#they are of similar stubborn minds and have similar reactions when they did butt heads

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

I've been seeing a lot of people in fandom saying the WWX treated LWJ cruelly in his first life and kept harshly rejecting him after he returned from being thrown in the Burial Mounds up until his death. I never really agreed with this opinion, but there could be something I'm overlooking. I've always seen it as WWX "throwing" in a sense LWJ's own words and behavior back at him. Kind of like a reversal of sorts.

LWJ was the one who started the divide by constantly rejecting WWX and calling him annoying, boring, shameless, ect. Telling him "get lost" and that they're not close. WWX just continued and grew that divide when he returned, drawing deeper lines in the sand.

People in fandom tend to reference the scene in the courier station as an example WWX's cruelty towards LWJ feelings and concern. But, I've always read the scene as WWX saying something along the lines in subtext of "How could you possibly know my heart when you've never taken the time to get to know me? The only person who knows me is me. You rejected my friendship in the past so how dare you try to say you know me and my heart."

I also never understood people saying that he was cruel after the Bloodbath of Nightless City. Yes WWX told LWJ to "get lost", but once again it's using LWJ's own words against him. From WWX's perspective LWJ had always disagreed with him and his intentions. In that chaotic state where he is essentially suffering from a mental break and not in the right state of mind, he is only thinking of their negative encounters. No one knows exactly what LWJ said to WWX in that cave either and either way WWX is not registering those words. It doesn't help that he truly believed LWJ hated him and he's never really been shown otherwise until his second life.

As I said, I could be completely overlooking or missing something as I've only read the English translation 3 times not the original. I could be wrong in how I'm personally seeing things, so it would be nice to get someone else's opinion on WWX's supposed cruelty towards LWJ. Especially from someone who write meta and has analyses about MDZS.

Hi there anon, I think a major point of the work itself is that in Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji's youth, both were unintentionally cruel to each other.

Lan Wangji who essentially was far too cold and stiff when he first judged Wei Wuxian because he was not used to that sort of energy, so he tried to tell himself that Wei Wuxian was nothing more than a shallow, vapid person that he couldn't ever be close to. And Wei Wuxian, who purposely picked on Lan Wangji's boundaries and essentially bullied him a bit because he did not understand that he had a crush. They both were so guarded with each other that it did come off as cruelty towards the other. They had to work with half truths from each other and came to wrong conclusions.

Lan Wangji during the courier station acted the same as always towards Wei Wuxian, outwardly, judging Wei Wuxian's choices and thinking the worst of him, this is their reunion after the Xuanwu cave, were Wei Wuxian's lasting impression was that Lan Wangji did really despise him. And Lan Wangji despite coming to terms with how he felt love for Wei Wuxian saw it as something that would be unrequited, because to him Wei Wuxian flirted with everyone and his flirting towards Lan Wangji was not actually special.

They both man up to what their mistakes were in their youth eventually.

Lan Wangji had the grace of being able to mature as an adult, and actually listen to Wei Wuxian. Something he refused to do until it was too late in the past because of his own stubborn confusion. He chose to go with the path he hadn't before, which is opening himself up to different tactics, seeing that bending the rules is not breaking them, and a little indulgence is not bad especially when it is with someone you love.

Wei Wuxian's nasty habit is sometimes, saying and doing things impulsively even as well intentioned as he is with his words and actions. He is terrified once he realizes what his playful actual harmless actions can look like from an outside point, even though he does love Lan Wangji.

Do not leave others in chaos, is huge arc-sentence for these two and needing to push past their own hang-ups about trust and allowing themselves to protect the others heart. They are willing and they are able to push past their fears of the idea of rejection from the other to understand the self-defense mechanisms both had developed around the other were not done with the intention to harm. But they needed to actually communicate and have that thrown in their face that both reacted the same way with each other. And why, when they do reciprocate each others feelings, it is not based on anything but mutual desire understanding and yearning.

[monsterywriting]

Zhulgan (orc)

prologue | masterlist

wlw story

nsfw (minors dni)

word count: 10.3k

Despite the short detour being strictly business, you couldn’t help the excitement bubbling up within you at the prospect of getting to visit a market.

You had no money to your name to even enjoy it, and it wasn’t a true market like what you once imagined big city ones would be like - just a few rows of sparsely stocked stalls temporarily set up on the road near Avinca the caravan had passed a while back - but it was still a welcome reprieve from the long stretches of time spent staring out the back of a covered wagon and a chance to see other humans.

Your role was simple: accompany Zhulgan, Alkgan and Vulgud to the market, stand there and make the vendors feel slightly more comfortable to have orc raiders in their midst. The others would handle the rest.

Realistically, with the war affecting everyone, it was doubtful anyone would turn away their coin, but you still held an entire dialogue in your mind, arguing with an imaginary seller acting stubborn, the entire time you walked from the camp.

Indeed, when the four of you entered the market, there were some stares but if anyone had an objection to the orcs’ presence, they didn’t voice it. Still, your group was given a wide berth as you made your way through the aisles.

The others walked with purpose, leaving you to scurry behind them struggling to keep up. Eventually, they stopped at the small group of stalls selling meat. Alkgan motioned for you to follow him as he approached a stall with beef halves run by an old woman.

You hung back slightly, wanting to allow Alkgan to speak. All seemed to be going well, the woman apparently unbothered by an orc patronizing her stall, until Alkgan picked his choices and she gave him a price.

“15 gold for a half carcass?!” You said, louder and more indignantly than you intended, interrupting Alkgan from digging around his pocket for the gold.

“That’s the price,” the woman told you defensively, seemingly only just noticing you standing there for the first time at that moment and eyeing you up and down.

By that point, Zhulgan and Vulgud had wandered over to see what the commotion was. Rather than shrink away from all the eyes turning to you, however, you swallowed your nerves and stood straighter, “We’re traveling from the southern peninsula; we need supplies to make it to the western border.”

