empty art classroom, helping him with his literature paper while you painted the way the sun reflecting off the walls on your canvas. the sun touched his face beautifully, and as much as you wanted to paint him instead of the boring room, you kept your mind on track.

you worked in silence for a few moments, enjoying each other’s presence in the warmth of dusk, but of course no good thing lasts forever, and your peace was rudely interrupted as you heard the door slide open.

“hey, half-breed!” a girl shouted, causing hyuck to grip his pencil so hard it splintered completely in half, shocking you as you watched the top half fly in the air. “who’s this? your new little girlfriend?” the girl smirked evilly, looking at her painted nails before going on. “best be careful you don’t scare her away with your demonic tendencies. I bet you can’t even touch her without wanting to tear her to shreds with those ugly claws.” she snickered along with her posse of friends, and at that point you scowled at them, ready to rip them all new assholes. as you prepared to stand up to defend your friend, he stopped you with his own actions.

donghyuck let a loud growl rip through his throat, turning to face the bullies and effectively silencing them with the menacing sound. it shocked you, but you stood your ground and gripped his jacket sleeve to ground him despite your trembling fingers.

“I didn’t ask to be this way!” he practically screamed, intimidating the group standing before you even further. “do you think my mother asked for this? to have a burden of a son?” his voice was starting to fill with despair, and you could feel it inside you that he was struggling to keep his composure.

donghyuck sniffed and glared at the wall, not giving his tormentors the time of day any more.

“just leave me the fuck alone, would you?” he asked quietly, an aggressive air still present in his low tone.

one by one you watched the bullies file out, most of them shocked at hyuck’s sudden display of hostility. you supposed that they weren’t expecting him to finally fight back after all this time.

he stayed brooding beside you, and when you tried to find his gaze with your own, he shut his eyes as a stray tear fell down his cheek. before you could comment on it, he roughly wiped it away, still not meeting your kind eyes.

“donghyuck…” you whispered, your voice gentle as you tried to get his attention. “will you look at me?”

when he didn’t move or respond, you grasped his hand gently, failing to ignore the way he jumped at the contact.

“come on,” you spoke softly, tugging his arm slightly. “let’s go back to my place.”

he didn’t say anything in response, but allowed you to lead him back to your empty dorm room across campus. it was a silent walk, but you never let go of his hand, and he didn’t seem to want you to let go either, the tight grip he held on you being a clear sign.

when you arrived, you lazily pushed the door open, and led him to sit down on your creaky bed. you tried to pull your hand out of his own to go switch on the lights, but his grip only grew tighter, pulling your arm and causing you to fall down to sit next to him. you didn’t comment on the sudden slightly aggressive way he handled you; you only worried for him as he sat in the darkness of the room.

“...are you alright?” you asked, silently cursing yourself after a moment for asking such a stupid question.

he was silent for a moment, only breathing softly in the quietness in the room, before he sighed shakily and spoke up

“she should have gotten rid of me when she had the chance,” he whispered, his gaze cast downward as he shakily breathed before you. “she told me she couldn’t do it. she told me she wanted to be able to love me.”

you could safely assume he was referring to his mother, and the solemn tone in his voice made you fight back tears. you still never let go of his hand.

“I’m a living reminder of the trauma she went through…yet everyday when she looked at me, she never complained.” at this you saw a tear escape his left eye, the red iris glassy as the tears spilled forth.

“I’m a fucking monster.”

you felt your heart shatter.

here was this broken boy in front of you, claiming he was a monster for things he could have never even hoped to control. he was never malicious; he was always so gentle with everything, especially toward you. He stayed quiet when people relentlessly picked on him, never fighting back until today. as far as you were concerned, there was no way that he could ever be considered a monster, no matter what his genetic make up was or how he looked to other.

“what?” you questioned abruptly, your voice raising sightly above a whisper. “how could you say that? you’re not a monster, lee donghyuck.” he turned to look at you then, his eyes wide with curiosity as he watched you continue to speak. “you have a heart of gold. you’re always so gentle and caring with me, and other living creatures around you. you never fight back and i’ve never seen you hurt anyone.” you tore your eyes away from him, panting as you looked down at your lap, the rant you were going on making you emotional. “you are absolutely not a monster.”

he looked conflicted and turned his back to you, and you assumed it was because he didn’t want you to see what he was feeling. your hands were now apart, no longer in the comforting embrace of each other's warmth.

“...I could hurt you.” he mumbled quietly, and you weren’t able to detect the emotion in his voice. your eyebrows furrowed at the sudden statement, and you were quick with your rebuttal.

“you won’t.”

when he turned around and abruptly gripped your throat with his clawed fingers, you flinched instinctively but didn’t react further than that, challenging his angry gaze with a hard and confident stare. even though your heart was beating through your ribcage, you decided to grip his wrist with your own fingers as you looked at him, preparing to speak with a hard swallow that he surely felt against his palm.

“you can’t hurt me,” you said in a small voice, your lips quivering despite you trying your best to keep your composure. “you won’t. I know you won’t.” you continued, watching his face subtly change into one of confusion. his eyes were still transfixed on you; one crimson red like the blood flooding through your veins, and the other warm and brown, almost inviting you to get closer.

your grip on his warm wrist tightened, your other hand coming up to daringly caress his face, not hesitating to smooth over his soft cheek as he stared at you in complete awe.

“I trust you, donghyuck.”

fuck, you really wanted to kiss him.

he beat you to it though, pressing his lips against yours tightly, causing you to squeak in surprise. you kissed him back with as just as much feeling, your mouths moving together in sync. his clawed hand moved from your throat to rest on his leg (a little to your dismay, if you were being honest), and his other came up to gently caress your cheek as he deepened the kiss with his tongue.

“h-hyuck,” you played, pulling back only a centimeter, hips lips chasing yours. “is th-this okay? are you—“ his lips on yours cut you off, and he hummed into it before pulling away.

“I-I want you,” he stated quietly, looking down at his lap before flitted his eyes to yours once more. “if you’ll have me.”

you stared at him for a moment, overwhelming emotions filling your eyes and heart before you nodded and practically pounced on him.

the two of you kissed like there were no other worries in the world; it was just you both enjoying each other in the dim light of your room, feeling one another.

his hands didn’t touch you, but he allowed you to pull him over top of you on the bed, your back against the sheets as his body laid on top of yours.

with every moment that ticked past you grew more confident, and after a while you began fitting your hips up against his, delighted at the small friction you were creating.

“hyuck,” you whined, your hands moving to grip at the hair at the base of his neck. “pl-please, I want your fingers,” you were begging, but didn’t feel an ounce of embarrassment as his lust filled eyes stared back you, his plump lips parted. “please,”

he didn’t hesitate to help you out of your clothes, careful of his claws as he removed your pants and shirt. he freed you from your underwear and bra, leaving you bare in front of his full clothed form.

his right hand delicately smoothed down your thigh, spreading your legs apart so he could take a good look at you. you were wet and you knew it, and you threw an arm over your face to suppress your moans as he experimentally drug a finger through your soaked folds.

you didn’t have to wait long for him to sink a single digit inside you, and you let out a drawn out whine in response as he started gently thrusting it in and out of your clenching hole.

“is that good?” he asked lowly, not taking his eyes off the sight of his finger disappearing inside you. he was bold enough to add a second finger and even moved his thumb to press on your clit, and you keened at the sudden feeling.

“yes, so good baby,” you breathed in response, gripping the sheets beside you on both hands.

donghyuck eventually worked up to push a third finger inside you, and you practically howled at the feeling of being filled. his fingertips pressed into all your sweet spots, making you feel dizzy.

“mmnnff, hyuck,” you whimpered, catching his attention. he looked at you with dark eyes, his mouth parted as his tongue poked out to lick his lips. “what do you w-wanna do to me?”

it was a valid question, and it seemed to catch him off guard for a moment. hyuck seemed to be holding himself back from doing what he actually wanted, or behaving like he actually wanted to.

he quickly recovered, and withdrew his fingers from you in one quick movement. he moved them to your mouth and you caught the hint, only able to take in two of them. you suckled on his digits as you stared at him with doe eyes innocently, like you weren’t sucking off the excess juices from your pussy.

“I wanna fuck you,” he simply stated, watching you like a predator as you released his fingers from your mouth. “I wanna feel you, y/n. all of you.”

you couldn’t deny him that.

you sat up quickly and moved to tear at his shirt, the fabric peeling over his head before being thrown across the room in your haste. you worked at his pants and was successful at undoing the button and zipper, and he kicked them off his legs in one swift move.

you stared at the impossibly large bulge in his boxers, but didn’t allow yourself to become intimidated.

you would make him fit. you wanted to feel him stretch you out. you would make it work.

once his underwear was discarded, you watched his cock twitch against his stomach in awe. he sat at the edge of the bed, his feet planted on the floor as you moved to situate yourself on his lap.

you kissed him once more before a determined look graced your face, and you positioned your entrance above him, ready to begin.

“what do you really want to do to me?” you asked him again as you sank down onto his cock, watching as his nose scrunched up at the feeling of your wet and hot walls surrounding his painfully hard member.

in your periphery you could see his fingers flex like he wanted to reach out and touch you or grab you, but he was fighting himself. you sat still in his lap, his dick buried to the hilt inside you, pressing against your cervix because of how deep he was. you reached out and grabbed both of his hands, placing them on your hips.

“I w-wanna…” he started, gulping as his hands stayed feather light against your skin, still afraid to touch you fully. you clenched your walls around him playfully, watching as his expression changed from innocent and hesitant, to cold and dark in mere seconds.

his fingers gripped you fully, but he was still careful not to pierce your skin with the talons on his left hand. his right hand gripped your hip posessively, and it felt like he was close to crushing the bone. you gasped at the feeling, but welcomed the pain.

“I wanna hurt you,” he snarled, moving forward to nip at your vulnerable throat, causing his cock to move ever so slightly against your walls. “I wanna make you scream, cry, bleed...everything.”

you gasped at his words, your pussy clenching at the thought of him absolutely annihilating you, leaving you broken and unable to function as a normal human being ever again.

he must have taken your gasp the wrong way, and definitely must have not felt your walls clamp down on him, because he pulled away from your neck to look you in the eye, looking ashamed at his confession.

“you must be scared of me now,” he mumbled, looking away. “I knew this would happ–“

you cut him off by gripping his jaw in your hands, forcing him to face you as you crashed your lips against his. you moved your hands and gripped his hair, tugging roughly as you both made out messily, your body still impaled on his insanely large cock.

“fuck, donghyuck,” you panted, pulling away. “that’s so fucking hot, please,” you began rolling your hips against him, causing you both to groan. “I w-want it, please,”

he looked at you briefly before nodding his head, a movement so slight you would have missed it if you had blinked.

even though he had nodded his head, he didn’t go rough on you like you knew he wanted to. instead, he began helping you lift yourself up and down his cock, effectively fucking you onto himself. he threw his head back and moaned, and you took the opportunity to kissing along his throat and around his adam’s apple. you shivered as he growled, feeling the deep vibrations against your lips.

it felt so incredibly good to be filled with him; your walls clamped tightly around him as you swiveled and lifted your hips up and down on his lap, continuously making the both of you moan out in pleasure. it was indescribable; the way you felt almost overwhelming and you felt wetness forming in your eyes as you buried your face in his warm neck, the tears finally spilling. your broken cries egged him on, causing his hips to lift in time with you, thrusting his hard cock in and out of you with more force.

his soft grunts and groans in your ear had your walls fluttering, and with every grind against him you felt his skin brush your clit, pushing you further and further toward your impending climax. you were more worked up than you originally had thought.

“I-I thought you wanted to hurt me,” you provoked, the pace not faltering as you fucked each other with abandon. he let out a low snarl in response, but still didn’t become rough like you really wanted him to. “ come on, hyuck,” you whined out, tugging on his hard harder.

he seemed to be growing close to his end, his hips moving faster and with less precision. an idea popped into your mind, maybe not a good one, but an idea nonetheless.

you weren’t sure if it was going to work, but it was worth a shot.

you smirked to yourself.

“c-cum inside me,” you whimpered quietly in his ear, and you heard him slightly gasp at the request. “pl-please,” you begged further, your nails digging into his shoulders in result of the stimulation you were being subjected to. “I need t-to f-feel you cum inside…”

as you trailed off he roughly gripped your hips, lifting you off him with a loud growl, causing a sharp whine to escape you at the feeling of his cock slipping from your sensitive walls.

he had you on your back in seconds; lifting your legs to wrap around his waist tightly before he grabbed your hips and hoisted them in the air, pushing his cock into you again and starting a fast and rough pace immediately.

you were seeing stars at this point, not even acknowledging the pain of his talons suddenly ripping into the skin of your right side, causing blood to trickle down onto your clean sheets. it didn’t matter to you, and in some fucked up way, you seriously enjoyed the pain.

your orgasm was building very quickly, and with one final and brutal thrust from him, you were coming undone, his cock buried incredibly deep inside you.

he held you against him as he shot his cum inside you, not allowing you to squirm away as your walls clenched hard around him to the point where it was almost painful. he growled lowly as he emptied himself in your pussy, watching your face as it contorted in pleasure with an almost sinister smirk on his face.

as you came down from your overwhelming climax, you realized that he was still hard inside you, filling you up to the brim with not only his cock, but his cum as well.

you looked up at him surprised, and he only looked back at you with that same sinister smile.

“I’m not done yet,” he growled out, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it before. you breathed out heavily, looking up at him and taking in the largeness of his pupils; they were blown out so wide that you could barely make out the color of his irises.

he leaned his body down over you, his head moving next to yours as his lips brushed up against your ear. his movements caused his still hard cock to nudge even deeper inside you, and you gasped at the sensation.

“can you take it?” he asked, lightly nipping at your ear as he began softly grinding his hips into you once again.

you were sensitive, but the feeling of him moving inside you had your stomach fluttering, causing your walls to clench around him. you could practically hear his smirk as he chuckled, and your heart jumped at the sound.

you breathily begged for him to fuck you again, to really fuck you how he wanted to, and of course he couldn’t say no to that.

his hips pulled back and plunged into your core, the mess of both your juices squelching and spilling out as he ravaged you completely. he kept his face buried in your neck, his panting breaths tickling your skin as he groaned out with each powerful thrust.

you gripped at his back and allowed your nails to scratch down his skin, a desperate attempt to keep yourself sane. each hoarse whine that escaped from your throat only encouraged him further, and he quickened his pace to an inhuman speed.

your clit barely needed any stimulation for you to cum again.

“I-I’m sorry hyuck, I c-can’t,” you breathed out, gasping for air. “I can’t h-hold it,”

he bit your throat lightly in response, soothing the area with his tongue before speaking.

“It’s okay, baby.” he grunted, his hips losing their rhythm slightly as he pressed on. “I’m close too. just let go.”

that was all you needed to allow the band to snap, your second orgasm washing over you in waves. you didn’t realize you had sunk your teeth into his shoulder until he moaned loudly, causing you to open your eyes as he shot his cum inside you for the second time.

his hips continued to buck reflexively, and he lifted his head to capture your lips in a messy kiss, his tongue finding its way inside your mouth immediately.

it was quick but passionate, and you swore you could feel every emotion he felt for you with just that one kiss.

when he pulled out, you observed carefully as his eyes watched his cum drop out of you, his pupils still wide as he licked his lips. he snapped himself out of it when you opened your arms, inviting him to lay with you as you both came down from the exertion.

you played with his hair softly in the silence of the worm, the only sounds being of your breaths. as you closed your eyes, you heard him mumble.

“I think I love you.” he said quietly, trailing his finger up your stomach.

you immediately smiled, your heart warming with happiness.

“I think I love you too, hyuck.”

[ygreczed-3]

The Red Guard and the Snow Angel

Summer Falls desert concept art

Hank and Connor

Gavin and Nines meditating + thunder, snow, fire and wind seal

Gavin and the thunder spirit

More concept arts - traditional art & inking

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

When they go through the Summer Falls desert, Connor and Nines pass out fairly soon due to their intolerance to fire magic. They only get better at night, when the temperature drops, so they stay awake to watch out while the humans sleep. During the day Hank and Gavin have to take them on their horse/Sumo and walk beside them, even though the intense heat isn't making things easy for them either. They reach a village in an oasis where Connor and Nines get better, and when they realize there's a spring in it, they decide to go and rest a bit as the night arrives.

Nines and Gavin are gone meditating on a less crowded part of the spring.

Gavin : That's stupid… How can this make me stronger than my training ? Nines : Stop talking and focus on your breathing.  Gavin : Grmphh.. Nines : Can you feel the source of magic inside your body ? Gavin : … Yeah. Nines : You have to… establish a connection with it. Show him you don't fear it Gavin : But I fear it. Nines : The war spirit you host is an incredible source of power, and you can believe me, it is as bellicose as you are. It only needs a goal to aim for and you'll be able to channel its energy.  Gavin : … You know I'm your enemy… Why do you help me ? Nines, closed eyes : I know I can compete with you. I'm ready to be challenged. And it's funnier to fight a skilled warrior than a scared little boy. Gavin : … Fucker.