“I have to make a living, too, girl,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

You hesitated. You didn’t want to antagonize the woman further by pointing out that the price of meat hadn’t risen half as much a few years back when a drought killed half the herds, but you couldn’t afford to back down when you were already making a scene. This would require a more delicate approach.

“Please, grandmother-” you were taking a risky gambit, relying on the hope that the woman had any sort of maternal instinct for you to appeal to. For extra points, you switched to old Dumirian, crossing your fingers that your actual grandmother’s lessons paid off, “Our village was destroyed by soldiers. We’re a large caravan with many small children who need to eat… we can buy more, so you don’t have to carry too much home this evening, but we also need to buy other supplies for our journey.”

You put on your best pleading look, trying to appear pitiable without laying it on too thick. You hoped she wouldn’t think the orcs were there to be intimidating, but she seemed to ignore them as she stared long and hard at you.

“Fine,” she finally grunted, pointing at you, “For you, child. 40 gold for everything on the table.”

“Thank you,” you gasped, turning to Alkgan and the others to relay the deal you negotiated. It still seemed a steep price for you, growing up in the middle of cattle country, but the cost for each of the four came out to be significantly lower than what Alkgan had been about to pay for just one.

Zhulgan eventually nodded, giving the okay for Alkgan to pay the woman as she and Vulgud lifted the four half-carcasses from the table, one on each shoulder. It was almost two thousand pounds of meat, more than enough to last the caravan until the border. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder if you shouldn’t have butt in, your interactions to let the others handle everything clear - stressed to you before you even left the camp, in fact. You waved goodbye to the old woman, nervously trailing after the orcs, expecting to be reamed out for your impudence.

“Good job,” Zhulgan grunted once you caught up, shifting one of her two halves to glance down at you, her expression unreadable but the praise leaving you beaming with pride.

Getting your literal saviors a discount on some meat hardly seemed equivalent to all they’d done for you thus far, but it was the first time you felt you truly did something worthy of chipping off your debt.

The rest of the trip passed uneventfully. Vulgud haggled more successfully on his own than Alkgan had with a vendor for two steel bars and three iron ingots while you zoned out next to him. Zhulgan had surprisingly put you in charge of buying salts and spices to cure the meat with once you returned to camp. It was nerve-racking to say the least, going up to stalls alone with money that was not your own and the weight of three orc’s stares on your back.

You were drained by the time you returned to camp, doing your best to help Zhulgan and Vulgud keep the children from getting their little tusks into the meat before you could get it to the “kitchen”.

While the meat was being divided up into cuts, you wandered around camp, not having anything in particular to do in that moment as everyone waved you off for already doing your part in preparing dinner and not quite wanting to waste the afternoon with a nap.

As you passed Alkgan’s wagon, he popped his head out and called you over.

“Here,” he said, dropping a small pouch in your hands. At your confusion, he explained, “For the meat today. The difference in gold you got.”

“I can’t take this!” You exclaimed in disbelief, trying to get him to take the pouch back, “I was just doing what I promised!”

Alkgan shrugged, “If I remember correctly, you were told not to do anything. Besides, it’s Zhulgan’s decision, not mine. Also, you should be saving every coin you get for after you cross the orc lands.”

He had a point, but you still felt guilty taking the money. Finally, you gave up on trying to get Alkgan to take it back, tying the strings to your belt and folding your waistband over it. Resolving to return the money to Zhulgan directly later, you walked back to your wagon to wait for dinner to be ready.

“15 gold for this meat?!” Grace had huffed when Alkgan recounted the story later over dinner, displaying an even stronger vexation than what you had at the absurd price, “Gods have mercy this war has emboldened vultures!”

You snorted, hiding your smile with your plate but understanding her chagrin. The Cedars, despite their arboreal surname, were cattle people; Grace would know best the quality of meat you’d been sold, even if it had already been diced and cooked into a stew.

Across the fire, you noticed Zhulgan watching your group laughing together. Just as you were about to return your attention back to a question Rose asked, however, you realized something was amiss.

“Your bead is missing,” you called from across the fire, gesturing towards the right side of your head where the unfurling braid was mirrored on Zhulgan. It was the smallest one that she usually left hanging alone, the rest all tied back together like she usually did.

Zhulgan’s hand instantly flew up to the braid, confirming that the multi-colored bead was indeed gone. She looked around frantically, standing and twisting around to look at the ground behind her. There were murmurs from some of the orcs around the fire, but no one rose to help.

Only the humans leapt up, all of you knowing the pain of losing a piece of jewelry. Most walked around the fire and retraced Zhulgan’s steps back to her wagon. You, Mauve, Winnie and Rose got on your hands and knees and combed the surrounding grass in search of it.

“It must have fallen off in the market,” you told Zhulgan apologetically once you all reconvened by the fire, everyone’s searches turning up fruitless, “You’ll probably just have to get another one.”

Despite your proposition, Zhulgan didn’t look happy, snarling something in orcish and storming back to her wagon. Alkgan merely shook his head when you looked over at him for some explanation, everyone else slowly returning to their previous conversations.

There was obviously something unspoken going on, some significant piece of information that seemed to be common knowledge for the orcs but a mystery to you and the other humans.

“Can’t Zhulgan just wear a different one?” Winnie questioned once everyone was sat back down, the mood slowly picking back up around you.

“No. That bead was given to her,” Alkgan replied, failing to elaborate further.

“Well, can’t you give her a new one?” You pressed, trying to get some explanation for the scene that had just unfolded in front of everyone.

“Our father gave it to her,” Alkgan finally answered after a few moments.

You immediately understood. If the position of chief was inherited for orcs as it was in human leadership, that meant their father was more likely than not gone. You had nothing of sentimental value left from your family but if you had, you likely would have had a similar reaction to losing it, if not worse.

“What if we made a replica? I could go back to the market and ask if anyone makes wooden beads. I could even be the one to give it to her and explain,” you offered, interrupted by the laughter of some of the orcs that had been listening in.

Alkgan bared his teeth at the offenders before looking down at you, “That… isn’t a good idea.”

You sighed, looking down at your plate once again and continuing to eat in silence. While you understood that it wouldn’t be an adequate replacement, the likelihood of the bead being found in the market before the camp moved on was slim to none.

Resolving to look for it yourself - or get a replacement if you couldn’t - you turned in early. You got up before the sun, climbing over the others in your shared wagon and through the camp. On the way, you passed Zhulgan’s wagon. Without thinking, you peeked inside, intent on asking her if she wanted to go with you only to find the wagon was already empty.

By the time you reached the market, vendors were already setting up their stalls. You followed the same path as the previous day, your eyes kept squarely on the ground looking for any sign of the bead in the dirt.

You smiled sheepishly at the old woman from the meat stall when she greeted you, helping her set up when she asked. She spoke at length, mostly telling you about her daughters and grandchildren and complaining about how the vendors were all forced out of the cities because soldiers would take all their hard-earned money.

Once you finished, you took the opportunity to ask if any of the stalls sold painted beads. With the directions she gave you, you quickly wove your way through the stalls to the other side of the market. It was easy enough to find the man she told you of, his stall filled with colorful accessories, mostly leather hair ties and wooden brushes. Asking him if he had beads large enough to put in a braid, you looked through the bowl filled with various wooden beads he held out to you.

You were pressed for time, the sky already brightening as the sun began to rise. The caravan was no doubt beginning to wake up and would soon be finished packing up the camp - but you didn’t want to rush your decision, trying to find something that reminded you of the original bead’s design, even if you couldn’t remember its exact markings.

The closest one you could find to the olive and orange coloring was an oblong bead painted red with alternating blue and green palm fronds on it. You buy it, apologetic as the man is forced to break one of your gold coins to silver and bronze change. When he’s more than a little short, you also buy twelve brushes and leather hair ties, giving him back a silver coin to cover the cost.

By the time you returned to camp, the wagons were already loaded and the children were being herded into their respective rides. You went straight to the wagon you shared with the other humans, deciding to give the bead to Zhulgan in private whenever you eventually saw her next. In the meantime, you handed out your immensely popular gifts, everyone more than happy to finally brush their hair with something infinitely better than their fingers, no one really asking questions about where you got the money.

You felt bad lying about the money you had, but you weren’t planning on keeping it for yourself anyhow. While you agreed with Alkgan that you needed to begin saving money for your life after leaving Dumir, this particular payment didn’t feel rightfully yours. After returning it, you would have to figure out a way to pay back the rest.

Unfortunately, you didn’t see Zhulgan for the rest of the day, the caravan not stopping to set up camp until the next evening, but by then you were too busy watching after the children before dinner to go looking for her.

Zhulgan wanted to avoid the larger cities more likely to have Dumirian soldiers stationed in them, so the caravan shifted course to northwest. The market was the final stop before the caravan moved away from the coast, venturing further inland to avoid the ports.

You immediately missed the cooling ocean air - not just because it reminded you of home, but because the air became humid and even the nights were muggy and miserable.

Rather than squeeze into a wagon all together, everyone in the camp who had to share their sleeping space took to sleeping under the stars with just your pillows. It offered little relief from the heat, even without a blanket, but after a long day of being jostled around on a hard wood floor you would pass out cold every night.

You woke with a start on one such night when someone stepped on your back, your instinct to begin thrashing when you felt hands pressing down on your shoulder until you processed that it was Winnie shushing you.

“What the hell are you doing?” You groused, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and falling back onto your pillow.

“I have to pee,” Winnie answered swiftly.

You pause, letting your hand fall to your side and waiting for your eyes to adjust to the darkness to examine her closely. She shifted from one leg to another, rolling her shoulder and refusing to meet your eyes even in the dark.

“I’ll join you, then.”

“No!” She gasped, her voice rising slightly. Her agitated reaction in response to the offer had been entirely expected, and Winnie realized as well that you had seen right through her ruse, deflating with a sigh, “Fine. I’m meeting Vulgud.”

You blink dumbly, your mouth falling open in a silent ���oh’. You thought back on the journey thus far, trying to come up with some hint of the two being that close, reading into every instance you saw the two interacting with a new perspective. You couldn’t recall any single moment that stood out, much less indicate that they were involved. You felt guilty, so preoccupied with leaving Dumir and how you would all survive that you hadn’t been paying attention to the others in the present. You wondered what else you had missed.

“Okay,” you finally said, voice high and ears burning as you looked anywhere but directly at Winnie, “Be back before morning and… don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Winnie looked mortified, her face turning a tomato red as she hissed your name. You fell back as soon as she scurried off with an almost inaudible promise to be back well before morning. If it hadn’t been so damned hot - and your weren’t surrounded by other people sound asleep - you would have hidden under a blanket and screamed.

With the embarrassing exchange fresh on your mind, you couldn’t go back to sleep. By chance, you remembered the bead that had until that point lay forgotten in the coin purse. You never did give it to Zhulgan despite there being plenty of opportunities to do so since you bought it. Your hand wiggled its way into your bag, rolling the cool wood in your hand.

Eventually giving up on falling back asleep, you resolved to leave the purse with the bead inside on the edge of Zhulgan’s wagon for her to find in the morning, getting up and picking your way around the others much more carefully than Winnie had.

You proceeded to spend the next ten minutes pacing outside her wagon. Every time you stepped close you would find yourself spinning back around, unable to go through with the drop off, only to make it a few steps before turning around and trying to approach all over again, any resolve you had while still half-asleep sputtering out before you could actually enact your plan. Once you had time to second guess your actions, the entire thing seemed ridiculous. Alkgan’s words echoed in your mind - this was a bad idea.