X

Connor and Hank in the hot spring

Connor : I think that's what your hug feels like. Hank : hm ? Connor : The hot water. I think it's what hugs feel like. Hank : You said my hugs... Connor : Did I ? I was just thinking… about how you hug Sumo sometimes. He loves it. Hank : Yeah, this big boy loves cuddles  I admit that. Connor : It must feel good. Hank : What… You've never been hugged before ? Connor : Golems do have… intimate behaviors, of course but it's not… I mean we're… not physically warm, so... (NB : I was thinking golems in this universe would be like vampires, not as freezing as actual snow but still colder than humans) Hank : ...Thought you didn't like heat that much. Connor : Warmth from human's touch is different from fire magic : it feels more… safe, less aggressive. I think I'd like that. Hank : … How do you know that ? Connor : I touched your back to heal it, remember ? Your warmth feels nice. Hank : Yeah okay, you touched me, but you don't know what my hugs feel like ? Maybe you'd hate that. Connor : I wish I could know.

They look at each other, but then Hank looks away and stands up.

Hank : It's late, I'm tired. I'm going back to the inn. Connor seems disappointed, but then Hank keeps going. Hank : You coming ?

When they enter the room they share all together, Nines is already in stasis and Gavin is snoring loudly.

Hank takes Connor's wrist silently, looking at him in the eyes as if tacitly asking for permission. Connor just lets himself be enveloped by wide arms, and rests his cheek on his collar bone.

Connor sighs, closing his eyes as he enjoys that nice bear hug. He feels that warm something in his chest growing in his body, invading his stomach with pleasing flutters. 

Connor : Hank… Hank : Shhh… it would be embarrassing to wake those two idiots up now.

Connor bites his lower lip as he silently reaches for Hank's hand, his skin turning white as he presses gently each of his fingers against Hank's. It's known to be a quite intimate gesture among golems, and the closest human equivalence to it would be a kiss. Connor is aware that it could even be interpreted as indecent given how close their bodies are, and that if Nines was to wake up at that moment he would probably choke on thin air. Of course Hank has no clue about that and just thinks it's funny.

Hank : What, you wanna dance ?

Connor realizes they're holding each other on the left side and touching hands on the right side, and it seems like they're going to waltz. He chuckles from the absurdity of the situation from a human's perspective. 

Connor : I wouldn't know how to. Hank : Good thing, I'm a terrible dancer. Connor : Ahah...hmm, Hank, I like it. Can we stay like this for a moment ? Hank : Sure.

X

One night in the middle of the desert, Gavin is on the watch as Hank sleeps in the tent. Connor is with him, but Nines inexplicably stays around the fire, silent. Gavin is bored out so he just starts the conversation. 

Gavin : I feel like the old man and your stupid brother are getting along. Nines : I have this feeling too. Gavin : Doesn't bother you? Nines : What can I do ? I asked Connor to be careful, but I'm not blind… He's shining with glee whenever Hank is around him. I can't… force him not to feel. Also, I think Hank isn't that bad of a person… for a human. Gavin : Still certain we're the bad guys ? Think about it : you were made to serve us.  You betrayed your creators and let us starve like dogs. Nines : Humans didn't create us. Kamski did, and if he had wanted to, he could have made unthinking, obedient golems. Maybe we were meant to break free. Gavin : Oh yeah, so why can't you even procreate ? Simple answer: you were not designed to be an individual species from the start. You were built with no other purpose in life than to help us survive.  Nines : Didn't that even occur to you that humans did bad things too ? Gavin : We're just trying to survive ! Nines : So we are. Gavin : … So what ? You're saying we're two evils ? Of course we are. But I have to protect my people, you understand that ?

Nines stays silent, exploring the surprisingly genuine glare Gavin throws at him. Of course he understands that. His own despise for humanity is only driven by his deep desire to protect Connor, Marcus, and his people. He looks back at the fire heating them, unconsciously processing how ridiculously similar they are.

And yet, something starts growing in his mind, the irritating sensation his relationship with Gavin has changed from the moment they met, and that he unexpectedly wanted to protect him as well.

Nines : Would you kill me ?

He can't even explain how this sentence even made it out of his throat. He already knows the answer. Gavin stares at him longingly, noticeably surprised by the question. He stays silent as he puts more wood in the fire.

Gavin : If I had to, I probably would. But I… hum… don't want to. Nines : … hm. Gavin : What about you ? Would you kill me ? Nines : I don't know. If lives were at stake, certainly, even if I'd find this decision… regrettable. Gavin : ... Oh wow, is that your way to tell me you like me ? Nines : … Don't set your hopes too high.

Gavin breathes in a laugh and goes back to silence, smiling smugly. 

X

They arrive in Nestlepeek and split in two teams, Hank and Connor go to the center of the town, where Connor hopes to find more precise information about Kamski and where he hides.

Gavin and Nines were supposed to go buy supplies, but as they head to the covered market, they are challenged by a man in the street to defeat his champion in a fight. As Nines realizes it's all for illegal gambling, Gavin accepts and finds himself in a cage, combating a birdman.

He thinks he's got the hang of it but as soon as the birdman starts flying Gavin can't touch him with his sword anymore and becomes vulnerable to his aerial attacks.

Nines : Gavin ! Summon the spirit ! Gavin : No way ! Nines : You'll lose if you don't ! Gavin : I know what I'm doing, alright !? Nines : You obviously don't ! Thunder magic gives you advantageous long throw attacks, you can't win against a flying foe with close combat techniques ! Gavin : I think I killed enough Golems to know how to fight flying foes ! Nines : You bastard…

Nines uses his snow magic to catch the champion in ice and immobilize him.

Owner : What the hell !!! Who did that ?! Nines : I did. I'll replace your champion, open the cage.

The owner is confused first but then he sees the opportunity and accepts. Nines enters the cage and gets ready to fight.

Gavin : … You wanna die ? Told you I could do it. Nines : We've been talking about this fight for ages. It's time to see what you're capable of.

They start fighting and they're pretty even for the first ten minutes. Their fight gathered a lot of gamblers and spectators.

When Nines starts to take advantage, Gavin's eyes suddenly turn bright yellow, and he charges at him : Nines can see the thunder magic halo surrounding him. He parries many strikes but Gavin has gained in speed and ferocity. Soon enough, Gavin throws him to one extremity of the cage, and as the crowd around them is screaming in excitement, Gavin holds up his dagger. He's trembling, electricity forming around his hand. 

Nines can make eye contact but somehow, Gavin isn't answering his glare.

Nines : Gavin- You hear me ?

Gavin doesn't say anything, and Nines is sure he's gonna die when the human warrior shoots down his dagger… only to hit one of the cage's bars just behind him. Gavin closes his eyes, and opens them, showing blue-green orbs again, and he straightens up, breathless.

The crowd boos them as Gavin takes a step back and drops the other dagger. He asks the owner to open the cage and leaves the place, Nines following him, still out of breath as well.

Nines : Gavin !

Gavin stops, letting Nines get closer, until they face each other again.

Nines : You did it. You mastered the spirit… Do you realize that ? Gavin : I could have killed you, then everyone around me. That's what the spirit wanted to do… Do you realize that ? Nines : But you didn't. With a bit more training-... Gavin : I almost killed you, Nines, for fuck's  sake ! Nines : … So what ? Thought you were ready to. Gavin : Listen, this beast wanted you dead, everyone dead so bad… How can I… How can I use this power when I know how dangerous and unstable it is? Nines : … But you stopped it, right ? You can control it. Gavin : You fucker, if it wasn't for you, I know I couldn't have stopped it. I would have killed all those strangers, I know that, and I'm not… I'm not a murderer. Nines : … What do you mean, for me ? Gavin : Drop it. I need some air, don't follow me.

X

Hank and Connor enter the library, Connor is looking for the archived events-records to see if Kamski came into this village (which is most likely given it's the first one you can find after the desert)

It appears that the local people can fly so the library is very high, and most scales don't even reach the top of the bookshelves.

Hank : How the hell can we reach the archives ? Connor : Wait a minute, I'll go there and take some volumes with me.

Connor spreads his wings, that widen to support his weight as he takes off to the highest point of the library. Hank is impressed by how graceful Connor looks in the air. When the golem comes back with a consequential pile of old, handwritten books, he's just there, mouth open in amazement.

Connor : Here we go… the last 10 years of history in this village… Ready to pull an all-nighter ?

Hank doesn't reply.

Connor : Hank ? Hank : You're beautiful.

Connor blinks once, his lips slightly parted from the surprise, his eyes conveying nothing else than confusion and yet, low-key content.

Connor: ..I'm sorry ? Hank : When you fly I mean… that's impressive… and beautiful. Connor : Huh… Thank you, I guess ? Anyway hum… let's… let's find a table… Hank : “Thank you” ? But do you even realize how beautiful you are ? Connor : I was created to meet some human ideal. Why would I be proud of something that isn't my doing ? Hank : Ah, don't be so modest.  Connor : … you know, I think I find humans more attractive than Golems. Each one of you is unique, and I love everything you call “flaws”.

Hank laughs halfheartedly at his last line.

Hank : You don't make sense, kid.

X

They read the archives until it's dark outside. Hank can't help but yawn as Connor lights the candles to keep reading.

Connor : You can go back to the inn, Gavin must be there already, and Nines can take over. Hank : Nah, I'm good. Connor : Hm… Hank : You okay ? You look… worried. Connor sighs : … What if we can't find Kamski ? What if… I was wrong, what if we had to go back to Detroit and Jericho with just nothing ? I don't want to return to a situation where I'll have to fight you… I just can't.  Hank : … Yeah, I understand that. I don't think I can remain a Red Guard after what we've been through… After I got to know you. Connor : If we were to fail… nothing will never be the same again. Without you.

Hank just looks at Connor with sharp eyes, as if he's got the urge to say something. At this point Hank knows he's falling for the Golem, but of course, he won't say anything, because he's sure it's only one sided, Connor is so young and handsome he can't possibly feel the same.

Actually the dark haired golem is totally in love with the man, but again, he thinks Hank can't reciprocate his feelings since he's probably into women (after all he used to have a wife), and definitely not into Golems anyways. It just feels so unfair to both of them to consider going back to their normal life when they just want to stay with the other so bad. They just wish they could stay together and run away in some romantic and lovesick lunacy. Again, they won't tell each other about it.

[kiara-w]

RaccoonInnit. (a Rewind one-shot?)

This a ficlet based on the fanfic Rewind by @a-non-ymouswriter, and exploring what if Tommy and Tubbo were hybrids in the Rewind universe. Especially with Tommy being very clingy because of trauma.

TW (Trigger warning) for emotional abuse, manipulation and mention of self-harm.

Wanna read more?

Apologies for any grammar errors, english is not my first language.

—————

Hybrids.

They come in many shapes and sizes, including different abilities that help with survival. But with every advantage comes a disadvantage, or a necessity to keep living.

And for Tommy Innit, there was one necessity that always made him feel ashamed.

He isn’t clingy, at least not all the time. But when spring is over, and the leaves start to fall, holding on to precious things is necessary to feel at ease and ready for the dangerous seasons. It's something that raccoon hybrids often do, hug their family or friends tightly at a young age to feel protected, and then offer protection when they reach adulthood.

If he could change one thing about his life, it would be that.

********

"You too, huh?" Dream asks awkwardly, Theo's head is buried in one of his shoulders with his arms close around his body.

Tobias is in front of him, his eyes look away and he doesn't give him an answer. He only pulls Tommy closer to him, even though the boy is already clutching his left arm very strongly.

Sapnap and George try not to laugh next to him, but the other people around don't find the situation as funny as they do. They are supposed to have a meeting after all. And both Tobias and Dream manage to sit with the two people still clinging to them.

Well, this will be difficult. He thinks as he notices how Theo closes his grip a little more tightly and hears faintly the sound of a growl. But he is not upset by it.

The thing that made him upset was finding out that Theo had hidden that need from them. George had been the first one to notice him a little distant, but by the time they really thought something was wrong, they found the man curled up in his bed around blankets, ears twitching, ringtail bristling, and awfully whimpering.

None of them were animal hybrids, but that doesn't mean they couldn’t have asked, that's why Dream was angrier at himself when he demanded Theo for an explanation.

"I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable." His protege had said with a low gaze and clearly embarrassed.

After hearing that, Dream didn't hesitate to give permission to be hugged.

********

Tobias feels angry.

He is feeling a lot of things actually. Happy being hugged by Tommy, frustrated at the sight of Dream with Theo, and hurt by seeing the aggressive look in the eyes of his old best friend. Unlike Tommy in his arms, who almost seemed to be sleeping with a faint smile.

But I deserve that look, don't I? He remembers one day, very long ago, when Theo asked him with an embarrassed face if he could hug him for the rest of the day. What was his response?

"I don't think that’s a good idea, we have a meeting discussing your situation, remember?" George's house had been burned and Dream had asked for consequences. "Besides, it would look embarrassing."

But by the time he saw the dirt pillar reaching the sky, he wished nothing more than to be able to hold Tommy one more time and never let go. He would've been more clingy than his friend would’ve ever needed.

And then Dream showed up with him. The strike of anger and jealousy that he felt during the winter days after, thinking of how his friend would hug that smug bastard looking for safety.

That mental picture always made him regret so many things.

********

Dream knew exactly what to do when Tommy, face red and looking down, grabbed his hoodie in silence.

In the free time he got between his visits to Logstedshire, he had read a lot of things about raccoon hybrids. How they tend to be aggressive towards people they distrust, how they used to find small places to sleep often away from big groups of people, how needy they could become during cold days.

He hugged the boy, moving himself and Tommy to the small tent to avoid the rain.

Sitting in the bed, he stroked the boy's hair and ears, and he noticed small sobs coming from him.

"Why?" Tommy's voice sounded hurt, but he didn't move away. "Why do I only have you?"

Dream only pulled him closer. "Because I'm your friend, Tommy." and the boy only cried more.

They stayed like that for quite a while, until Tommy's breathing got slower. What started with him clutching Dream's hoodie, ended with him hugging the man during his sleep.

After that, hugging Dream became a habit during the rainy days.

********

Tubbo woke up with a jolt when he heard a clap of thunder. The hard sound made an echo in the presidential office.

It was raining a lot those days. But as he looked at the window, a sudden fear rose up inside him as he remembered something. He almost collided with Ranboo as he exited the room.

"Tubbo? Wha- What's wrong? Are you-"

"I need to go to Tommy." He quickly walked past him.

"Tommy?" Ranboo's voice was close to a whisper. But he hurried up to follow him. "Why do you want to see him?"

Tubbo tried to ignore how soft the voice of the hybrid had turned. "It's raining. He gets clingy when it's cold and he needs someone to hold onto."

That's when Ranboo blocked his way, meters before he could get to the front door. "Step away, please." Tommy needed him, but the tall man grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Tubbo, he is- You can't go see him."

"Why not?" His voice grew louder and he felt irritated as he took one step forward. "He can't come back, but that doesn't mean I can't go to him. Let me through!"

"I'm not letting you go there, Tubbo." His tone was firm. After all, if he exited the building, Ranboo wouldn't be able to follow.

But goat hybrids are stubborn, especially when something is standing in their way. His horns tackled Ranboo's chest strongly, but his tall friend didn't move.

"I need to see him Ranboo!" He put all his strength into trying to push him. "I shouldn't have exiled him! He is all alone, don't you get it?!" Tubbo tried to ignore the tears running down his cheeks. "Wilbur- he's gone, Phil and Techno are not here either. I- I'm the only he can..."

He dropped to his knees as Ranboo held him close. "He is too proud to admit it. He- He bites himself to try to avoid asking. He did that a lot in Pogtopia."

"I- I know. You told me."

"Please, let me go."

"I can't."

"Why?..." How did he forget the answer?

"Tubbo," Ranboo embraced him, his voice sounding choked as well. "He's gone."

********

Philza turned around when he felt his cape being pulled.

They'd just finished their part of the outing and his son stood behind him with that horrible smiling mask covering his face.

"Tommy?" he talked to him in the softest tone he could, like treating a small animal that could flee at any second.

It was strange when Dream left Tommy with Phil for the mission of the day, and it was even stranger that his son had started a contact after being silent for months. He missed his voice, louder than Techno’s and warm like Wil’s. Ender, he missed him so much. Even so, he tried to hide the hope in his words. "Do you need something?"

Just let me hear you. Talk to me, please. But the boy didn't answer, his ears were down and his ring tail moved slowly. "We're close to the base, I know you want to wait for Dream but it's getting cold-"

He stopped as Tommy’s head hit Phil's chest weakly, and his hand grabbed part of his robe.

It's something that raccoon hybrids often do.

Philza couldn't resist a fond smile.

He realized that his hands were shaking when they rose up to touch the boy’s hair, and he caressed his ears as gently as he could.

Closing his eyes, forcing some painful memories away, he remembered his younger boy's face, blue eyes with a shy and pleading look to be held. He remembered the warmth of holding him during the rainy days when he was little. And when he remembered how Tommy called him dad a long time ago, Phil's eyes started to tear up.

His arms hugged Tommy strongly. Avians had instincts too. Wrap their loved ones in their wings it served to provide, or in his case, feel comfort. And so his black wings surrounded his son in a tight embrace as he breathed in the boy's hair.

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Forgive me, please don't go. He wanted to scream those words but for some reason, he couldn't. He felt Tommy shaking and his grip tightened a little bit more.

He didn't want to let go, no if it meant the boy going back with Dream.

He could kill him, he thought. Once Techno came back, they could end with the nightmare that surrounded them and his son would finally be safe.