Your concern was mostly over the bead, rather than the money. The orcs’ ways were still largely a mystery to you, even when you had been living alongside them, particularly what they thought of gifts. There was also the matter of Zhulgan’s reaction would be. You weren’t particularly close to Zhulgan, most of her communication with you through her brother. Now you questioned if it was a good idea to try and replace something so personal with a random bead so far from her home. If she wanted to replace it at all, she was likely waiting until the caravan returned to the orc lands. What if she didn’t even notice the bag and it fell off the wagon, never to be seen again? Then the loss would be all that gold and the bead.

Finally deciding enough was enough while facing away from the wagon, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself to turn around, put the bead on the edge of the wagon and be done with it.

When you did turn, however, you were confronted with a snarling Zhulgan, bleary-eyed and clearly displeased with being woken.

“Uh- I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you I was…” you trailed off, struggling to come up with some excuse as to why you were loitering around her wagon in the middle of the night, scrapping the bead idea entirely. While you stammered, Zhulgan’s head disappeared back into the wagon.

You stood there for a moment in disbelief, wondering if she simply decided you weren’t worth talking to and went back to sleep. Just as you were about to turn and leave, her voice called out from inside.

“What are you waiting for? Hurry up and come in.”

You obeyed without hesitation, clambering up the ledge and trying not to appear as curious as you felt being in Zhulgan’s personal space. Orc wagons were all huge; even the single orcs’ wagons had to be large enough to carry all their belongings as well as fit a fully grown orc to sleep comfortably in at night. The chief’s wagon was no exception, trunks stacked and pushed against both sides of the wagon with the center covered in thick pelts - obviously Zhulgan’s bed.

On the far end of the wagon, Zhulgan was sitting down rubbing her forefinger and thumb into her eyelids to clear the crust of sleep, her hair down in loose waves that reached her waist. It was a shock to see the orc chief so at ease - you were so used to seeing the rigid, ever-serious woman riding alongside the caravan, or silently eating dinner. You sometimes caught glimpses of a different Zhulgan with the other orcs, but in front of you and the other humans, she never broke character.

You took only a couple steps inside before sitting at the edge of the outermost pelt, too afraid to venture deeper. When Zhulgan made no attempt to speak first, you decided to break the silence.

“Have you found your bead?”

“You came here in the middle of the night to ask me that?” Zhulgan asked, her eyebrow raised.

You shifted under Zhulgan’s disbelieving stare, eventually resigning yourself to the fact that your true purpose in waking her was infinitely better than wasting Zhulgan’s time asking random questions to beat around the bush.

You took out the purse and the bead, holding both out on your palm, “I went back to the market- I looked for your bead first, of course, but I couldn’t find it… I had to use some of the gold you gave me to get this one but I can’t accept it- I’ll find a way to pay it back but the rest is all there.”

Zhulgan stared down at your hand, her entire body tensing and eyes alert, though she made no move to reach over and take either from you.

“I’m sorry, Alkgan told me the bead was a bad idea-” you began to retract your hand so you could remove the bead but Zhulgan moved faster, taking your wrist in her hand and taking the bead from you.

“It’s fine,” Zhulgan said tersely, her eyes never leaving yours, not even to look at the bead in her hand.

“W-what about the gold?” You stammered, leaning forward to try and place the purse onto Zhulgan’s open palm.

She closed her fist before you could, shaking her head, “it’s yours.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but one stern look from Zhulgan silenced you. You were resolute in your decision to give the gold back, but definitely weren’t brave enough to argue with an orc chief to her face about it, conceding to try again another day.

Once the silence began to stretch into uncomfortable, you cleared your throat, unable to tell if she even liked your other gift, still in her hand on her lap.

“Uhm… I can put it in your hair, if you’d like?” You offered awkwardly, surprised when Zhulgan actually handed you the bead after a long pause, seemingly unwilling to part with it.

You crawled over to her side, waiting patiently as Zhulgan grabbed a small wire hook and hair tie from the top of one of her trunks and handed everything to you. Rising to your knees, you set to work combing your fingers through her hair to detangle it.

As you ran your fingers through one last time with no resistance, Zhulgan’s right hand nestled itself on the back of your knee. You tried not to jump or show any reaction to the sudden contact, realizing too late how intimate your position was, leaning against Zhulgan. There you were, alone in Zhulgan’s wagon, less than a hair’s breadth away from each other when you only intended to drop the gold and bead off.

You were so nervous, you nearly dropped it while trying to run the hook through it, able to catch it against your body before it was lost in the shadows but immediately thrown into another crisis as Zhulgan’s hand rose slightly when you first fumbled, then tightened around your thigh when you secured it again. This time you did jump, knowing Zhulgan could feel your muscles tensing underneath her hand. For once, you were grateful for the humidity, at least having an excuse for your sweaty, flustered appearance.

Once a sizable lock of hair was looped through the hole, it was easy to pull the rest all the way through and move the bead up until it was almost to Zhulgan’s jaw, near where the other one had originally been. You were technically done, but you found yourself unwilling to be the first to move, your fingers still toying with the bead.

“I should go,” you finally whispered, grateful your voice didn’t sound as uncertain as you felt.

Zhulgan turned her head fully to you, her eyes boring right into your own, her lips parting and tongue peeking out for a moment to wet them, “If you’d like.”

You were caught entirely off guard, eyes focused on her mouth before flitting your attention up to her eyes with a delay that would’ve been noticeable even if Zhulgan hadn’t been watching our reaction carefully. You had no idea what to say in response and Zhulgan was being even more tight-lipped than usual while she waited for you to answer.

“Uhh—” you began intelligently, your eyes flying down to your leg as she gave it a reassuring squeeze, making your resolve to leave crumble even further. You were certain you weren’t imagining the sudden atmospheric shift in the wagon, that you weren’t alone in your anticipation for something, anything to happen.

Zhulgan continued to watch you, patiently waiting for you to get a grip. There was no amusement, no teasing - at least, on purpose, you were fairly sure - about how tongue-tied you were, just the constant weight of her eyes on your face and her hand on your thigh. You wished she would remove it, put it on the floor so you would no longer be distracted by it, wanting so badly for her to just move it up past the hem of your nightgown instead of making you say something first.

“I should braid it,” you finally exhaled, your mouth full of sand and hyperaware of every single point of contact between you, “so it will stay in place.” Zhulgan hummed, the meaning behind which you could only guess but she remained still, neither convincing you to stay or pointing out your conflicting statements.

Slowly, your hands returned to her scalp, taking the lock with the bead and sectioning off two more locks of similar enough size. Oh gods you were nervous, under no illusion your shaking hands would even compare to those of an orc, even their children better at making a braid than you by the time they hit adolescence. Still, though you were certain Zhulgan would fix it anyways come morning, you tried your best not to mess up too badly, tucking away the errant tufts while you worked.

Zhulgan’s thumb began to move, making your breath catch in your throat when the pad of her finger brushed circles over your skin, her palm once again settled in the crook of your knee. You stilled, only a few turns into the braid. Hesitantly, once it became clear Zhulgan had no plans to go further at that point, you began to weave the locks together again, your breathing continuing noticeably more labored.

Zhulgan muttered something in orcish under her breath as you finally tied off the end, your eyes fluttering up to meet hers. You had been picking up some orcish slowly but surely over the course of your journey, Alkgan taking the time to teach you when he had time, but you didn’t know much more than a few relevant words and phrases and were also too distracted to catch any more than one in particular: sweet girl.

A common pet name between parent and child within the caravan - as well as for couples, you thought, more importantly. You wet your lips, mirroring her own actions earlier and you catch Zhulgan looking down at them just as you had earlier.

“Please,” you breathed, your voice so low you were certain it had only been said in your own head, yet another unfortunate instance of you getting lost in your own thoughts and forgetting to actually speak. You weren’t even sure what exactly you were asking Zhulgan to do, just certain that you wanted this misery to end.

Zhulgan closed the distance between you, her plush lips enveloping your own in an electrifying kiss. You melted immediately, glad for your hand on her shoulder to keep yourself upright. Her palm travelled upward, leisurely in its pace and aimless in its direction, stopping for a moment midway of what you’d hoped would be its destination to grip the meat of your thigh.

You whined into Zhulgan’s mouth as her rough fingertips brushed against a sensitive spot on your inner thigh, the dull tip of her tusk digging into your cheek as you arched your back into her, your lips never wanting to leave hers.

You eventually have to part for air, both of you panting heavily as you both looked at each other with heavy-lidded eyes.

You wanted to stay longer, but your mind reluctantly reminded you of Winnie’s promise to return before morning and, just outside the wagon, the first rays of morning light were making the camp gray.

“I have to go. They’ll notice I’m gone,” you said, the faintest hint of a whine in your tone as you reluctantly let go of your vice grip on Zhulgan’s shoulder.

After a moment, Zhulgan’s hand slid down the length of your thigh, over the bend of your knee and to the floor by her side, her fingertips brushing against your bare calf and sending one last shiver up your spine. Eventually, you climbed to your feet like a newborn calf.

As soon as you were standing, Zhulgan shifted until she was facing away from you. You felt the urge to say something, but had no idea what - thank her? Apologize? You opened your mouth, then snapped it shut again, leaving the wagon and making the trek back to where the others still lay sleeping.

Laying back down on your thin blanket, now slightly damp with dew, You told yourself you were staying up until Winnie got back, but you were really just running over the events of the night over and over in your mind, analyzing every second of interaction and wondering what could have happened if you stayed.

The thought immediately made you feel guilty the moment it crossed your mind, knowing it was selfish to be seeking personal comfort in your temporary accommodations. You should be planning the next step, figuring out what to do once you crossed the orc lands instead of imagining a night spent in Zhulgan’s arms…

You remained awake well after Winnie returned, the first beams of orange sunlight cutting through the distant mist covering the mountains in the horizon. You couldn’t bring yourself to scold her for staying out later than she promised, you yourself having done the very same thing.

By the time the others began to wake, you were exhausted. You flinched when Mauve leaned over to wake you only to find you already staring up at the sky. The morning passed in a haze. It was your turn to ride in the kids’ wagon while the caravan finally passed Barba. You mostly just let them play with your hair while you were lost in thought, the younger kids more than happy to be allowed to practice their braiding on you.

For years you had assumed your indifference towards the boys of Ozryn could be attributed to the fact that you had known them all your life, unable to find the kids you grew up with as attractive. Even as your friends managed to do just that, your mind was always ready with some rationalization. Never before had you felt as you did with Zhulgan, the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach at the very memory alien to you.

Perhaps it was all a mistake, your mind conflating the debt you owed her with desire, gratitude mistaken for feelings. Nevermind that Alkgan had been the one to help you that day, and the sibling that you have been spending much more time with since then… No, you simply respected Zhulgan, felt indebted to her, wanted to kiss her again—

You cursed under your breath, apologizing aloud as you extracted yourself from the group of kids making braids of varying size and quality in your hair. They merely shrugged, easily transitioning to playing with each other’s hair instead.

You were tying your hair back when the wagon suddenly lurched to a halt, everyone inside tumbling as well. In the process, your hair tie snapped as you jerked your hands apart to find purchase before you could fall out the back of the wagon. You groaned, the combined reaction of your back knocking into the wooden frame and orc kids knocking into you. Another groan left you at the sight of the two pieces of leather still being clutched in your hands.

“Is everyone okay?” You asked, waiting until the chorus of grumbling affirmations died down before crawling out the driver’s end.

Derdig, a young orc only recently having earned the title of warrior, appeared just as confused as you were at the abrupt stop.

“What happened?”