But his thoughts of hope were interrupted when he noticed how Tommy was struggling under him. And he barely managed to avoid the swing of the ax directed at his heart.

"Tommy?! What-?" The boy was crying away from Phil. Tears dropped below the mask, he listened to ugly breathing as Tommy hyperventilated, his tail moved aggressively and he heard a growl coming from him.

He forgot that Tommy was claustrophobic.

"Mate, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-"

Tommy's ears moved quickly to the side and his head turned. Dream was walking towards them with Techno next to him. And before he noticed, the boy ran towards the other masked man and tackled him into a hug.

Could he really call himself Tommy's father? Shame and frustration filled his broken heart as he watched Tommy being petted by the man he hated. "It's fine, Toms. I'm here." Dream seemed ignorant of the deadly looks he got from him and Techno. "We took longer than we thought, but I knew you could hold on."

As sick as Dream’s games were, that was the moment Phil started to question if he really deserved to have Tommy back.

********

Technoblade thought that Tommy was running at him.

It was a foolish thought, the voices told him, but it still hurt. He would've asked what happened, but when he saw Phil's look of regret and frustration, he could get an idea.

Especially when it also happened to him a few weeks ago. The last rains started to become poisonous to every living thing that wasn't crimson. Lucky for them, the most basic armor could offer protection, but the durability would drop quickly.

And because of that, he, Tommy, and Dream were waiting for the rain to pass inside some caves next to a mountain.

The green man went deep, looking for coal to make torches in case mobs would spawn in the dark. That left the piglin hybrid with Tommy. The raccoon boy curled up against a wall, hugging his legs with his mask covering his face.

And he sat next to him. Not too close to touch, but enough to notice the boy shaking, the fur on his ring tail was bristling as well.

"I'm here, you know." He told him. Just like his father, he had noticed the way the boy fiddled with his tail and tried to hide his ears in his hoodie. "We don't have to talk, and I won't hug you back if you don't want to."

In the past, when Tommy's pride got the worst of him, Techno would always tell Wilbur or Phil. It was his way of compensating for the fact that he didn't like that kind of physical contact.

But at that moment, he was more than willing to let Tommy hold him as much as he needed to, even if it would take all of his strength not to hug back, even if the boy despised his existence, and even when he knew that he had lost all right to call Tommy his brother. He wanted to be there for him.

But the raccoon hybrid kept quiet. Only when he looked at him he realized that he was sleeping. Shivering, but his breathing was slow.

"Tech, I'm cold." He frowned at the memory. The voices began to speak louder, demanding that he give some warmth.

Techno's eyes stared at him softly. Despite not being sixteen anymore, Tommy still looked so small next to him. His arm surrounded him, but before making contact, another memory came.

Suddenly, it was not the boy resting anymore, he was curled up on the floor, shaking, blood dripping from his nose, and with several bruises on his face.

"It stays in the pit."

His hand backed off immediately. A wave of quiet anger filled his mind. Some of the voices were cruel to remind him of that sight.

Blue eyes saw him with anger once. And then again in a plain, in a little refuge whose name Techno had already forgotten. Tommy looked at him that way when he mocked his pain. And that look would be engraved in his heart for the rest of his days, he wouldn't forget.

How could he? When the boy's face was getting hard to remember recently, always covered in a mask and staying silent.

Technoblade felt the most pain at the thought of forgetting Tommy's face.

He stood up and left his cape around the boy carefully. He walked until he reached the exit of the caves. It was still raining, so he leaned on one of the walls and watched the raindrops slowly kill everything.

He breathed, ordering his thoughts and calming every single voice. Their mission wasn't over. The best thing he could do was not lose his focus.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps behind him, and the smiling mask appeared in his vision. Dream held his cape in front of him.

It was a single second of confusion. He grabbed the cape and the masked man spoke, making Techno's rage rise once again.

"Don't show compassion now, Technoblade. You once told him to die, and I pushed him to keep living."

Dream went back to the caves without expecting an answer, leaving him alone with the screaming in his head, every voice demanding blood, and never getting the satisfaction.

Techno liked to consider himself a calm individual, able to control his emotions better than others. But the voices called him a hypocrite when he pictured all the ways he could kill the masked man beside him.

********

Tobias blinks a couple of times when he feels a movement by his side.

And he almost screams seeing Theo clutching part of his shirt, eyes closed, and sleeping very peacefully over his shoulder.

For a second he considers the possibility of him dreaming, but he remembers entering Tubbo's house just minutes ago, he sat on the big couch feeling tired, and he didn't hear Theo come in.

He must be waiting for him. He recalls Dream asking Theo to wait since there were other matters to be discussed. And Tommy had gone with Tubbo to do other things as well.

A little part of him feels sad that he can't stop time at this very moment. But a warm feeling fills him as well, and he closes his eyes getting closer to the body beside him.

Just like raccoon hybrids often hug their family or friends.

He smiles. Theo can kill him later, he wants to enjoy the moment a little more.

—————

Man, this was a long one. You could say this is a bunch of ficlets into one? I dunno I just wanted to write something sad.

[shreddedparchment]

Tamales and Christmas Lights

12/21/2020

Pairing: Steve x Mexican American Reader          Word Count: 6,838

Warnings: light smut, talks of having kids, language, drinking

A/N: This is the first time I have ever written anything for a specific type of reader. I don’t usually write for a specific race or ethnicity because I can’t speak as to the intimacy of living in that person’s shoes. By this I mean more of a family life. I’m eager to learn but for now, I will write what I know and that is a reader of my own background. I hope I don’t alienate anyone too much and that you all enjoy the story for what it is. There is a bit of Spanish in this one, but so long as you read all of the dialogue what is said is explained in English shortly after. Anyway, I’m SUPER nervous about this one, and it’s a little on the short side but I hope you all enjoy it. Thanks for your support! xoxo

“What do you do for the Holidays?”

Steve stiffens for a moment beneath you, bringing your gaze up to his sleepy face.

It’s so late and he’d only just got in an hour ago. Probably on the verge of sleep when you’d asked your quests.

“What?” There’s stress in his eyes and you’re sorry to interrupt the peace of the moment.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” He rubs your shoulder, large hands trying to coax you back down onto his chest where you’d been laying with your head cradled underneath his chin.

“You’re lying. And you haven’t answered my question.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head, “Nothing. That’s what I do for the Holidays. I don’t do anything. I should probably change that since Buck is finally back. But I think I overheard Sam making plans to drag him to some party and I’m not up for that.”

“Oh…” You deflate, laying your head back on his chest but he notices the disappointment in your voice and he pushes you up again.

When you don’t move, he forces himself up, pulling back until he can rest against the headboard of your bed. You’re also made to sit up but Steve leans forward to guide you close to his body so that you’re practically straddling him.

“What did you have in mind? That wasn’t an empty oh.” He notices.

You shake your head, suddenly terrified to bring it up.

“Come on, baby, don’t leave me wondering. I’ll assume the worst.” He reminds you.

You smile, appreciating the way he reaches up to grab your chin and give your head a little shake. You probably shouldn’t like it but you love the way he makes these small gestures of possessiveness over you.

There’s something feral within you that purrs into submission when he claims you so openly. You’re his. Heart and soul. He knows it already even though it’s only been a few months of being together.

You fist his white shirt, wrinkling it as you pull him closer and kiss him sweetly despite the aggression in your hands.

There’s just something about him that makes you want to just squeeze him! Like that feeling you get when you see a tiny puppy or kitty and you just wanna hug it and squeeze it and love it to death.

He huffs a small laugh at your reaction, though he doesn’t understand it.

“What was that for?”

You lick your lips, kissing him once more before leaning back and releasing his poor shirt.

“You know you’re mine, right?” You ask him, eyes fixed on his pretty face.

You’re not a fan of the bruising around his left cheekbone, but the rest of him is just as perfect as ever.

“And you’re mine,” he assures you. “And if anyone tries to take you away…”

The implications are tantalizing but you don’t linger there. You laugh and shake your head, turning to the windows of his room to watch the heavy snowfall.

It’s freezing outside. It makes you shiver and you pull yourself closer to Steve, wrapping your arms around him by hooking them underneath his own. You ball yourself up in his lap as best you can and rest your head against his chest again as his own arms come back around you, large hands splayed out on your back as he rubs it to give you warmth and comfort.

“Why did you ask me about the holidays, babe?” he presses.

“I want to take you home with me,” that’s the truth. “My grandma has been asking me when I’m going to get married and maybe if they see I have a big strong boyfriend she and the rest of my aunts will leave me alone.”

Steve huffs another laugh, “Are they seriously asking you when you’re getting married?”

“Yeah,” with a nod, you push up again despite being completely at peace in Steve’s arms. “They’ve been asking since I graduated high school.”

“That’s odd,” he observes and you can see how it might be to others. “It’s always been like that in my family. My grandma got married when she was seventeen. Same for my mom. Had kids pretty quickly too. So, they’re kinda waiting for me to do the same. Because getting married and having kids is what I’m supposed to do.”

“Do you want to get married and have kids?” Steve’s hands stroke your hips, a small movement of passive affection.

He’s eager to give you all the touch you want in private but you know to keep things a little more tame in front of others. Steve isn’t big into the P.D.A.

“Eventually I guess. I don’t know. It’s not a question I feel like I need to answer right now. I’m a little more sure about the marriage than the kids but I’ve got lots of time to think about it.” you shrug.

“Yeah, we’ve got lots of time,” he asserts and your heart shoots into your throat, stomach twisting with fluttering wings that make it feel like you’re doing somersaults.

“We?” you smile, despite yourself.

“I wanna marry you eventually, I thought you knew that?”

“No,” you laugh.

“Oh, well now you know.”

“You can’t just spring that on me, Steve!”

He laughs now, hooking his hands behind your knees and yanks you closer. You’re right on him, and as you settle, you feel a familiar stirring between your bodies as the exhaustion of the mission wears off and his eagerness to show you how much he missed you becomes obvious.

“I think I just did,” he teases. “If you want to take me to meet your family, I am more than happy to come along. We have been together almost a year, it’s about time I think.”

“A year?” you gasp, realizing that it hasn’t been a few months after all.

Time with Steve is so much like a dream that it feels like it’s passed in the blink of an eye.

“Yeah, we hooked up in that closet off the shooting range on New Year’s Eve, remember?”

“Okay, first of all, hooked up? You’re spending too much time with Sam and Bucky.”

Your face heats up, neck burning and ears probably hot to the touch as the memory of you half drunk finding Steve alone in that shooting range.

You’d confessed recklessly and Steve had practically tackled you into the wall when he’d realized you were serious, despite being tipsy.

The frenzy that had followed that first kiss had been uncontrollable and he’d maneuvered you both into the bathroom and then pounded into you with you pinned between him and the counter.

You can still remember the shock of cold smooth concrete under your naked butt.

The next day, Steve had sought you out to tell you that he liked you too and that he wanted to take you out properly and that he was sorry for letting himself get out of hand the night before.

You responded by accepting his invitation but then luring him into your bedroom to ride him until he was breathless and groaning with satisfaction and you were twitching from reaching a third climax.

Your love with Steve has always been rooted in a very physical connection but over time, the emotional depth has increased exponentially and you’re best friends now, as well as lovers.

Now he’s here, remind you of that very beginning and telling you that it’s time to meet your family?

“You don’t have to go, Steve. My grandma will probably ask you a million questions and the rest of my family will be just as nosy and loud. We can get kind of rowdy when we get all together.”

The last thing you want to do is chas him off with an overbearing family, but at the same time...you love them! If he’s going to be in your life, he needs to accept them too, right?

What if he can’t? What will that mean for the two of you?

“Growing up it was just me and my mom,” Steve explains, stroking the length of your arms. “A big family is just what I need, I think.”

You watch him as he leans forward, his lips finding that stupid spot on your neck that always makes you melt.

As his tongue darts out, tracing a small circle, you absolutely collapse against him, arms wrapping up around his shoulders loosely, eyes very slightly rolling into the back of your head.

“Are you sure?”

“So sure,” he whispers, the heat of his breath raising goosebumps on your skin.

He pulls you down against his stiffened cock and you moan as he throws you back onto the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Steve urges, reaching over to place his hand in yours so that you can stop pulling and tugging at your own fingers.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, staring at the peach colored house with bright red trimming around every window and the bright red doorway. It’s absolutely covered in lights, twinkling in different colors. Traditional tiny lights but then around the tree in the front yard are huge bulbs, green, blue, yellow, and red.

They’re novelty lights? You’re not sure if that’s what they are, but you find them silly. Your grandpa’s idea probably.

Your grandmother’s house hasn’t changed one bit since you were little. The only thing that changes are the cars parked along the street, the large rose bushes along the front porch are bare.

Several green hard plastic chairs line the front wall angled oddly as someone had most likely been sitting there last night. Aunts and uncles, your mom and dad probably talking late into the night.

Even sitting in the car, with the engine idling, doors shut tight, you can already hear one of your aunts laughing her head off inside the house. The shouts of kids playing also reach your very normal ears. Steve must be able to hear everything.

“Do you think they won’t like me?” Steve worries, and now it’s your turn to turn and soothe his nerves.

“Oh, no, Steve. That’s not why. I know they’ll love you. I’m just afraid of what they’ll say. Or that they’ll smother you. I haven’t exactly told anyone in my family that I’m dating anyone much less…”

The two of you never talk about his official title. Who he is. Even though he’s retired in many ways, he’s still the first. Sam might be Captain America now, but everyone knows Steve as the original Captain America. There isn’t a person on this planet that doesn’t know who he is.

Normally, it doesn’t matter. To you, he’s just Steve Rogers. Super soldier, for sure, but just a man that swept you off your feet with his sweetness and kindness and okay, those damn shoulders and his ass is biteable. But he’s just Steve!

Your family will see the title first, you’re sure of it. They’ll see Captain America.

“Are they not big Captain America fans?” his teasing is gentle and innocent.

“Steve!” you shut your eyes and chuckle, “ I’m seriously so worried.”

“I can take it, hon. I’m a big boy. Come on, let’s get in there. I wanna meet your grandma.”

Suddenly he throws his door open and steps out of the car, shutting it off as he goes.

“Wait!” you gasp, scurrying to get out with him. 

You scamper around the car until you’re beside him and take hold of his hand. He pulls you towards the door confidently but you let go of his hand and rush forward before he can reach it.

Fixing your hair, you push the door open and are immediately assaulted by the smell of spicy menudo. It makes your mouth water. The smell of spices and pine sol. Fabuloso is mixed in there too, your mom’s idea to mix the two cleansers together and use them to make a unique smelling concoction that gets the linoleum floors cleaner than if you used one or the other.

The low sofas are covered in shining clear plastic, no doubt put in place by your grandma just before all the family began to arrive. The flat screen is decorated with a simple green garland, beside the TV console is a low table where the remote sits on a lace doily, underneath in a wooden pocket are several magazines and underneath the pocket on the base of the table sits a blue round tin of butter cookies that no doubt has all of your grandma’s sewing things instead of the treats it promises.

The house isn’t big. In fact, it’s on the small side. The large master bedroom is situated at the back of the house along with the bathroom, past the kitchen where you can see the light on all of your aunts sitting around the table exchanging their respective chisme and keeping their hands busy with something you can’t see.

From the hallway to your right where the only two guest rooms are located along with a second half bath come running two of your younger cousins. They’re children still, your youngest Tia’s kids.

They don’t even notice you as you stop walking, choosing to run instead towards the back door in the distance past the kitchen, master bedroom, and bathroom.

One of your other aunts, the second oldest, turns her head as they run behind her.

“Que chingaos les dije?! Stop running in and out or I’m gonna kick your asses!” She yells at them, but the kids ignore her and disappear through the door. It slams shut behind them.

“Lulu, no les puedes decir algo?! They keep running in and out of here like wild animals.” Your second eldest aunt demands.

“They’re just playing, leave them alone.” Your Tia Lulu waves her sister off.

To your right you finally notice the centerpiece of the living room, a huge christmas tree with red, blue, and green glass ornaments. The lights are white, twinkling in different patterns, tinsel covering every branch to an obscene amount. At the top sits an old porcelain angel that your grandmother had once told you she’d received from her own grandmother and had actually been made in Mexico by some nun at an old church that had been knocked down a long time ago to make room for a cattle ranch.

The base of the tree is almost completely obscured by the dozens and dozens of presents from very large to very small. Each one is addressed to one or other member of the family. The kids especially all get gifts from each of your uncles and aunts.

You take another step towards the kitchen only to be stopped again as the restroom in the hallway to your right flushes and from inside it emerges your grandfather, buckling his belt as he lumbers out.

“Grandpa,” you call to him excitedly and he whips his head up then beams at the sight of you.

“Mijita bonita, cuando llegaste? Aye, chula…” His words fade out as he reaches you with his arms outstretched and pulls you into a quick tight hug.

His large hands pat you on the back several times before he kisses your cheek. He brings his hands to your shoulders and pushes you back a little to get a look at you.

“When did you get here?” he repeats, and gives your arms a squeeze.

“Just now,” you begin, but as you’d hugged your grandpa had turned you around and Steve moves in behind him.

He meets your eyes, shrinking a little, drawing his shoulders in to make himself smaller in the very normal person sized house.

“Grandpa, uh, I have um...this is my boyfriend, Steve,” with one arm extended you gesture towards the super soldier standing by the door.

“Steve?! ¿Trajiste un gringo?”

Your grandpa whips around, searching at average height level for the white boy you’ve brought and finds himself face to face with Steve’s chest.

He adjusts quickly, finding Steve’s face and with a gasp, he slams his hand over his heart and laughs.

“That’s Captain America!” he laughs.

The declaration brings the kitchen to a pause and like dominoes all of your aunts rise one by one, moving into the doorway of the kitchen to catch a glimpse at the commotion in the living room.

More gasps follow and soon you can’t hear yourself think as they all break into a cacophony of excited chatter.

Your Tia Lulu is the first to shove her way through, as she’s the youngest, she smiles at Steve flirtatiously before shoving your grandpa out of the way.

“Move aside, dad! Hello, hi. I’m Consuela but everyone calls me Lulu. You can call me sweetheart.” She throws out her tongue as she laughs, a clear joke but Steve good naturedly takes her hand and shakes it, a shy but kind smile on his handsome face.

“Oh my God, Tia, stop,” you plead.

“I’m just kidding, werca fregada. Don’t get your panties all in a twist.” She swats at you while your grandpa retreats to the sofa where he must have been sitting before, stuffing fives, tens, and twenties into envelopes for the kids.

Grandma and Grandpa never get anyone anything. They just put money in envelopes for the kids.

As your aunts file in, all five of them, you wait until Steve looks at you to bite your bottom lip and mouth a quick apology.

He shakes his head, setting your heart at ease as your aunts circle around him talking fast and occasionally asking him a question or two which he answers readily.

“A year.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, I’m not Captain America anymore.”

“Consulting mostly.”

“Yeah, I-I have my own place.”

“It’s a rental.”

Your aunts gasp at that in particular, “Ooh, it’s a rental. Those can be so expensive. Did you get the insurance?”

“Uh, well, no. I didn’t mean, it’s actually one of Tony’s-Stark. He had it set aside for us when he found out we were coming to visit.”

The madness reignites at the mention of Iron Man and as they plunge into more questions, your turn just in time as your mom makes her way over to you.

“Why didn’t you call me?” she wraps you up in her arms and you hug her back, holding it for a little longer than you normally would but you’ve been so stressed with bringing Steve here that you feel a relief wash over you not only because she’s there to help you, but to finally have it happening means you can stop the anticipation.

“I’m sorry, mom. I decided to get him down here super last minute and I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Where’s dad?”

“He’s out back with your tios. Drinking already,” she shakes her head but there’s no surprise there from anyone. “They’ve got the pit going. Chicken and fajitas to go with the menudo.”

“It smells so freaking good,” you laugh.

“Is he really your boyfriend? How long has this been going on? How come you haven’t told me?”

The hurt in your mom’s voice is subtle but you hear it and lament it.

“I was going to tell you. Every time I called. But at first it was too new and then after that I just didn’t know how to explain it to you. I know you hate my job. Now I’m dating a former Avenger?”

It’s her turn to look apologetic.

“Mija, you could have told me. I do hate that you put yourself in harm’s way, but that’s your job. No mom is going to like that.”

She takes a moment to glance at Steve, then with a flick of her eyebrows and a quick nod in his direction, she scoots closer, “Isn’t he like super old?”

You laugh and nod.

“He’s older than grandpa,” She laughs with you as you whisper, Steve giving you two a quick glance.

“He doesn’t look it,” your mom admits.

A tiny upturn to the corner of his lip tells you he can hear everything you’re saying.

“Is it serious?” She asks, letting you steer her towards the kitchen as her probing continues.

Inside the kitchen you find the entire kitchen table cleared of the usual place mats and ceramic Jesus centerpiece to make room for the bowls of masa, cooked seasoned pork and chicken for the filling of what will be tomorrow’s tamales.

At the stove you see your grandma a well worn lime green apron tied tightly around her waist and neck, huddled over the very tall and large pot, stirring and adding seasoning to the murky russet soup inside.

“I hope that has lots of posole!”

Your grandma turns at your voice and her face lights up.

“Mijita, chula!” she gushes, rushing forward to wrap her arms around you and kiss your cheek with a loud smack.

“Hi, grandma, I missed you so much,” you realize, hugging her tight.

“Por qué no nos dijiste que ibas a venir? Werca, cabrona!” she smacks you hard and you laugh, holding her hands as she pulls back to look at you. “You need to eat more.”

“Grandma, I’m eating fine,” you laugh, amused by the direction her thoughts go.

“She brought a boy home, mom,” your mom gives you away, then sticks her tongue out at you as she replaces her mother’s place at the pot.

“Mom!”

“You brought a boy?” she’s ecstatic! “A boyfriend?”

“Yes, he’s a boyfriend.���

“What’s his name?” she starts wiping her hands on her apron, cleaning them up to meet Steve.

“His name is Steve.”

“Es un gringo?!” her exclamation of surprise is just like grandpa’s.

“Yes, he’s white, does it matter?”

“Pos, no. It doesn’t matter, as long as he’s nice to you. Is he good to you?”

“He’s the best, grandma. He insists on taking me out every Friday to eat and watch a movie.”

Well, every Friday that you or he aren’t on mission. And it’s such a small thing but you know it’ll make her happy to know that he takes you out.

“Ooh, that’s good,” she approves. “Does he have a good job?”

“He’s a consultant where I work.”

“With the Avengers?” she gasps.

“Yeah.”

“A consultant? What does that mean? Is he a nerd?”

You laugh, throwing your head back, “He’s the biggest nerd, though he’ll never admit it.”

“Well, andale, let’s go meet your boyfriend,” she pushes you towards the doorway and you make to lead the way. “Is it serious?”

She whispers the second question, though you know that Steve will be able to hear.

Is it serious? “I uh…”

“Ayt! Don’t you all have husbands?”

Saving Steve from your aunts, your grandma moves forward and pushes and pulls and slaps them away from him, shoving them back towards the kitchen.

“Esos tamales no se van hacer solos.”

“Ow, mom! Stop hitting us,” your eldest aunt Margarita frowns.

“Magge, no te da verguenza?”

“Why should I be embarrassed?! Have you seen her boyfriend? Steve, do you like older women?” your Tia throws back at him as your other aunts push past you, patting you in the back and whispering congratulations at your luck.

“Technically I’m older,” he calls and everyone looks at him, not talking, apparently in shock at the fact that he truly is over a hundred years old.

“Oh my God, your boyfriend is Captain America?!” your grandma realizes, turning to slap your shoulder lightly for not explaining yourself.

Everyone bursts into laughter, the chatter moving into the kitchen as you join the laughter, Steve smiling from ear to ear as your mom rushes back out, eager to meet him.

Grandma pulls him into a hug and he gently returns it, smiling politely as she gushes over how handsome he is and how tall and then getting angry at you for not feeding him before admiring the exquisite shape of his body.