“No idea,” he replied, trying to look over the tops of the wagons, confirming your suspicion. Whatever it was, it must have happened towards the front of the caravan.

“We’re setting camp here!” Augrak called from a few wagons ahead.

There were more than a few annoyed groans across the caravan, no one happy to be stopping so soon. You jumped from the wagon and walked ahead, careful to avoid the wagons veering off the road.

It was soon apparent what the issue was: a wagon leaning heavily to one side in the middle of the road, its back wheel missing. Zhulgan and Vulgud were in deep discussion next to it as you approached.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, doing your best not to look directly at Zhulgan lest you stumble on your words, only to find yourself unable to meet Vulgud’s eyes as you thought of Winnie the night before. You settled on examining the intact wheel still laying on the ground.

“One of the fasteners snapped when it hit a dip,” Vulgud sighed, “It will take me a few hours to make a temporary one and change it… and I might as well check the other wagons while we’re at it.”

“Mauve can help you,” you offered, though it felt somewhat awkward to be doing so in her absence, “It will go faster with two people.”

Vulgud nodded once in thanks, heading off to his own wagon for supplies. It was only after he was gone you realized you should have walked back with him, now standing alone with Zhulgan. To your great surprise, she still wore the exact same braid you made. You wondered if anyone had noticed it before almost immediately concluding it definitely had; all the orcs had braids of some form or another, and Zhulgan’s was so obviously made by an amateur.

You felt embarrassed at the thought of her telling others you had been the one to make it. Zhulgan definitely wasn’t the type to kiss and tell, but you fretting at the possibility that others would find out what the two of you had done afterwards.

“Your hair is still down,” Zhulgan observed.

You flinched, touching the ends of your hair at the reminder of your broken hair tie, having worn it every day since you bought it. Did your hair look that bad? It must have, considering the number of kids that had been braiding it - or, more accurately for some, twisting it together haphazardly until it made knots.

Between the current state of your hair and the braid you made on hers, Zhulgan probably thought you had never even learned to take care of it.

“Oh, yeah… It snapped.”

Zhulgan’s lips parted slightly, seemingly on the verge of saying something when Rose called out to you and Zhulgan, waving her hand for the two of you to come over.

At first, you were relieved to be called away before you could embarrass yourself further. You didn’t make it far, however, until you saw what she had been calling the two of you for.

A small party of soldiers - Dumirian, by their flags - was riding down the road towards the caravan from Barba, their armor glinting in the evening sun.

“Go get the others and wait in the wagon. Don’t be seen,” you told Rose, unable to explain the terror that seemed to fill you at the very sight of the soldiers.

“Take the children with you,” Zhulgan added, Rose nodding and hurrying off.

Perhaps your distrust was unfounded - these were technically your countrymen, after all - but your previous experience with soldiers obviously sowed the seed of doubt within you that was currently sprouting. You wanted to err on the side of caution, if only to keep things simple for the orcs.

“I am General Tarren Aubron,” the leading man introduced himself as they stopped in front of you and Zhulgan, sliding his leg over his horse’s back and stepping down, “Do you require assistance?”

Assuming he was addressing Zhulgan about the broken wagon, you remained silent, your gaze behind the general and on the swords his men carried on this supposedly friendly visit. When the silence stretched on, you looked at the general, your stomach sinking with the realization that he was looking directly at you. You glanced out the corner of your eye to meet Zhulgan’s, more nervous than you probably should have been. It was making you slow. Why would you need help? And why wasn’t Zhulgan speaking?

Recalling that she allowed Alkgan to speak for her when you first met to let you think she didn’t speak common, you took a deep breath and hoped what you were about to do was the thing she was waiting for.

You turned to look Zhulgan directly in the eye, “What do I say?”

She looked down at you for a moment. If she was surprised by you suddenly speaking orcish, she didn’t show it, only subtly nodding for you to speak.

“Chief Zhulgan is in charge of this caravan,” you told Aubron quietly, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the soldiers and wondering where Alkgan was, “I am traveling with them.”

“What about the other girl we saw? Is she traveling with you as well?”

You inwardly groaned, hoping he didn’t ask to speak to Rose as well.

“Yes.”

You thought that would be the end of it, but the general was seemingly undeterred by your curt responses - or driven to investigate your apparent discomfort further and continue to address you alone.

“If you require an escort within the kingdom, I can spare some of my men with you girls wherever you need,” General Aubron offered, clearly thinking his offer magnanimous as he stressed the word ‘spare’, “Surely you would rather come with us?”

“No thank you,” you said without hesitation and you believed firmly.

The unease you felt from the beginning of your interaction with the soldiers was validated further the more the general persisted in trying to get you alone, taking a step forward every time you took a step back. You wanted nothing more than to snap at the man, already telling him in no uncertain terms that you would not leave the orc caravan with him, but you feared it would only cause more trouble should he take offense.

Unfortunately, General Aubron took your politeness to mean you could be swayed, his overbearing demeanor leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“Well, we should ask your companion, at least, perhaps she would-”

“She said no,” Zhulgan finally intervened, stepping in front of you once she finally had enough of the circles the conversations was running around.

Aubron’s concerned facade slipped for a moment as his mouth twisted into a scowl as he finally faced Zhulgan for the first time. You shuddered to think what chance you had without the imposing figures of the orc raiders to back up your repeated refutations.

“We are here to protect the people of Dumir. She should come with us, not brutes,” he said, attempting to sidestep Zhulgan with an arm stretched out for you.

You felt your skin crawl, as though his advances were literal grime sticking to you. You wanted nothing more than to run away, slap his hand away from you or whatever you had to to keep him away.

You thought back to the market. If there were soldiers stationed as close as Barba, why would the vendors remain out in the country? When the meat vendor spoke at length about hating soldiers, you had assumed she had been referring to the enemy, but she had never elaborated, so perhaps… You wondered how much longer it would take Vulgud to get the wheel fixed. And where the hell was Alkgan?

Zhulgan growled, the heavy rumbling like thunder you were so used to hearing in jest among orcs now sounding like a true threat. Relief washed over you as the very sound made the general stop dead in his tracks; so much so, that before she could speak, you did, emboldened by Aubron’s sudden fear.

“I have said multiple times now that I won’t go with you,” your voice shook for a moment, but the more you went on, the more confident you grew, “I am crossing the orc lands and you cannot help me with that! Frankly, even if you could, your insistence has ruined any chance you had of me trusting you - and for that matter, why are you stationed here? My home and countless other villages have been razed in the south and yet we’ve not seen a single soldier until now! What have you been doing while people were dying or being taken prisoner? Is that what you call protecting?!”

You were breathing heavily by the time you finished, blood rushing in your ears as your short-lived satisfaction morphed into the grim realization that Aubron was now glaring daggers at you. Guilt consumed you for giving in to your anger - not for Aubron’s sake, but for creating more problems that Zhulgan would have to deal with.

“Think carefully, human,” Zhulgan said, causing your head to immediately snap up to look at her, not realizing that she wasn’t speaking to you until you saw her focus was directed towards Aubron, “We have done you and your king a favor by taking out a foreign platoon, but my warriors want to return home now; I cannot stop them from stomping out any pests that stand in their way.”

Aubron’s nostrils flared in anger, his features contorting even further into pure rage. For a few tense moments, nobody moved. Just as you began to worry his pride would win out and he would challenge the orcs, he turned, barking for his men to turn back to Barba.

As soon as the horses disappeared in a trail of dust, you deflated with relief, relieved of the tension that kept your back straight throughout the entire encounter. You immediately began to take off to check on the others only for Zhulgan to grab your arm.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized immediately, believing Zhulgan was upset with you for blowing up as you had, “I shouldn’t have said those things. It could have made him attack or go get reinforcements but I just- I hated how he was so arrogant and all the soldiers… and when he called you brutes—!”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m not angry with you,” Zhulgan interjected, “He was the one in the wrong. If you hadn’t told him, I would have.”

You nodded, twisting your head around when you heard Mauve and Winnie calling you. Zhulgan let you go just as you began to race over, resisting the urge to break down when everyone else jumped out of the wagon questioning you about what happened.

“Rose wouldn’t tell us anything,” Mauve huffed, worry etching across her features despite her attempt to sound neutral.

“Dumirian soldiers,” you said, too breathless and tired from the unpleasant run-in to adequately explain all the emotions you felt, “They- they were insisting I let them escort us.”

“Why didn’t you agree?” Grace cried out, pushing her way to the front of the group, “They could have taken us somewhere safe - still in Dumir! We wouldn’t have to cross the orc lands!”

“I-” you hesitated, the reasoning for your rejection feeling inadequate now that you were trying to explain it to those that weren’t there. The general had asked if you needed help? Insisted on being of assistance to you? You were doubting yourself, wondering if it was just the armor that made your mind twist innocent intention, “I don’t know how to explain it… I didn’t get a good feeling from the general-”

“Quiet, Grace!” Mauve hissed, rounding on the girl, “We all made this decision a long time ago - it’s safest to get out of Dumir until the war’s over.”

“Please,” Grace retorted, refusing to back down even facing down Mauve, “We haven’t even seen any more enemy soldiers! For all we know, the war’s already as good as over! Or at the very least, not here.”

“Stop it,” Rose said, stepping in between both girls, “If she thought it was safer to go with them, then we would have gone- right?”

All eyes turned back to you. You nodded, trying once again to explain, “they only saw me and Rose. I did turn the general’s offer down immediately - but then he kept insisting. When Zhulgan told him to respect my decision, he got angry. Called the orcs brutes and then tried to follow me when I tried to get away.”

There were some noises of indignation, Grace’s indignation swiftly leaving her and Winnie in particular appeared the most upset. Your hand found hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“He probably didn’t know,” Grace said softly, though it seemed like a weak attempt to convince herself than you or the others.

“No… he was beyond reason. If there wasn’t an entire caravan of orcs behind us, I’m afraid he might not have taken no for an answer. And- at the market- one of the vendors at the market told me about the soldiers - they’re the reason they moved outside the city limits. They aren’t good people.”

“See?” Mauve said, “I knew there had to be a good reason.”

Any further bickering was interrupted by Derdig, informing the group that Vulgud had replaced the wheel and that the caravan would be moving on. You were relieved, wanting to put as much distance as possible between everyone and the soldiers.

When sundown came, the caravan pressed on, not stopping to camp until the next afternoon. To make up for lost time, Derdig had assured the whining children, but you knew the truth. Zhulgan also wanted to get far away from Barba.

Zhulgan had stopped relatively close to a stream, most of the caravan taking the opportunity to do laundry, everyone stripping down to what they were comfortable with and washing their clothes. You were helping make the food, so you weren’t able to go yourself until the sun was hanging low on the horizon. You sat a good ways upstream from the camp, wearing only your nightgown as you scrubbed your undergarments with soap and a vigor you were too embarrassed to display within anyone’s eyeshot, even if it was already dark.

Unfortunately, the necessary movement also made your hair fall into your eyes no matter how often you swept it back. Your only option was to work quickly, your tunic and pants already back at camp hanging.

Your hair had gotten substantially longer; your mother likely would have had you sitting down in the kitchen for a trimming by now. Your brother as well if she could catch him. Those were the moments you missed the most, small things about the present reminding you of the past. When the caravan had stopped near a beach, all the children had leapt at the chance to go swimming; your brother would have definitely been there to hoist them up and toss them into the water, just like he used to do in the large lake near Ozryn in the summers.

Your melancholy manifested itself as frustration, throwing your sock down on the rock you perched yourself on. You bunched your hair with your soapy hands and held it there for a minute, willing it to suddenly stay in place - an attempt to distract yourself from the tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

A twig snapped form across the stream, your name a quiet question. When you looked up, Zhulgan was standing there.