“Your grandpa had a body like this when he was young, mija,” grandma assures you. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Probably all the tamales,” you tease and she smacks you gently again before laughing in genuine amusement.

~~~~~~~~~~

You can’t find Steve anywhere. The kids are all inside, watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in the living room, crowded around the flat screen with expressions that range from amusement to boredom.

Mostly it’s the older kids that are tired of the claymation film. They’ve seen it every year since they were old enough to sit up.

“Should I change it?” you wander in from the front, your Tias laughing as the door shuts behind you cutting the sound off.

One of the things you’d missed was the happiness that filled the house this time of year. Even though they fight like cats, it’s cats that are sisters and love each other deep down.

They always end up laughing again eventually. 

Your cousin Claudia sits up at your offer, “Yes! Put something else on!”

“No!” the littler ones revolt.

“Even if it’s Elf?”

You stop by the TV, remote already in hand and all of their eyes light right up.

“Okay, okay, put Elf!”

Their accents make you smile. Like you, they’d probably grown up speaking mostly spanish as a toddler and then as you’d started school, English had begun to push in as your default leaving you with a heavy accent for a few years.

Now it’s almost completely gone and only emerges when you shout angrily, or so Steve says.

As the opening narration begins, you catch Claudia’s eyes and give her the remote, “Have you seen Steve?”

“Captain America?” she smirks, getting a serious kick out of your choice of boyfriend.

But you’d also seen her all flustered when she’d met him. She thinks he’s hot and honestly, he is so you can’t blame her. At sixteen, she’s lost almost all of her bashfulness.

“Yes, Steve. Have you seen him?”

“He went out back with Tio, I think.”

“My dad?!” you gasp, already terrified of what they might be talking about.

“Yeah, he looked nervous. You should probably go save him from Tio’s interrogation.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you throw at her, already moving towards the back door in a hurry.

The inside of the house is toasty warm, especially with the tamales cooking and the menudo on low heat to keep it warm in case anyone wants thirds or fourths.

“Where are you going?” your mom asks as you pass by.

She’s sitting at the kitchen table, across from your grandma talking in hushed tones.

“To get Steve, Claudia said he was with dad.”

“Well, leave them alone, I’m sure he’s being nice.”

Your grandma laughs and you shove the door open and disappear back out into the chilly winter night.

Wrapping your arms around yourself to combat the chill that begins to set in, you scan the backyard and move past your tios sitting around the clearly diy firepit one of them had built for your grandparents, each one knocking back a beer in either bottle or can.

They’re not as loud as your tias but they’re still talking loudly, laughing and then arguing over the superbowl.

“No manches, guey. That linebacker doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He should have stayed in Atlanta.”

You tune them out as you spot Steve and your dad standing by the table of barbecue a little further out by the back corner of the chain link fence.

Steve is standing with one hand on the tongs, flipping over some of the leftover chicken your grandma asked your dad to cook since someone will eat it eventually.

They’re talking, both in deep conversation until Steve smiles and seems to relax. Your dad, who stands at five feet, nine inches in height, has to reach up to clap Steve on the shoulder then smiles too, both of them turning their focus on the chicken.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, moving towards them with purposeful steps.

Both of them look up as you approach and immediately Steve hands your dad the tongs before moving towards you and peeling off his black leather jacket.

“Hon, why are you out here without a coat? It’s cold.” he says sweetly.

He can’t feel the temperature like you can but he can tell when you’re cold.

“Dad? What are you two doing out here?”

You’re so suspicious of your dad, worried he might be saying things to hurt Steve, but both of them look happy even.

“I’m showing him how we make the chicken,” your dad says innocently.

“Uh huh...sure you are.”

“He was,” Steve promises.

“I don’t trust you,” you say sternly, using one finger to point up into Steve’s ridiculously handsome face. “You’re just trying to suck up to my family.”

“Me?” he gasps, forced innocence on his face now too.

You narrow your eyes at both of them in turn, wrapping your arms around yourself again as Steve rubs them to try and warm you up.

“Come on, let’s go back inside,” Steve urges you, then turns to look at your dad. “Thanks for the lesson, Hector, I’ll keep it in mind for the future.”

“What lesson?”

“Never you mind, nosy. Come on, before you catch a cold.”

Steve sits you on the sofa once he’s got you inside and settles in pulling you against his side then kissing your temple before turning his focus on Buddy the Elf sitting in a bathroom singing with Zoey Deschanel as she showers.

“When did you sneak off to talk to my dad?”

Eyes narrowed, you watch him for any of his usual tells that he might be lying or hiding something from you.

So far, nothing.

“I didn’t sneak off. You were busy talking to your aunt and your dad invited to show me how to make the chicken. He was nice, serious about you. He wanted me to know that he’s got his eyes on me and if I hurt you all of your uncles will come find me and castrate me.”

He smiles wide, amused by this for some reason.

“It’s been a while since I’ve felt fear like that. Your dad really meant it.”

You’re not convinced but he reaches down to take hold of your chin and force you to look at him.

“Give me a kiss, pouty.” he requests.

How can you resist? You lean up and give him a quick kiss but then the kids say, “Ooooooh.”

You turn to them and throw Claudia a pillow but she laughs and catches it, leading the rest of them into giggles.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night grows older and everyone comes inside. As midnight approaches, the kids filter into their usual seats at the feet of their respective parents. Your six aunts and their husbands pile onto the sofas or linger in doorways, all attention diverted to the Christmas tree and the piles of presents underneath.

Your grandma and grandpa get center seating on the longest sofa, both of them ready with cash envelopes in hand for giving out as soon as the time comes.

Your dad on the other hand sits himself by the tree and while all of the adults talk amongst themselves, the kids are as quiet as they will ever be, little to teen eyes all trained on the pile of gifts.

“Mija, ven siéntate aqui. Magge, dale el asiento a tu sobrina,” your grandmother calls, waving you over to sit beside her.

Your aunt looks from your grandmother to you and then back, looking almost affronted by the request until your grandma gives her a face of deep annoyance.

Your aunt has a moment of realization, then sighs but begins to get up.

“No! Tia, it’s okay. I’ll stand. I’m alright here.”

“Don’t argue with me and get your butt over here,” your grandmother interrupts.

“She never sees you,” your tia reminds you. “Come sit here, I’ll sit on your tio’s lap.”

“Like hell you will, you wanna break my legs?”

“Callate lo sico, estupido imbecil,” she smacks him in the arm but then sits in his lap and he smirks as he wraps his arms around her waist.

Steve pushes you towards her, then leans down to kiss your cheek.

He knows you hate to leave him standing there.

“Go, sit with your grandma.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, of course babe. Go.” He kisses your cheek again then pushes you towards the sofa.

As you settle in, giving him another look of consideration, your grandma takes your hand and holds it gently plucking a smile from your worried expression.

“He’s okay, no one is going to take him from you.”

Not that you think anyone would, but it’s a common phrase among couples who are glued at the hip.

As your grandma’s old cuckoo clock chimes in midnight, your dad points at your cousin Claudia who gets up and quickly shuts off the living room light leaving all of you in the glow of the white twinkle lights.

As your dad begins to call out names, the kids scoot closer in excitement and watch as they’re each handed gifts after gifts.

Eventually the floor begins to fill with crumpled up wrapping paper and colorful bows and ribbon. Toys are yanked from boxes and the laughter begins to fill the room again.

Your aunts and uncles also get their names called and you don’t feel bad that your name is never called.

They had no idea you were coming and your Tia Magge leans towards you, “I’m sorry we didn’t get you anything, Mija. We didn’t know you were coming.”

“Oh, I know, Tia. It’s okay. I just wanted to see you all and bring Steve to meet you.”

As you gesture towards where you left him standing, you find him missing but think nothing of it as he might have just gone to the bathroom.

There are only two gifts left under the tree, one very large one which your dad calls out for your grandpa, and then he pulls a shoe sized box, wrapped in silver paper onto his lap but gestures at your grandma who lets go of your hand and begins to call names out and pass the envelopes with money to the kids.

Because you can’t stand sitting there any longer, the mess on the floor still growing, you get up and move into the kitchen.

Trash bag in hand you move back out to the living room and begin to stoop over and pick up the wrappings of all the presents exchanged tonight.

Your grandma calls out Claudia’s name and as the teen sits back down, your dad clears his throat.

“We have one more gift, and it’s for my beautiful daughter,” he says, shocking you into standing as he calls your name.

“Me?!” you gasp, completely in shock.

You hadn’t been expecting anything though you and Steve had definitely brought gifts for everyone.

Your gift had been the ability to see such bright smiles as they opened said presents.

“Here,” your dad holds it out and you let go of the trash bag as Claudia takes it from you.

With a quick wipe of your brow, you take the gift and look for a name so that you’ll know who to thank, but there’s no name.

“Open it!” One of the younger kids says with excitement.

“Yeah, rip it!” another urges.

“Rip it?” you chuckle, and rip it.

It is indeed a shoebox, but as you lift the lid and place it underneath, you find in the shoebox another box, slightly smaller, also sealed up tight this time in pink shiny wrapping paper..

“Oh my God,” you laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

You open that box too, tossing the wrapping paper to Claudia who tosses it for you as you find yourself staring at yet another box, wrapped in green snowflake paper.

“What the hell is going on here?” you laugh again, tearing it open and finding a smaller one.

This goes on and your family laughs at you as you open box after box after box, until finally the smallest box is the size of laptop charging block.

“How the hell does anyone even find a box this small?!” you gasp, shaking your head as your shoulders shake with laughter.

You tear the last box open, discarding the bright red paper then open the top to find a small black velvet bag with a drawstring pulled shut.

“Finally!”

Your exclamation brings laughter from the room and as you pull the bag open, you turn it over since the room is in semi-darkness and you can’t see in.

Onto your palm tumbles a silver ring. Sitting on top is an emerald cut diamond, solitaire, that glimmers in the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree.

“What the-?” you start, but from the hallway behind your mom emerges Steve, looking nervous as fuck.

He swallows hard as he walks towards you, stopping only when he’s right in front of you then slowly, as butterflies tumble violently in your lower belly, he kneels.

“Oh my God…” you whisper, too shocked to speak any louder.

He says your name, clears his throat because his voice shakes, and you smile, on the verge of laughing or crying. You’re not sure which.

“In just about a week we’ll have been together for exactly one year, but I’ve known since you pulled that bullet out of my a-my backside and called me a big baby for whining about it that you were the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

“Both of us work in a very dangerous job but I don’t think I know anyone else who is as brave or strong or sure of themselves as you. I wasn’t sure what to expect from life after I gave up being Captain America.

“Suddenly there were an infinite amount of possibilities ahead of me and yet, not once did I think that marrying anyone would be the path I’d take. I’d given up on love, on the chance of a normal life, but you’ve woken me up. You’ve pulled me out of my past and with you I can see that future we talked about the other morning.

“I see my life as your husband and father to our kids laid out in front of us and I can’t wait to get started. So, I guess, I just need to ask?”

Your family laughs, reminding you that you two are not alone.

“You’ve always said that if someone proposed to you, you wouldn’t want it to be in public and well, these people are your family so they’re not public. They represent a life I would very much like to be a part of. I’ve had no one for so long, I want this family, so will you marry me? Will you let me be a part of your family?”

You’re in shambles. You’re sobbing, smiling through the waterworks as your heart pounds so hard in your chest and all of the oxygen threatens to leave your brain.

“Yes!” you gasp, and the room explodes with cheers and applause.

Steve takes the ring and quickly slips it onto your finger before rising and pulling you flush against his body. He kisses you eagerly, laughing against your own lips as you kiss him back just as passionately.

As he pulls back, an audible smack snuffed out by the roar of excitement in the room, you search his eyes for any form of doubt.

There’s none.

“Is this what you were talking to daddy about? Asking me to marry you?”

“It was the right thing to do,” Steve explains, and you feel vindicated in your earlier suspicions.

“Jerk!” you smack his chest but he pulls you in for another kiss.

The two of you share in the moment for only one more second before your grandmother is pulling you two apart so that she can hug you and kiss Steve’s cheek. Your mom is also in tears, hugging you tight as your dad hugs you both, then shakes Steve’s hand before pulling him in for a quick hug.

There’s a terrifying POP that sends you and Steve ducking from instinct, but you find your grandpa holding up a bottle of champagne.

“¿Dónde está la música? Turn on the radio! Let’s celebrate!” He shouts, lifting the bottle to his lips.

As the kids spring up and split up throughout the household to play with their toys, your aunts and uncles begin to pair off, swaying and singing at the very top of their lungs as Feliz Navidad fills the room.

Steve makes his way back towards you, swerving past your excited family until he has his arms around you again, pulling you in close until he can sway you to the beat of the music.

“I’m guessing the party is just getting started?”

“Oh, babe, you just gave them the fuel to go until the sun comes up.”

Steve chuckles leans down to kiss you again, summoning an encore of cheers.

[maryeve-the-bitch]

Un jour de février

Fruk week 2021

Day 4: winter / spring

Words: 2,565

Summary: Domestic fruk. Old married couple vibe. The couple is visiting Matthew in Quebec city during the cold month of february.

Warning: French, so much french (Translations are at the end), and mention of sex. Not really explicit though. 

Francis couldn’t wait to visit his son in february. However, he was dreading the cold and the weather he would face when they’d arrive in the city. He wasn’t used to that kind of cold anymore ergo he knew how much he would suffer through it. At least, he would be in good company and his boyfriend Arthur was coming as well.

As soon as Francis and Arthur landed in Quebec city, they traveled straight to their hotel since Mathieu would only be coming the next day and his meeting in the capital got delayed. Hopefully, Francis would enjoy a nice evening with his dear Arthur. The hotel room they picked had a cozy fireplace with a plaid fluffy blanket laid on the king bed. The decor of the room reminded Francis of a lumberjack’s cabin with deer antlers hanging down from the wall and the wood-like walls. While it wasn’t the usual style Francis would like, he did appreciate the coziness of it. He reminded himself not to let Arthur choose a hotel for them by himself again. At least, the bathroom was huge compared to what he is used to and in the middle of it, there was a bath that could easily fit 3 people in it. At the sight of the bath, Francis gave Arthur a teasing smirk as he tucked a lock of his blond hair behind his hair. Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Sure, love. Later.” Arthur agreed to his boyfriend’s silent plea.

Francis wrapped his arms around Arthur’s from behind.

“Je te promets qu’on passera un bon moment.¹” Francis whispered to his ear as he delicately bit it.

“I promise I’ll kick you in the arse if you don’t stop teasing.” Arthur said with his jaw clenched and a blush on his cheeks.

The comment made Francis chuckle and hugged his boyfriend closer.

“C’est trop facile de te taquiner."² Francis kissed Arthur’s cheek and let go of him.

Since they were both exhausted from the flight and the jetlag, they decided to go to bed early after they took a shower.

In the morning, they decided to wait for Mathieu to tell them when and where they would meet in their room after they got back from eating breakfast on the first floor. Francis looked outside the windows, contemplating the landscape from the city under the snow, as Arthur finished getting dressed and buttoned his shirt up.

“On n’a plus d’hiver comme ça par chez nous, hein?”³ Francis sighed.

“You never had winters like this before. Unless you count the ice age.” Arthur commented.

“Ouais. Du coup, c’est ben mieux que ta pluie 10 mois par année.”⁴ Francis retorted, looking back at his boyfriend.

Arthur glanced at Francis before taking his jacket from the bed and put it on.

“Tu sais que la reine vient pas aujourd’hui, hein?”⁵

“Shut your bloody mouth and get dressed, Francis.” Arthur sighed.

Francis let out a dramatic sigh as he let himself fall on the bed face first and grumbled Arthur’s name on the pillow. Arthur just rolled his eyes, ignoring his melodramatic scene as he was well too familiar with it. Francis turned around and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Peux-tu m’aider, mon amour?”⁶

“What? Help you get dressed? You’re not a child anymore.” As Arthur spoke, he received a notification from his phone that was placed on the desk and charging. He picked it up to see what it was.

“It’s Matthew. He wants to meet at the castle at noon.” Arthur paused to look at the time. “You’ve got one hour to get ready.”

“Quoi? Une heure?” Francis whined. "Ça nous donne même pas le temps de faire l'amour."⁷

"We would if you hurry the fuck up and stop whining."

Francis finally got up from the bed, not without whining even more. At the end, he did get ready in under an hour. When Francis got out of the bathroom, he paraded in front of Arthur who was sitting on the chair in front of the desk. Francis wore an open blue see-through shirt with some kind of green flower pattern on it. As for the bottom part, he wrote black trousers with the same flowery pattern.

"We're not going to a gay pub or a fashion show."

"Ah mais il faut que je sois à la hauteur de moi-même quand je sors. Je ne peux pas sortir comme si je serais un pauvre paysan. Pour qui tu me prends, putain?"⁸

"What the hell does that mean?" Arthur sighed. "You're going to wear a warm coat at least?"

Francis walked over to his suitcase and pulled out a navy blue double button wool coat and put it on.

"C'est sublime, non?”⁹ Francis turned around to show all angles of his outfit, feeling proud of it.

“Yes. You’re looking very handsome. You’re going to be cold though. Have you not brought something warmer?” Arthur put his hands on his waist.

“J’ai une écharpe qui ira bien avec. De toute façon, on restera pas trop longtemps dehors. Qui serait assez fou pour aller dehors en un temps pareil?”¹⁰ Francis replied.

“Right. Don’t say I haven’t warned you, frog face.”

Francis would probably die of humiliation if he had to wear something ugly so he’d rather die of hypothermia and being pretty than be seen wearing something hideous. The couple left their hotel room and took a cab to get to their destination. They were still a few minutes late, but nothing Arthur would mind and Mathieu was already waiting for them in front of the castle as agreed.

Upon meeting, Francis hugged Mathieu tightly since he hadn't seen him for months. Arthur greeted him politely under his giant coat that he brought to make sure he didn’t freeze to death. He wore both a winter hat and the hood of his coat with a scarf and at least 2 pairs of gloves. Since Mathieu knew both Arthur and Francis, he didn’t make a comment on how they were dressed. In his opinion, one was overdoing it and the other thought fashion was more important than warmth.

Since Mathieu was getting hungry, they went and looked for a restaurant. While Francis wasn’t hungry, he was gladly welcoming the idea of getting inside. He’s only been 2 minutes out and thought his nipples were already frozen. On their way to the restaurant, Francis tried to warm himself with his hands in his coat pockets and holding his arms close to his body, without much success.

After going down some stairs, at Francis’ displeasure, they walked down a small street that led to the restaurant. Francis remembered that street, he visited it during summer a long time ago. It changed a bit but not enough to not recognise it. He would admire the scenery if he wasn’t so goddamn cold. He just couldn't wait to get to the restaurant at last. Mathieu was explaining to Arthur the historic facts of some buildings even though Arthur already knew those facts; he just forgot. Their chatter sounded mostly background noises to Francis as his focus was mostly on his movements.

Finally, they reached the restaurant. They got seated and offered the menu to order.

“You’re awfully quiet, frog.” Arthur commented as he opened the menu. “Not complaining. That’s just unusual for you.”

Francis glared at his boyfriend. They both knew why he was quiet.

“Can you two stay civil please?” Mathieu asked. He knew his dads and their tendency to fight or argue way too well.

“Of course, lad.” Arthur replied. “I’d offer you my coat for a while, at least until you warm up, but I know too well you won’t accept it.” He continued.

“J’ai pas besoin de ta pitié. Je vais juste commander un bon café chaud et ça ira.¹¹ Francis replied.

“If you say so, love. I hope they offer good tea here.” Arthur said, dismissing Francis’s passive aggressivity.

The waitress came soon after and they all ordered their food and drinks. She took back the menus and left for the kitchen.

“You two are so different. I sometimes wonder how you are still together.” Mathieu commented.

Both Francis and Arthur looked at each other, Francis smiling lovingly.

“Cause we have great sex. That’s why.” Arthur answered Mathieu’s wonderment. He soon received a kick under the table from his partner.

“C’est vrai.”¹² Francis added.

“Please stop. I don’t want to know.” Mathieu interrupted Francis before he would add anything too explicit for him. The Frenchman chuckled while Arthur smiled. Well, at least, Mathieu succeeded to ease the situation between the two.

While they waited for their order, Francis grabbed Arthur’s hand under the table.

“Fucking hell, Francis!” Arthur exclaimed when he felt his boyfriend’s cold hand on his.

“Ah. Je suis désolé, mon amour.”¹³ Francis apologised, looking dejected.

“It’s fine. You surprised me, that’s all.” Arthur said softly as he took Francis’s hand in his.

Thankful, Francis smiled and let Arthur warm his hand. Usually, Arthur hated public displays of affection even as small as hand holding, so it overjoyed him that he accepted to do so.

They talked about Alfred the rest of the time they waited for the order. The American was quite busy at the time so he couldn't make it, but Matthew was grateful he couldn’t because he could easily bring all the attention to him. He appreciated the rare times he got alone with either of his parents. Even when Alfred wasn’t here, he got all the attention, but that was fine with Mathieu. He’d prefer that over Alfred present and talking loudly and interrupting him.

After lunch, Francis felt warmer and happier from the cup of coffee he drank and the small affection he received. His joy wouldn’t last long when Mathieu offered to walk alongside the river and the old port since they were close by. Arthur agreed to it too quickly, Francis thought.

“Et si on allait faire du shopping? Ça serait pas mal, non? Tu m’avais pas parlé d’un centre commercial avec un mini parc d'attractions à l’intérieur?”¹⁴ Francis suggested.

“Well, Matthew and I never liked shopping much and I don’t especially like theme parks either.” Arthur protested as he put his coat back on.

“Besides, there are probably too many people there already.” Mathieu added.

Francis pouted and followed the other two outside. They walked a few minutes until they reached a pedestrian path near the river. Arthur narrated the scenery with tales of the past, including Mathieu in it. Francis would normally enjoy joining in and teasing his partner, but he had troubles following them up even though they walked at a relatively normal pace. The Frenchman wished he was anywhere else other than outside in the cold. He thought of leaving them, calling a taxi and going back to the hotel on his own, but his fingers were already frozen again and he would have to look for the taxi’s number. Arthur probably had the phone number since he called one earlier. However, Francis was too prideful to ask him the number.

They walked and walked until they reached a small park in front of the train station. By that time, Francis thought his fingers were so frozen that he might lose some of them. His feet weren’t any better. Arthur and Mathieu spotted a bench and sat on it to take a break while Francis stood in front of them. At this point, Francis had his hands inside his coat pockets and the bottom half of his head hiding behind the scarf. Some of his hair locks were frozen too for some unknown reason and his cheeks and ears were red, almost turning to purple. When Mathieu sat down, he noticed how cold Francis looked.

“Es-tu correct, papa?”¹⁵ Mathieu asked him with concern.

“Ouais”¹⁶ was all Francis could be able to say through his shivering.

“Would you like to go back to the hotel, Francis?” Arthur sighed.

Francis nodded.

“You could have said so before, you dumb bitch.” Arthur added as he took his phone out to call a taxi.

The Frenchman didn’t have the energy to insult him back. Mathieu stood up and removed his jacket and offered it to his papa. He wouldn’t have taken it if he wasn’t so desperately cold and if he didn’t appreciate and enjoy gifts he received from his kids. The inside of Mathieu’s jacket was really fluffy and warm, like wearing a cloud.

When Arthur was done telling the taxi operator their current location, he hung up the phone and noticed Mathieu gave his jacket to Francis and only wore a red t-shirt.

“Aren’t you cold, Matthew?” He asked his son.

“Nah. It’s only -10°c anyway.” Mathieu shrugged.

Arthur almost choked himself with his saliva at this comment.

“What do you mean, ONLY -10°c? That’s too bloody cold, lad.” Arthur replied, making the taller blond boy laugh. “Even I want to go back inside and get warm. Perhaps get a cup of tea or something.”

“We can wait for your taxi inside the train station if you want.” Mathieu suggested.

The other two didn’t even have to say anything; they both agreed and followed Mathieu inside the train station.

Back at the hotel room, after Arthur took out his own coat, gloves and hat, he helped Francis get undressed and wrapped him around in the fluffy tartan blanket from the bed.

“Sit down on the chair and I’ll light up the fireplace for you.” Arthur requested him.

Francis smiled softly as he sat down in one of the two sofa chairs in front of the fireplace. It didn’t take long for him to sit with his bare feet on the chair, holding his legs close to his body. Arthur took a match out of the matchbox sitting on the top of the fireplace and lit it up. He quickly threw the match inside the fireplace and closed the glass door.

“Right. I’ll get some water boiling for tea. Would you like a cup?” Arthur asked.

“Oui, s’il te plaît.” ¹⁷

Arthur kissed his boyfriend’s red cold cheek and left to the small kitchen to boil some water with the kettle. Francis laid on the side of his head on the chair and watched him, smiling. While Arthur rarely said he loved him or complimented him much, he did care a lot when it mattered. He was there for him if he needed him and of course, Francis would do exactly the same.

Arthur came back with two cups of boiling hot water and put it down on the side table between the two sofa chairs and sat down next to Francis. The Frenchman noticed his boyfriend brought his own tea bags and even thought of bringing Francis’ favourite kind of tea even though he preferred coffee over tea. He watched as Arthur soaked the tea into the cup.

“Are you feeling better, love?”

“Oui. Merci.”

“You’re welcome”

Francis got up from his chair and went to sit on Arthur’s lap.

“What do you think you are doing?”

Francis wrapped his arms around his partner’s neck and kissed him tenderly.

“I love you.” Francis whispered after he was done kissing. Arthur blushed and pulled Francis closer.

“Je t’aime aussi.”¹⁸ Arthur whispered back.

Translation:

¹ “I promise you a great time.”

² “It’s too easy to tease you”

³ “We don’t have winter like this back home, do we?”

⁴ “Yeah. At least, it’s better than your rain for 10 months a year.”

⁵ “You know the Queen isn’t coming today, right?”

⁶ “Can you help me, my love?”

⁷"What? One hour? We won't even have time to have sex."

⁸ "I must be at the top of myself. I can't go out like a poor peasant. Who do you think I am?"

⁹ “It’s gorgeous, right?”

¹⁰ “I have a scarf that would look good with it. Anyway, we won’t stay long outside. Who in their right mind would stay outside in that kind of weather?”

¹¹ “I don’t need your pity. I’ll order a nice hot coffee and I’ll be fine.”

¹² “It’s true

¹³ “Ah. I’m sorry, my love.”

¹⁴ “What about going shopping? Wouldn’t it be nice, would it? You told me about a shopping mall with a mini theme park inside, didn’t you?”

¹⁵ “Are you ok, dad?”

¹⁶“Yeah”

¹⁷ “Yes please.”

¹⁸ “I love you too.”

[theownerofshuanghua]

Could you do the Physical Affection for LXC?

A/N: I’m so sorry for being so slow answering these but I’m having trouble with school soooo. Hope you enjoy!

Lan Xichen:

With Lan Xichen, physical affection is second nature to him

He loves you and he knows how to show it

Whether its small kisses on your cheeks whenever he can in public or heated makeout sessions in the privacy of your own home, he knows how to make your heart flutter (and beat right out of your chest)

He hates it when you get mad at him, so his solution to that is always to shower you in love and affection until you’ve forgotten why you’re mad at him (among other things)

He is a sect leader however, so it is difficult for him to always spend time with you, so when you do, he makes sure to make every moment count

This could mean many different things

During the summer and sometimes in spring as well, he will take you to the top of one of the many waterfalls in cloud recesses and you would spend the entire day talking and sharing passionate kisses, which occasionally lead to something else

During the winter he will make sure that you have a nice fire going on in your quarters and you will have dinner together, before he gently leads you to sit by the fire and talk, gently kissing you whenever he wants to

As a child, Xichen didn't get much physical contact with anyone, with his uncle being Lan Qiren  and his brother never wanting to hug him

This has made him a very touch starved person

Which also makes him pretty clingy, especially when your alone

He knows you both have reputations in the outside world, so he will never do anything too forward in public

But when you’re alone?

He goes all out

He won’t ever do anything that you don't want

But he will let you know what he wants

That whole kind well-behaved sect leader thing? Lies

He wants you to love him

He wants you to kiss him, he wants you to gently run your fingers through his hair as you whisper words of praise, he wants you to gently hold his hands whenever you can

And when you do? He’s always so grateful

Sometimes you even go out of your way to give him affection

Perhaps he’s walking through cloud recesses with Wangji

You’ll run up behind him and wrap your arms around him waist, burying your head in his hair (which always smells so good for some reason)

Then when he turns around to greet you, you’ll urgently press your lips to his, surprising him with how passionate you can be (and leaving Wangji thoroughly embarrassed and red)

He’ll chastise you for it afterwards, telling you that you shouldn’t do that to his poor brother, denying the fact that he’s the one who’s all red

But you know he loves it when you initiate the loving

When he’s really feeling lustful, his kisses will be ardent and fervent, his hands gripping your waist or not-so-gently cupping your face (it doesn't hurt though)

When he’s feeling more thoughtful and peaceful, his kisses will be gently and sweet and so very slightly shy

But whenever he kisses you, in any mood, it will be passionate and heartfelt

He loves the feeling of your warmth next to his when you sleep, and will generally want to be the big spoon although he’s been known to choose the small spoon on some more difficult nights

Since he’s started sleeping with you, he cant sleep as well alone which is why he almost detests going on really long night hunts without you

He also really loves holding your hand when you go to the market, or anywhere for that matter, although it always makes Wangji uncomfortable

Lan Xichen doesn't get jealous very often although sometimes he will feel threatened by someone

In which case, he’ll very passive aggressively make them leave

And if they persist?

He will kiss you on the lips, extravagantly

(Which makes Wangji even more uncomfortable:))

But no matter rain or sun, you know that your lover will always give you all the physical affection you need

Just make sure to give it back :)

[wedreamedlove]

MLQC Men Headcanon Notes

Now that I’ve spent more time with these men (it’s getting close to 2 years!) I wanted to share the general thoughts, themes, motifs, etc. that I keep in mind when I’m writing their character.

This is 1000% headcanon territory, so feel free to take what’s useful and ignore what’s not LOL but I’d also love to see people add in their own “character reference cheat sheet” to this!

(I’m especially curious because, due to being of Asian diaspora, I write best in English but my understanding of the characters come from CN/JP text). Incidentally, if anyone feels ANY of this when reading my fics, then that’s all I could ever ask for LOL.

LI ZEYAN

He is Capricorn² and, while the game doesn’t make explicit mentions to this, I associate the element earth with him because of this. He’s described with attributes like being steady, calm, and always in control. He is the epitome of an immovable boulder and things revolve around him, not the other way around. I like to draw on imagery of unbending steel and/or the stable ground.

Meanwhile, like the goat of his astrological sign, every step he takes to climb to his goal is assured. He doesn’t do anything spontaneous or without thought, so if he does lose control and act without thinking then it has to be a momentuous occasion. Basically, it’s really important to me that if I write a loss of control, then it’s likely to be the centerpiece.

Keeping in mind that his Evol is time control, I also like to try and subtly weave an atmosphere of how everything happens at his pace. Winter being his season only adds onto this because the world stills when it’s covered in snow; everything becomes muted, hushed, and slowed in this season.

The chemistry in his romance arc is how his pace and control gets disturbed, but he adapts quickly and learns to go along with these moments of whimsy. Or more like that’s his character development and how love changes him.

His canon (spirit) animal is the cat and lion. Felines go along very well with the emperor or noble archetypes he has in all his AU cards, because cats are stereotyped as being independent and haughty animals. He’s not big on PDA or excessive skinship, but he’s not disagreeable to them either. Too much stimulation and, like a cat, he’ll probably show exasperation. Ignore him for too long though and he’ll come to share his presence with you.

For me, his love is shown through quiet acts of service that don’t have any attention drawn to them. Him just being in the same room or giving his attention is how he emotes his love.

He’s quite low-key in his normal life so he doesn’t seem like someone who gets confused over commoner things, but there are also moments where he spends an enormous amount of money without blinking. If life can be made easier with money then why not, right?

Keywords: Calm. Steady. Earth. Immovable. Control. Exasperated Affection. Time. Cats. Literal Capricorn. Winter. Mature.

ZHOU QILUO

First thing that comes to mind is the sun and heat. Fire is his element and so I go for stereotypical imagery like flares of passion and burning bright. He switches expressions and moods at the drop of a hat and he’s a mood maker to the extreme, but there’s no hiding the way he shines with his love for his love.

However, because he’s also Helios, it’s really important for me to play around with dualities and explore the other side of this positive imagery. So, just like how the sun can bring warmth and life, it’s also a deadly laser something that can hurt people by blinding them or setting fires. It’s also fun to remember that the moon only has light from the sun’s reflection.

Game-wise, I believe Helios has been described with cold and ice imagery but, because I try to keep that imagery for Li Zeyan, what I like to consider instead is that extremely cold things can “burn” you too. Frostbite can also be called ice burn.

The sky is repeated imagery for Luoluo too, because of his eyes, but I’ll admit I’m still uncertain about how to interpret this for his character. Generally, the sky represents freedom but...? How I approach this is that the sky doesn’t discriminate and protects everyone below it (echoing his quote about how he protects the light in the dark).

On this note about the sky being welcoming, I view Luoluo’s love as one that accepts his love no matter what they’re like and he grows together with them (unlike the two adults, Li Zeyan and Xu Mo).

However, again, it’s super important to remember his duality and just because he’s a playful mood maker doesn’t mean he’s not able to switch into a serious and mature mode. He keeps his innocence and warm heart despite the darkness he’s seen and understands.

His canon animal is the bear which also makes me tilt my head. I can only see this as how bears are seen as both cuddly and cute, but also fierce and protective. He was also given a stag but... no one uses that LOL.

Keywords: Fire. Passion. Playful. Innocent. Little Sun! But Moon. Spring. Sacrifice. Darkness. Sky. Mischievous. Mood Maker.

BAI QI

Every single cell in his body is attuned to his love. You ever lose your phone and then, for the rest of the day, you feel as if you’re missing an important piece of yourself and you have intrusive thoughts wondering where it is? That’s him. You ever see something so cute you experience cute aggression and don’t know what to do with yourself? That’s him. You know those dogs that strain at their leashes on the streets because they want to go and greet you? That’s him.

It’s all about the yearning.

I know, I know, I wrote essays about how he can survive without his love and how he’s someone who carries both love and a greater justice BUT let’s not kid ourselves that he doesn’t revolve around his love like Jupiter around the sun.

Anyway, so the game shoves wind descriptions down our throats. It’s literally another vehicle for him to emote his love and, to be honest, I don’t do much with it other than use it for that. I talked about it extensively in my character essays, but I suppose I play with the irony of how he’s only free because he has a home can return to. [Loneliness SR Wind and Care Call] “Because I have a place for my heart, I can fly anywhere.”

I don’t believe the game emphasizes this any more than it does with the other men, but I try to always have a point of contact between Bai Qi and his love because, again, the yearning and vibrating with All That Love. He’s such a physical character (military archetype) that I also want to emphasize that in writing.

In addition, I’m all about him being the most feral of the men. Heck, his canon animal is the wolf which is great for both its stereotypical and non-stereotypical meanings, such as being a lone wolf and ferocious animal but also a pack animal that can’t survive on its own and needs a pack. Meanwhile, NW717 is described in-game as a monster.

Look, one of his signature descriptions in the game is resting his chin on or against his love’s head and nuzzling them. I’m not baselessly trying to push my kink I swear.

So, like how Bai Qi said in [Light Bath SSR: Tenderness Call] that maybe he only shows his gentleness towards select people (his love and mother), he’ll give the person he loves all the warmth of his being but, oh boy, I see him as being a beast who will remember his true nature upon being chained; the “chain” of love gives him the reassurance he needs to be truly free... in all its meanings.

Keywords: Ginkgo. Summer. Primal. Wind. Love is love is love. 3-Point Contact. Wolf. Yearning. Vitality. Justice. Freedom. Physical. Restraint.

XU MO

First, given how vocal I am about Elex’s changes, this is probably going to be the most drastically different section out of everyone vs. their English version.

Soft. Light. Gentle. Kind. Gossamery. Feathery. Ethereal. Faint. Whenever I write him, do I literally open up a thesaurus to find synonyms for gentle, light, and soft? Yup! LOL.

Fun fact, in CN and JP the word for “smile” and “laugh” is the same character and so sometimes there is ambiguity when translating if there’s no clear markers. The writers definitely had a word in mind when they wrote the scene, but unfortunately we don’t have the ability to check with them at every use and so sometimes it does come to subjective interpretation.

For me, Xu Mo is characterized by a lot of quietness. Game-wise, there are enormous usages of silence and descriptions of emotional fluctuations in his eyes so Significant Silences and Looks are a major thing with him and in my writing for him, which is why I always choose “smile” over “laugh” if there is any ambiguity in the line (I believe Elex leans towards chuckles).

On a similar note, the game also gives him a gigantic serving of descriptions that only ever use the word for “light, slight, faint, soft, gentle” in JP and CN. It gives him a very floaty and dreamy feeling, even if he’s doing something physical. So, it’s important for me to keep a similar atmosphere when writing and make everything feel as if it has to be shared in a whisper.

A bonus here is that it doesn’t require much to turn this ethereal feeling into a melancholic one, so you get that dash of angst that layers over everything. Leave a few things unknown here and there, incomplete actions, eyes that get averted and Boom. Angst.

Shifting gears, but if my imagery of Bai Qi’s love is like a tense, vibrating, and restrained chain of yearning then Xu Mo’s love is like a flood barely being held back by a dam. Knowledge of the quantity and weight behind the dam is terrifying, but it’s safe to be submerged inside it. Much like Luoluo and Helios, Xu Mo also has a dangerous duality in Ares and so I also like to play with this imagery.

So, on this point, I like to preserve an underlying sense of darkness (all-consuming possessiveness, etc.) and envision that he also wishes to stain his love in his colors, like a drop of ink on white paper and how it seeps into every fiber of the paper until the whole thing is saturated with him.

Incidentally, I’m reminded that—whenever possible and natural—I want to exclusively use water imagery with Xu Mo. The game supports this too! He is described with extensive water imagery and so I try to use water metaphors, analogies, and similes.

I try to make sure every sense is present, but I feel like the game emphasizes (especially with the red thread of fate imagery) that Xu Mo and his love are connected at a soul-deep level and so I always keep in mind a mental, emotional, and spiritual aspect.

Lastly, his canon animal is the fox (we ignore the black goat LOL) so contrasting his elegant, scholarly, and gentleman’s air with a black belly, teasing, and mischievous air is also important! Sexual but with, you know, class.

Keywords: Butterflies. Monochrome. Artist. Red Thread. Autumn. Melancholy. Water. Soft. Gentle. Light. Faint. Dreams. Spiritual. Fox.

LING XIAO

I’m getting more comfortable with him, but he’s still shrouded in so much mystery. If every one of the other men treat their loves with gentleness though Ling Xiao is definitely one who isn’t afraid of roughhousing. He’ll act first and then ask for forgiveness afterward, if needed.

But I like to keep in mind that, for all his roughness, he’s still a good kid at heart and when he saw MC’s skirt rising up when he tried to pull her over the fence he immediately stopped. So, a bit of a bully but without any humiliation.

Intelligent, strong, and dangerous but hiding all of that beneath a devil-may-care attitude and someone who does things on a whim. I don’t know what to do much with his canon animal being the shark except to attach it vaguely to this point and think that, as an apex predator of the sea, it does things at its own pace (somehow, it gives me the image that he likes to bite... but, uh, that’s probably just me LOL).

Keywords: Mercurial. Lightning. Sarcasm. Physical.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Win a Heart

Summary: Icy can fight Bloom. Fighting the strongest person in the universe is not something she is afraid of. What she can’t do is voice her true feelings for Bloom and earn the right to owning her own heart.

This is an AU but I’d like to keep the suspense so more information is at the end. You can go there if you feel confused about anything.

The flames rained on her ice shield – each like a rock melting away her magic instead of breaking through it. No matter how much power she put into fortifying her frost, Bloom's fire was eating it away one molecule at a time in pursuit of licking at her skin. Even if she did tap into her endless well of rage, she couldn't make ice at the rate Bloom was making her way through it. Her tactic would fail and she couldn't clear an opening for an attack.

She tilted her head back, gazing straight into the lake of fire spilling over the ice crust springing from her hands, and sent her magic down her hair. It was long enough to brush the floor and lead the ice where she intended it – freeing a path of escape for her. Bloom had no time to react when she glided backwards on the ice rink she'd made and away from the fiery downpour.

Frost encased Bloom into a cocoon she'd die in if she couldn't catch up. Bursting flames were not enough against the strategy Icy had devised just for her. The Dragon Fire gave Bloom an advantage but even it couldn't break through the layers of ice Icy had constructed to let her magic through to the inside. Every patch Bloom melted was freezing back against her body instantly to wrap her even tighter in her prison. The princess had challenged her and now the tables had turned.

Bloom writhed in her cage struggling to free herself with brute force but the ice was too thick even for her relentless stubbornness. There was no force or weapon she could use to crack Icy's victory.

Bloom locked eyes with her, having arrived at the same conclusion. The blue of her irises was still vibrant, though, like a boiling sea and her gaze reached into Icy's core melting through all her defenses. Ice shards dropped in her stomach as her heart shuddered to shake off the remnants of the cage she'd stuffed it in.

Bloom's eyes widened as if she'd seen the cracking walls inside her before she closed them in intense focus. Heat filled the atmosphere chasing away any shivers that could rock her concentration or Icy. The air trembled as Bloom's hair burst in flames dripping all over her body and Icy's cocoon.

The butterflies were in her stomach fluttering aggressively in their search of a way out. The warmth flooding her was inviting as she watched Bloom flaming her way out of her ice. The flaring fire wasn't threatening as it crawled through her handiwork to free the princess without a malicious intent. Bloom wasn't fighting to best her. She was overcoming herself and her own limits and she'd taken a page out of Icy's book to improve.

A block of ice shattered and crumbled to the floor where Bloom's chest expanded like she would swallow the whole world, and Icy, too. There was still something to do but it wasn't her turn. She would've skipped it anyway to see what else Bloom was up to.

Bloom answered her thoughts with the air she breathed out as it caught fire, too. She was a fire-breathing princess and Icy was captivated by the twirling flames as they wound around her cocoon and left it in a puddle on the floor. Everything was always so symbolic with Bloom, so... ethereal. Almost like they knew each other on an entirely different plane of existence.

"Don't count me out yet," Bloom held the fire retreating from her hair in her palms. A courtesy on her part to Icy who had drifted away like she never did in her own bed.

"I can say the same to you," Icy brushed away the smugness wafting from Bloom. It was deserved but it wouldn't last forever. Even if she didn't mind. All good things had an end. She just had to be grateful there'd been a beginning at all for her.

It was her turn to borrow and she crafted a blade of ice. Maybe brute force would work better combined with elegance. Maybe then she wouldn't break her neck.

She swallowed the thought like a lump of ice that would charge her magic and charged at Bloom with the weapon. Fire could take no solid form like that even if the streaks still flaming in Bloom's hair suggested otherwise. She had to try her hand at beating the most powerful person in the universe. Maybe then she would be able to outdo herself, too.

Swinging the blade was natural, the ice one with her as always despite her poor preparation with a sword. Bloom was an expert swordswoman but she had no way of conjuring a weapon from her magic. Icy had found the way to-

Bloom caught her ice blade with her bare hand unmoved by the sharp edges. She used her fire to leave the shape of her fingers in the wholeness of Icy's weapon. An imprint on her mind to join the one Bloom had been carving in her heart from the day they'd met.

Icy's breath caught but she let the ice take over. Gliding over it had been second nature her whole life. It was easy the same way dueling Bloom was effortless. Like a dance. Each move reciprocated with the due respect and desire to match it, raise the stakes until they were both engulfed in the flames of the intensity between them and the rest of the world couldn't reach them in their cocoon.

Bloom followed her movements intently, eyes on her frame like her gaze belonged there, like it was home. And there was the familiar pull. The invitation for Icy to spill into her but her spine couldn't bend that way without breaking. Her ice couldn't melt without drowning her. Perhaps it would kill Bloom, too. The risk was too great.

Stuck in her vicious circle, Icy faltered when her blade was stuck in Bloom's grip once again. Pulling did nothing with Bloom holding it as if her life depended on it and thrusting was impossible through the princess's strength. All she could do was supply more ice to restore the parts the flames coming out of Bloom's palms reshaped. They were caught in Bloom's will–like the rest of the universe except Icy's fate–and the moment stretched around them unbreakable. Whatever it was made of was stronger than Icy and she'd accept it if she didn't have to find her way to victory.

She willed the ice to grow, icicles with pointy edges reaching down from her blade through the fire eating it to pierce Bloom's chest. It had to free them from the spell she'd bound them in.

Air pushed Bloom's chest closer to the sharp tips aimed to stab through her heart but the heated burn of the flames inside her neutralized even that threat. Now it was water dripping from the icicles to soak Bloom's outfit and her heart. Icy had touched it – far more gently than she'd believed she could... with Bloom's help. The complimentary existence they led almost had her believing they were soulmates meant to be. Almost.

"You can't win this," Bloom let herself inside her head again, unafraid to roam even that space – the only one that did not belong to her. But Icy had given it. She'd given it away even if she had nothing left for herself. Just to see that smirk on Bloom's face. Was it worth it, though, if Bloom didn't know?

She couldn't win against the princess of Domino. She couldn't even win against the prince of Eraklyon who was younger than her but from a much more powerful kingdom than the measly royal of Dyamond that she was. She had to turn in and be his wife because she couldn't win. All her battles were meaningless, except the ones with Bloom. She always came out stronger, even in defeat. Maybe she was aiming for the wrong victory. Maybe it was Bloom's heart she was capable of winning.

"I've been in love with you for years." The crown meant for her head shattered from worlds away to let her draw in a warm breath. A free breath that her magic didn't attack to turn into a weapon of self-defense.

Shock slapped Bloom in the face like a wave she swallowed to a fail in her breathing. She had to shift to steady herself and slipped on the puddle they'd made on the floor. She tumbled down with the weapon Icy had to let go of so that she wouldn't fall on top of her with it and stab her.

A groan broke against Icy's ears to free her from her stupor. Bloom was alive and fine – more or less. Now it was her turn to get a verdict.

Bloom propped herself up on her elbows. "Good one," she muttered to make Icy's stomach flip. She was never that sparse with the due congratulations when Icy defeated her during sparring. It was the confession she hadn't bought and Icy couldn't blame her for looking everywhere but at her when she took the hand offered to her.

"I meant it." Icy held on to the warmth Bloom didn't pull away from her to compel her to catch her gaze. "I've been in love with you... ever since I learned how to love."

Bloom didn't let go after Icy helped her on her feet. "Why didn't you say something?" It was her turn to wait for Icy to return her gaze.

Because you would have saved me.

They'd become fast friends despite Icy's hatred for Domino and Eraklyon and anyone else who imposed their power over her. Bloom would've jumped in to the rescue. She would've pulled her from the arranged marriage with Sky and bound her to herself. She wouldn't have let her drown in feelings she couldn't freeze her way through. Even if it would've scalded both their skin off and razed their kingdoms to the ground. It wasn't Bloom's job to protect her. It should have been Icy's right to protect herself but Bloom was the only one who had given it to her, the only one who had believed in her enough to never hold back despite possessing the strongest magic in the universe. She'd let her be an equal. Maybe they were also equals in the way they felt.

Icy blew a touch of frost on her breath Bloom's way. It instantly turned into water in the heat of Bloom's lips. The ice couldn't even reach her. Bloom had never been hers to touch.

Bloom licked the water drops from her lip, her tongue frantic as if she was parched, before lunging herself at Icy and wrapping her in a kiss. Her breath was scorching and tickled through the cold Icy carried around with her. Bloom's fingers tangled in her hair like she wasn't afraid they would fall off if Icy sent the frost through her strands again. Bloom made it so easy to be strong, to be light and warm, so effortless to run her fingers through the red strands without fearing for her skin, nor for her magic within. She'd finally won the freedom to win the princess' heart.

This is an AU in which Bloom was raised by her parents on Domino after the Ancestral Witches were defeated. She became really close friends with Icy when they were little. Icy is arranged to be married to Sky in this. Bloom does not like Sky (and Sky doesn’t like Bloom) for a variety of reasons which I will not list because I will have to write a whole essay but not the least of which is his engagement to Icy. Icy is not a descendant of the Ancestral Witches and it has everything to do with Bloom but I will not explain it all because, again - a whole essay.

[pascal-istheway]

Kinktober Day 2

Kink: Sex work [18+]

Warning: NSFW

Pairing: Javier Pena X Fem!Reader

Zoe’s notes: n/a

Word count: 1.9k

KINKTOBER 2021 MASTERLIST

He was a regular, would call twice a week on a slow week, sometimes even more if it had been a bad week. The hunt for Escobar was ruthless and tiring, and what better way for him to get a little steam out by some good old-fashioned cardio. 

There was something about today though, something in his voice that seemed off. When you’d answered the phone, it was immediately noticeable. There was a grit to his words, an underlying hurt and anger. Not that was much different than some of the times he called you, but today it was just - different.

He called you late that night, saying he needed to see you and to come to his apartment. Your job often required you to go to the client, and where Javi was one of your favorites, you felt the need to get a little extra dressed up for him, opting for a short black dress that cut off mid-thigh and showed plenty of skin. 

The beauty of your job in sex work was that you got to dress up and feel absolutely beautiful every night, you got to bring every man’s fantasy to life and make their dreams come true, even if it was just for a night. The freedom to pleasure clients like Javi, to give them a night of unimaginable pleasure. 

When you arrived at his door, he stood there in the doorway disheveled, hair a mess and shirtless with a drink in his hand. He barely made time for introductions, opening the door wide and allowing you to make your way into his small government issued apartment. It looked the same as usual, maybe slightly messier but so was his state so could you really blame him. 

You’d heard about Carrillo through some of your coworkers. Maria and Vanessa heard it from some of their regulars, who had heard it from an officer that worked closely with him, and so on and so forth. When you’d heard about it, of course, your first thoughts were of your weekly regular and how he would be handling the news. Javier was close enough with Carrillo, at least as close as he could potentially get to someone without actually using the words”friends”.

The drink emptied as he tipped his head back to down the rest of the glass and placing the now empty glass on the table. He didn’t waste any time letting you get settled before he grabbed your arm and led you over to the couch, stripping you out of the dress you’d selected especially for him. You stood there, completely nude as his eyes rake over your skin, the drunken glare stumbling over your features.

“Javi what ar-” 

“Shh… just let me - just let me look at you,” his words are slightly slurred. 

You nod, letting him work through whatever he had to in that moment. His hand reached out and slowly touched your skin, drawing circles over your flesh under the pad of his fingertips, his thumb pressing slightly over your bare nipple making you shiver. Your lips parted at the warmth radiating from him as he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss was hungry and eager, desperation pulsing from Javi through to you. You open your lips, letting his tongue dive in to explore your mouth as his hands roamed over your breasts, pushing and grabbing at your softness. Your hands start to wander, the feeling of his bare skin beneath yours intoxicating you. 

He moans on his breath, pulling you in tighter to him as he snakes a trail of kisses down your neck, teeth biting and lips sucking as he goes. You moan loudly, running your fingers through his hair and down his chest as you head towards the edge of his jeans and slip one hand inside to palm him, eliciting a moan from deep in his chest. 

His anger and determination came through in each kiss as they turned rougher - more aggressive. Your fingers glide over the buttons on his jeans, unclasping them before sliding them down and letting his cock spring free from the fabric. You were always impressed with the sheer size of the man, knowing he would fill and stretch you better than any of your other clients. You looked forward to these meetings, desperately wanting to feel him inside you. 

You drop to your knees, hands grabbing around his thick cock and stroking him slowly, eyes looking up into his as the drunk glare looks down at you, hand reaching out to stroke your hair. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips before you take him in your mouth. And you’re not shy about it, knowing Javi needs this roughness today. 

You can feel him pulsating in your mouth as you push him deep into your throat, taking him as far as you possibly can. When your nose is being tickled by the small hairs, you let out a deep moan from your throat, pleasuring him as your tongue moves over the underside of him. His hands are deep in your hair, wrapped around your tendrils as he pulls your head back, your tongue lapping along the underside of his cock in one long stroke as he pulls out. 

His thighs stiffen under your palms as he pushes into you again, the feeling of the soft tip hitting the back of your throat. 

“Fu-fuck… yes, just like that,” Javi grunts out as he pulls out again and looks down at you. 

“Yeah, baby? You like it when I do that?” a smile breaks over your face, knowing you’re giving him pleasure. 

“Fuck, just a little deeper baby,” he whispers as he sticks himself into your mouth again, hips moving to push himself deeper into your throat. You gag slightly, but you know he loves it dirty like that. 

Eventually, he lifts you from under the arms, pulling you up into him and he kisses you, hard. Your mouth feeling swollen from the kiss already. He lifts you up off the floor, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the couch. 

You flop down when he tosses you, flipping you over and yanking your legs so you’re hanging over the side of the couch arm. He roughly grabs your waist with one hand, his other sliding between your thighs into your core. His fingers play between your slick folds, a moan escaping as they brush over your sensitive nub. He takes the head of his throbbing cock and wipes it between your legs, smearing the evidence of your arousal all over him before pushing himself into your center. 

The burn that came from him filling you to the brim was familiar and fucking incredible. There was nothing else like it in the world, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips as he completely fills you to the brim. It stretches you in ways no one else can, his hips plunging hard as he sets off with a rapid pace.

Your entire body is jerking forward at his assault, his cock is doing not so much fucking but rather, destroying, as he takes complete control of your senses. A cry escapes you as you reach back to touch him, only to have Javi grab your arms and pin them behind you, his body holding you in place as he smashes into you. 

Skin on skin, your cunt is gushing, a suction sound forming as his assault continues. You can feel the orgasm building deep in your stomach. Your thighs begin to shake as you cry Javi’s name out. 

“Don’t talk, do-don’t fuck… god damn it,” Javi lifts your chest up grabbing your breasts from behind, and growls in your ear sending you over the edge. 

“Javi!! Fuck… fucking christ!” you scream as your orgasm rips through you, your walls squeezing the shit out of Javi’s cock. 

“That’s right baby, just like that,” his sips slowed, letting you ride out the orgasm. He releases your hands and snakes his hand up around your neck, the feeling absolutely killing you. 

Your cunt pulsates again around him as he slips in and out, watching himself slide through your juices. The speed picks up and having hardly recovered from your earth-shattering orgasm, you feel yourself start to vibrate below. 

“Ja-Javi… wait, baby,” you beg, knowing he wasn’t one to overuse you in that way. But tonight, you could tell he needs it, he needs to just use you. To get out his frustrations, the disappointment, the anger, the sadness, everything… he needed this. 

He pulls out and spins you around, slamming himself back into you while reclaiming your mouth again. The groans pick up, Javi starting to grunt like an animal into the crook of your neck as his teeth sink down into that band between your neck and shoulder. His hand wraps around your back and the other into your hair as your legs wrap around him, balancing on the arm of the couch. 

You scrape your nails down his back, causing him to hiss and pull back, eyes bearing into yours. His hand around your back pulls back as he lets out a swat to your ass, making you moan his name even louder. The sounds between you are like music to your ears, a symphony of flesh and sweat between you. The moaning is the choir, your skin together is the orchestra, and the world around you is the audience. 

You can feel him stretch you, massaging your walls from within as he pounds away, a breathy fuckfuckfuckfuck coming with each stroke. He’s getting closer and closer, you can feel it in his breath as he takes your mouth again. 

“Cum for me baby,” you coax in his ear, whispering how much you love the way he fucks you and how perfect he is for you. 

“Fuck, yes, take it,” he groans, his orgasm filling you to perfection. You let out a moan as his hand takes your breast, filling his palm perfectly. 

“God, Javi, your cock is perfect,” you moan, taking his ear between your teeth. 

He moves, standing to put his clothes back on and motions to you to put your own back on as well. As he lights a cigarette between his lips, tossing the lighter on the table next to him, he lets out a large sigh, the weight and tiredness from the day washing over him. 

“There’s money on the table… for you I mean,” he whispers. 

“Not today, Javi… today was,” you pause, unsure how to finish the sentence, “I’ll catch you next time,” you sigh.

“Just take it,” Javi picked up the folded bills and handed them to you, “you’re a… this is your job.”

He needed this, you knew that. And you weren’t going to charge a man in need like that. Any other day, sure you might have taken the money, but today wasn’t one of those days. 

“Today, we can just be two people in need of a little pleasure, can’t we?” you smile, running your hand over his naked shoulder before taking his cigarette from his lips and taking a puff of it. 

He sigs, flopping down on the couch and you press a kiss to his lips before turning for the door, calling over your shoulder, “until next week, mi amor.”

[l0pp0]

Back again, hah! Could you write a Wu Chang imagine with a hunter S/O? Maybe a fic where they chill in the forest? You're writing is really good and I really love Wu Chang pft.. <333

Henlo !! It’s been forever since I’ve written something, hope this is alright !

TW: none Word Count: 1.3 k

Monotone Colors

Wu Chang x Reader

Monotone colors are so dull.

Every week over and over scheduled matches take place. Every day, you’d use your abilities to chase down survivors until one of you won. A scoff of a survivors taunt, the draw of an oh so close win. Hands and back stiff from the countless days spent swinging at mice of survivors. The maps would change, the survivors faces would differ. But every single day, is just more and more repetitive. It’s all just dull, grey tones with little to no life. The maps all slur into a frenzy of black to white, eventually mixing into a pot of hit, chase, balloon, hit, chase, balloon , hit, chase, balloon-

The one thing though, the one thing that shone so bright like the luminous stars were their faces. Xie Bi’an, the white guard, a man who knows the world of serene and logical pathways to solutions. Fan Wuiju, the black guard, Bi’an’s counterpart and partner in crime. As the black guard covers the terrain of straight-to-the-point mentality and blunt truth. Two men that somehow let you see a glimpse of warmth, despite your shared cold environment that is the manor.

The sheets of your bed swarm you like the oceans wave. The comfort of your ivory white blankets drown you where the aches of your hands only can reach oh so much. A polite knock at your oak door interrupts the beckons of sleep. Everything was so bright but now in a hell of a life, it’s all mundane. With a foot dragged against the ice cold floor, you face the wooden door. With a twist of your wrist on the golden doorknob, reveals the faces of two men you knew well.

“Wu Chang” both stood at your door with a glow in their presence. You didn’t dislike anyone from the manor, no one in particular. A few survivors stood and remain irritating for you yet they’re apart of this hell too. The fellow hunters however, it ranged. On some days it was fine to socialize, on the others you’d remain to stay out in your living quarters. As everyone understood that everyone needs a bit of space.

Yet with the two tall men standing proud at your door, nothing but the expression of confusion could be displayed on your fave. Why were they here? You’d admit they peak your interest with their pursuits in your affection. As they both use their own methods to sway your love. It was entertaining and their presence is always a comfort. Today however, a cheeky smile from Wuiju and a smirk from Bi’an, caught you puzzled.

Bi’an, with a speck of a whisper in your ear, tells you to follow the both of them. What more is there to do? You were done with your matches for the day, and you’d could use the excitement. Wujiu’s hand is reached out far in  front of you. The open palm beckoning you to take it, and accept their offer. The chance to get outside the manor, even just for a moment. And take a break from the full life that is enslaved inside the walls of matches. A reluctant sign escapes the part between your lips and you grab the hand of the black guard.

With a flick between blinks showed the sensation of soft dirt under your feet. Dart around your eyes in a desperation to take it all in. A tree? No... Multiple. A forest, a forest surrounds you. Talk, leafy green spring woods encase you like a jail cell with bars bug enough to slip through. Moss covers dark grey rocks like a parasite, the smell of earth almost overbearing you. Rocks and twigs scatter beneath your feet, but no dirt path to be found. Pure nature screams as birds sing to each other in sweet melody. The large trees range so high that their tops are to be ascended with the clouds.

A soft snicker is heard behind you, only to see that the black guard is the culprit of such crime. A slight wind enraptures the long braids of the pair, their hair moving like snakes against the current. Bi’an remains a smile so soft, it would almost be unnoticeable. As the smell of flowers attacks you, Wujiu approaches you with his remaining laugh.

Wuiju, eyes purple and prominent, opens his arms wife’s and gestures to the life around you. It’s all so refreshing, a break from the cumbersome schedule of the manor. You know you’ll be placed in that hell for as long as you can guess, but some company wouldn't hurt. The white guard creeps behind you whilst the black guard entertains you with facts about the land. Suddenly, two long sleeves of white take hold of your midsection.

With a fling and a pump of strength, your body gets placed in the Princess carry of Bi’an. Wuiju grows playfully upset at this, bothering Bi’an that he wished to hold you in his arms. With a roll of golden yellow eyes and a light remark back, you remained his Bian’s arms.

This time, nothing was a blur of the same colors over and over. So many hues presented themselves in front of your eyes, it was almost overwhelming. The sound of twigs crunching under their feet was so loud, yet the chatter of their voices drowned out the noise. Now it was only you three existing at the same time in the mystical forest. In such a grey life, would it hurt to allow yourself to see some color?

The harsh kiss of the bright sun attack your skin, the amber orb peering down at you 3. The trees shook once more, releasing a plethora of leaves in shades of green you haven’t seen in so long. Gingerly you were put down from the embrace of the white guard. The black guard quickly wraps your left hand around his, as white mirrors the action with your right.

You thought the breath of the forest would conclude at that, yet to your eyes appears pigments unknowns to your mind. Under the shade of the colossal trees lies you and Wu Chang. The variations of flowers to mushrooms steaks your attention.

The conversations flow like river water down the stream of a mountain. Effortless, easy, and in perfection. One word spilled after another, and soon it was clear it was a rare occasion where you were this comfortable. And they took pride in that fact. A soft breeze sweeps you, as the small flower dances in rhythm. The feeling of layered moss cushioned your seat under the trees protection of the aggressive sun.

Bi’an listened to all your issues and anything that came to your mind. As Wuiju picked beautiful flowers that reminded him of your features. Bi’an noticed Wuiju’s persistent picking of the florescent buds and got to work picking bright flowers. No words needed to be dispersed as the company of the two men and the chime of the forest was all audio needed. You’re back faced the two men, as you peered out into the maze that is the large trees.

The sound of repetitive snapping crowd behind you. With a twist of your head reveals the two guards bending over a... wreath? No much too small for such item, need it not be since it’s months from winter... A triumphant shout escaped from Wuiju’s throat and Bi’an smiled with his teeth. Soon they take both their hands to take the mysterious item and present to you.

With closer inspection reveals a flower crown. Leaves adorned in bright shades of green and flowers varying in shades of all pigments. A crown perfectly fitted for the top of your head, truly pronouncing the true royalty you are. As sun started to lower, the two men took in your hands once more with a confess of their shared love for you. Suddenly the world no longer kept the true color of things from you, and now nothing felt empty. Nothing felt as if you were longing for the release of some pressure, no longer was the world in shades of black white and grey.

A heated blush spread bright red and a smile unable to remove form your cheeks, you accept their affections. As you all headed back to the manor, both your hands held the palm of someone you could call your own.

Maybe, just maybe, the world isn’t so dull.

[roman-apples]

northern downpour

prinxiety; 1,298 words. 

summary:

❝ tripping eyes and flooded lungs, northern downpour sends its love. ❞

in which during spring, roman returns home to virgil, a snarky nature witch with a lot to say.

this year, however, he's a few days late.

the path under his feet felt endless.

all the green leaves felt the same, along with the moss-covered trees, even the pink spring beauties. the pitter-patter of the rain around him had gone from calming white-noise to painful as the day carried on.

usually, roman was far too used to the rain, far too infatuated with its cold temperature and help to the environment to be mad at it. besides, without the environment, he wouldn't be able to go on adventures as such.

however, he was also far too infatuated with a certain someone, who he just so happened to be late in meeting due to the harsh rain. his annoyance was justified.

it was a week into spring, meaning his lover was most likely worried sick, which meant that as soon as he arrived, he'd be attacked with questions and passive-aggressive affection. roman smiles love-sickeningly at the thought.

before it's torn away from him when his hat droops from the effect of hauling the downpour.

the traveler lets out a sound of pure disgust as he takes it off to get rid of the water, only for his hair to get hit by the droplets instead. he decides then that as soon as he reaches the witch's cottage, he'd take a good nap. preferably in front of the fire place.

roman fixes the red hat back to its place on the top of his head, trying to ignore the feeling of coldness against his scalp. he pulls his coat around him securely before grabbing onto his backpack straps. his boots hit the ground, creating a loud 'thump!' as he stomped the rest of his way to his destination.

though he felt the need to give up, his heart reminded him of who he was headed to, and so he continued, even through the night. his romantic side that longed for him seemed to overcome any need for rest.

when morning come, he smiles with tired eyes when he approaches a cottage in the distance.

roman watched the birds fly about, happily tweeting away without worry. he walked calmly along the path before reaching the small bridge, stopping there to take his backpack off. he breathed in the scent of the area, which was much different than what he had just come out of. before, it was quite scruffy, like the same old greens of nature, while here it was quite flowery, with much more colourful aromas.

he opens the bag to take out a ukulele, it's black wood contrasted against the golden strings. those he met on his travels all stated it was far too much put into an instrument he kept in his bag all day, though, he'd huff and disagree. it still deserved to look pretty, bag or not.

roman places the bag back onto his back, and begins to fiddle with the strings. eventually, he remembers a song worthy of playing. he grins before humming along with it, continuing his journey.

soon enough, the flowers along the path changed from orchids to bellflowers, meaning he had finally arrived. his song still played, even as he stood in front of the home. the adventurer took in the familiar hut, with its large walls being encased by the vines that grew around it. the trees almost shielded the sun, leaving small rays of sunlight to swim in sweetly.

roman supposes it's been long enough since he's kept boyfriend waiting, and so, he opens the door.

only to be instantly thrown back out.

"you asshole!"

roman grins at up at virgil, both their hats thrown off from the fall. "hello to you too, my love!"

"shut it, princey," he replies, rolling his eyes as he pins roman to the ground. roman felt the bag on his back uncomfortably against himself, though he lets it go for the time being. "you left me worrying about you for a week. you've never been late before, so, fess up."

roman sighs, "I got a bit caught up in the rainstorms, ended up needing to stop at some villages for shelter. I deeply apologise for keeping you, stormcloud." he prays that that was all he had to say, and while virgil did seem a bit convinced, he still reaches up to place a kiss upon his lips.

he leans back down, seeing virgil's eyes soften. but apparently his body decides he should go into a coughing fit, so he does so into his elbow.

"shit, are you okay?" the witch asks, eyes widening as he gets off of the boy. "come inside."

a feeling of gratefulness washes over roman, and he smiles, allowing virgil to pull him up. he reaches for his hat, shoving it onto his head before grabbing virgil's own.

it was black and purple hat with a pointy top. the hat was made by roman himself, with purple mixed-matched patches he had spent an entire winter trying to find. he had felt most accomplished when the witch let out few tears, though, he promised he'd never tell anyone that part of the story.

roman backs up a bit, before bowing and holding the hat out to virgil. "for you, my dear." while it was sweet, it's short-lived, for the moment is ruined by a sneeze.

virgil only snorts, a blush coating his cheeks cutely. he takes the hat with a smirk, before replying, "thank you, my snot prince."

roman scoffs, no real annoyance behind it, however, as he says, "how rude! I'll just rest in the northern village if that's going to be your attitude."

"good," virgil replies sarcastically, taking his hand in his own and pulling him inside.

the cottage was just as he remembered, though of course, not too much. after all, it seemed to change whenever he'd arrive. the constants where always the bottles full of colourful liquids displayed in open cabinets, with a fire going under a large cauldron. along with a mess of opened jars all around the counters, all filled with various ingredients that ranged from grounded flowers and herbs to dried birds feet. classy.

"sit, i'll make you some tea." virgil says, walking to the cauldron. he begins throwing in some chamomile, along with some honey, stirring afterwards. setting his bag down, the traveler takes a seat on the couch. the warmth from the fireplace set to keep him warm.

roman stills at the feeling of eyes watching him, though he's sure nobody else lived in the cottage.

however, his memory supplied, somebody else did.

roman grins before grabbing his bag off of the floor in front of him, taking out a ball of dark blue yarn. he throws it down under the couch and waits.

it gets thrown back out with a brown cat following afterwards. the cat plays with it determinedly, passing it from paw to paw, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. roman snorts when the yarn rolls out of it's hands, causing the cat, berry, to chase after it clumsily.

virgil comes back shortly after. before putting a blanket around his shoulders, he passes the cup to the traveler, sitting next to him with his own. the witch takes on an amused tone, saying, "tell me about your travels. you fight a dragon-witch again?"

roman perks up, "I did, actually! he was very rude. though, i met a few other, much nicer friends on my journey. his name was patton, i believe. he was kind enough to let me stay at his home during a blizzard. i brought you some bread, as well."

"oh?"

the night continues on, stories from both the traveler and the witch being shared next to the fire.

they end the night with a kiss, a sweet one, telling of how many more nights they had to share.

end.

[merryfortune]

A blur of flaming crimson

Written for: 100ships On Dreamwdith

Prompt: #38 Crimson

Ship: Asuka/Yuriko

Fandom: Tropical Rouge PreCure

Word Count: 2,112

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Canon Typical Violence, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Flirting, Minor or Implied Identity Porn

   Yuriko had bittersweet memories of her early friendship with Asuka. They were tainted now with how their relationship had twisted and soured but once they had been passably fond. Whenever she saw Asuka sashaying about, morning sunlight bouncing off the silky, shiny waves of her rust red hair, Yuriko was unmistakably reminded of what Asuka had once been like.

   Her hair had been shorter when they met. About the length to Asuka’s shoulders, rather than well past them like she presently wore it. They had been first years back then and back then, Shiratori Yuriko could say without a shadow of a doubt, Asuka’s charm point was not her hair.

   Asuka had been a tomboy up to that point. The tried and true reckless sort of tomboy who didn’t care much about her appearance. Asuka was still a tomboy but her attitudes towards her outward appearance had, however, changed and the catalyst for that change had been Yuriko.

   Asuka was all rough and tumble. The eldest sister to a couple of younger brothers and her mother wasn’t always around as closely as she needed to be due to her work so her father was her closer role model. As such, Asuka was a tomboy and she didn’t really care much for the finer notes of hair care, nail care, makeup or even the most simple of moisturising routines. 

   Everything was fine, in her opinion. So long as she looked like someone owned her, Asuka figured that she was doing fine. All that really mattered was that her hair was not matted, that it was brushed once or twice a day and her teeth were brushed morning and night. That’s all the effort she wanted to put into herself, at least on that note. When it came to conversations of bodybuilding and gym ratting, Asuka did change her tune ever so slightly. 

   She just wanted to get stronger but her workout hadn’t really solidified so she was just doing what she enjoyed. She ran laps of a morning and night, taking whatever route she found herself on in the spur of the moment. She did her pushups and she played on the monkey bar equipment, too, even if it was for elementary schoolers and she was a middle schooler now and slightly too tall for them already.

   But meeting Yuriko had changed that.

   She recalled how they introduced themselves to each other in the very first tennis club meeting. They had been paired off like all the others for some rally practice, first years with first years, second years with second years, and so forth, it had been luck of the draw but inevitable as these warm-ups changed every afternoon but still. Yuriko had been breathless when she saw how awestruck Asuka’s eyes were as she introduced herself and then blurted everything else out she was thinking too.

   “My name is Takizawa,” Asuka said, her hand had been extended, “and you are really pretty.”

   Yuriko blushed. She was pale and reddened easily out in the sun but the warmth of the sunlight on the courts could not be the blame for how puce she became upon hearing Asuka’s introduction of herself. And just like that, Asuka’s interest in beautifying herself swung the other way like a pendulum. She wanted hair that was as shiny and beautiful as Yuriko’s and Yuriko had, once upon a time, been more delighted to help.

   She helped Asuka cycle through various shampoos and conditioners and different routines until they finally found one that lifted her hair to life, making it the mane she was so widely renowned for today. Yuriko almost missed those moments in the dusk, when they were hot and sweaty but helping one another do each other’s hair before going home after club and all the other in between moments of bonding.

   Yuriko was somewhat on the pulse when it came to gossip due to her place as the president of the student council, she had to know what the issues were and the like and from what she heard, no one in the present cycle of students would ever guess that the beautiful and strong upperclassman, Takizawa Asuka, had been anything less than that. Beautiful and strong. It sickened Yuriko to some degree. It made her bitter, made her jealous. They might have a contentious relationship at best in the present but Yuriko was still responsible in how she had helped to mould Asuka into her current self. She was the type to desire - and to give - credit where credit was due, after all, for better or for worse.

   But aside from the usual idle gossip that made it to her desk in various forms, sometimes as official reports and sometimes as chat that she exchanged with her fellow council members, there was something else cropping up in the stream of consciousness of the Aozora Middle School’s student body. Something that concerned Yuriko rather severely. There were rumours of monsters on the school grounds.

   Previously this year, there had been a craze of telling ghost stories that featured some mermaid in lieu of a more common, spectral ghoul but they seemed to have eased off now. Thank goodness. But in their place, there were other monsters being sighted and seen around town including Aozora Middle School.

   Rather desperately, Yuriko would admit, she wanted to believe that these stories were the mere results of unknown agents running movie or commercial sets without telling anyone but that seemed unrealistic. Or they were tricks of the light or mirages but Yuriko knew there was something awry. She sensed as such very deeply within her intuition.

   Though, her intuition was duller than she thought it was given how she polished it. As she was doing work in the student council room alone, the most peculiar thing happened. She heard a deep and guttural roar from the quadrangle. She stood up to investigate, to merely turn her back around and look outside her window but she was felled by a wave of nausea or vertigo.

   And then an even stranger thing happened. Some sort of magical heroine warrior was thrown through the window. All Yuriko caught of such a swift projectile in the shape of a fanciful girl was a blur of flaming crimson. With just the barest seconds Yuriko’s afternoon went from ordinary to extraordinary.

   She turned her head, eyes stunned with disbelief, and watched as this girl get up. 

   She was familiar, Yuriko noted. Her teeth were gritted and her eyes were aflame with aggression - or maybe frustration. She groaned as she got up and shook off the damage that she had taken. She was flaked with debris from the partially destroyed wall behind her. There was a very her shaped impression in the ripples of the wall but she was walking it off like it was nothing, stretching her shoulders and winding up to get back out there into the fray.

   A cord of terror struck in Yuriko’s heart; she was worried for this clearly capable heroine. She had such a powerful stance, her fists were balled and her expression blazed with determination. Yuriko had seen it before - or something similar, in someone else, someone precious to her and someone who had been hurt by her. She swallowed.

   “Take care.” Yuriko said, her demeanour hiding a whimper, the terror that she felt for this young lady. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

   “I eat these things for breakfast.” the heroine replied.

   “I don’t doubt that,” Yuriko asserted and then frowned, “but don’t you dare wound this school any further. These damages will be costly and our resources are our pride and joy.”

   “I know, just don’t worry about it.” the heroine put on a brave smile.

   Yuriko hesitated, in her heart, but in her hand, it reached out. She did something she did not consider discourteous but she touched this stranger’s hair, running her fingers through it and freeing it off some of the dust. She pulled a piece of drywall from the warrior’s hair and flicked it away. The sensation of her hair, it was ethereal, like a silk but so, so warm, like it had been crowned by the sun. It took Yuriko’s breath away - and appeared to do the same to the girl with whom it belonged to. She blinked but it was just that. A blink, not a flinch.

   “Uh, thank you.” she said and with that, she returned to the battle.

   She sprang forward with superhuman litheness, it could almost be mistaken for flight but Yuriko saw it. How her knees had bent and how she had pushed herself into the air without wings. Yuriko observed from the shattered window, holding onto it and battling a bizarre wave of miasma of her own. She yawned and she weakened. It was as though Yuriko felt terribly bored by the whole thing, but she wasn’t. She would promise that she wasn’t, she found her attention raptured by the warrior and her company and how they fought for the school. And yet, Yuriko’s eyes glazed over and she succumbed to the energy that the monster produced.

   She awoke naturally goodness knows how many hours later but maybe it was less than Yuriko feared. She looked up and around and it was like nothing had ever happened. The window was not broken from having a magical heroine thrown through it and nor was the far wall cracked with having taken the impact of having a magical heroine thrown at it. Looking out to the quadrangle, there was no sign of a scuffle. Just students going home all the same as she, given how red the sunset was.

   Yuriko paused just to admire the sunset and just how red it was. Crimson, really. It was fierce on the eyes, he had to squint into it just to appreciate it. It was incredibly unusual for spring to have such a burning sunset, Yuriko thought. She took a breath and gathered her thoughts, dismissing most of them as a dream of some sort.

   Aside from gathering her thoughts, Yuriko gathered her things. Masami dropped by to check on her but Yuriko was a step ahead, relieving her. They parted ways shortly after that as Masami had one last duty she wanted to attend to before leaving herself. Yuriko told her not to dawdle but as she went down the stairs and out into the fresh air, she found herself doing the same thing.

   A surprised looking face greeted her just short of the gates, “Oh, hey, Yuriko…” Asuka said.

   She was acting remarkably awkward, Yuriko observed straight off the bracket. She found that odd and regarded Asuka warily as a result. But here, Yuriko refused not to be rude so she greeted Asuka back.

   “Good afternoon.” she said.

   “More… good evening right now.” Asuka joked, trying to diffuse the tension she felt as Yuriko glared at her as she was prone to do. “Have a good afternoon? It was pretty tame up at the Tropical Club, I’ll admit.”

   “It was… fine.” Yuriko tersely replied. “I actually had a strange daydream.” She found herself admitting as she had an even stranger feeling, about earlier and about Asuka.

   “What about? I’m going to hope it was about letting us Tropical Club members go about our school life and youth in peace.” Asuka mused but there was something of a backhanded snarl to her voice.

   “I daydreamed about a perfect stranger with red hair,” Yuriko said and she smiled enigmatically, “with red hair prettier than yours.” she teased.

   “Gee, thanks. Well when a handsome stranger with black hair turns up in my dreams, I’ll be sure to let you know that they were prettier than you.” Asuka growled.

   “Whatever you say,” Yuriko shrugged, “enjoy the rest of your evening then, as it were.”

   “Thanks.” Asuka mumbled.

   Asuka figured that was enough for a parting farewell as she left it at that. She turned around and her swished around her. Yuriko was entranced by how it shone in the light of the setting sun so she did it again. She reached out and she touched that gorgeous, illuminated red hair. 

   Asuka squeaked in surprise and glanced back at Yuriko. She giggled darkly and brought the strands of Asuka’s hair to her lips. She kissed more the skin of her knuckles than the silken strands of Asuka’s hair but it was still quite shocking for Asuka. She was dumbfounded and embarrassed by it yet a smile managed to crack through that befuddled combination regardless.

   “Farewell, Asuka. See you tomorrow at school.” Yuriko teased her and she let go of Asuka’s hair.