You smiled sheepishly, looking back down so you could discretely wipe your eyes with the material of your sleeve.

“Sorry, my hair was annoying me,” you forced out a laugh, incredibly conscious of how you appeared to the chief.

“I can braid it for you,” Zhulgan quietly said, continuing when you said nothing, “get it out of your way.”

You blinked slowly, not sure if you heard her proposal correctly. You chewed your bottom lip, uncertain if you were reading too much into the offer. Your interactions with the orc chief had been limited since your two groups began traveling together, and yet after a single night the two of you had… you had no idea whether you should take the advance as a proposition to continue what you had started or simply take it at face value.

You found yourself nodding despite not reaching any conclusion, scolding yourself for the giddiness you felt at the prospect of being so close to Zhulgan again as you gathered your clothes and wrung them out one final time before crossing the stream. Zhulgan sat on the ground, procuring multiple hair ties from her pocket. You realized she had come prepared with a small smile you quickly hid as you sat with your back to her.

“Get closer,” she said and you scooted back a few inches, not having the nerve to get as close as you wished even with the knowledge that Zhulgan had sought you out after your brief comment about your broken hair tie.

Instead of taking your hair, Zhulgan’s hands gripped your sides and easily maneuvered you in between her thighs, eliciting an undignified squeak from you. You quickly looked along the stream to confirm no one had wandered from camp. You began to fidget, too engrossed in the proximity to realize you were making it impossible for Zhulgan to grab your hair.

Finally, she placed a hand on your shoulder, her breath fanning over the shell of your ear as she told you to sit still. You froze immediately, not daring to so much as exhale as you waited for Zhulgan to begin.

“Breath,” she said, and though you were facing away, you could have sworn you could hear a smile in her voice.

You exhaled, feeling slightly lightheaded with the rush of air finally entering your lungs. At last, Zhulgan’s hands ran down the length of your hair, working out the tangles from the kids’ earlier attempts from the tips upward.

“Should’ve brought a brush,” she noted, your eyes sliding shut as her nails scraped along your scalp.

You could only hum in response, Zhulgan extracting her fingers once she found a knot and slowly pulling it apart by hand, surprisingly gentler than you expected the warrior to be.

“Thank you, for your help,” you eventually said, “I didn’t get the chance to thank you for protecting me at the time.”

Zhulgan made no reply and you had to resist the urge to lean back into her as her fingers deftly maneuvered the locks she partitioned into a single plait along the top of your head and down towards your neck. It felt good after so long of sleeping on a moving wagon or the ground, especially with the large bruise on your back from the earlier abrupt stop.

Though you couldn’t see the work in progress, you had faith Zhulgan would make it flawlessly, seeing how she did her own hair every morning. Perhaps it was because of her position, but she had by far the most intricate braiding amongst the orcs, which made you curious.

“Can I ask why you left the braid I did?”

Zhulgan tensed, you head snapping back slightly as she tugged your hair in the process, your sleepy, relaxed state doused with ice water.

“Sorry,” she apologized immediately. You waited a moment for her answer, but she simply focused on getting back to your braid. Before you could apologize for the question and give up on getting an answer, she spoke again, “For orcs, to braid someone’s hair is… an important gift. It is not something to be changed lightly.”

You twisted around, shocked, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know! I wouldn’t have offered if I-”

“It’s alright,” Zhulgan said, and from her soft tone, you were inclined to believe her, “I accepted your gift, remember?”

And, after turning your head back around and feeling Zhulgan comb out the partial braid and start over, you realized she was right. Zhulgan would have had no trouble turning you down. However, you now had the question of what exactly was the implication of you braiding her hair - and her returning the favor. “If I had known you would leave it, I would have done a better job…”

Zhulgan laughed. It was not as loud as Alkgan but you still you felt a sense of accomplishment - even if you weren’t trying to be funny with your sincere statement. You smiled, deciding you liked the sound.

“You can redo it after I’m done,” she promised once she composed herself, reworking the braid with experienced fingers. You wished you didn’t have to sit still, wanting nothing more than to look back and decipher her expression - was she serious or still teasing? She had just shared with you how important the act was and yet still wanted you to do it again, now armed with the knowledge that it is important.

When Zhulgan finished tying off the braid, she leaned forward, seemingly checking to make sure it was all in place. However, instead of leaning back once she was finished examining her work, she pressed her lips to the base of your neck where it met your shoulder.

You gasped, feeling Zhulgan’s hand envelop your midriff and pulling you closer until you were surrounded by her. You leaned into her warmth easily, your head falling back onto her shoulder, exposing the column of your throat for Zhulgan to kiss. You turned your head to meet her kiss, whimpering as you felt Zhulgan fist the fabric of your nightgown over your stomach, lifting it above your knees.

“Want me to touch you?” Zhulgan rasped, her voice alone making your muscles clench in anticipation.

“Your braid…” you think you meant it as a question, but it was hard to even remember if you were talking about the braid Zhulgan had made or the braid you did when Zhulgan’s fingers touched your bare belly, not moving any lower.

“I can stop, then,” Zhulgan hummed, beginning to pull away until your hand flew from its perch on her thigh to catch her retreating hand and weaving your fingers with hers. Your significantly smaller digits strained almost uncomfortably to reach, but you still held tight.

“What if someone sees?” You whisper, unable to resist planting another kiss on the upturned edge of Zhulgan’s mouth despite your concern for the camp only a hundred meters away.

“It’s dark,” Zhulgan said, feeling her hand move down your soft belly before her fingers ran along the edge of your curls. The pads of her fingers following the crease of your thigh to bring your leg over her own, brushing up your slit before urging your other leg to follow suit.

Despite the humidity, you could still feel a breeze, making you shudder even before Zhulgan’s middle finger found your exposed bundle of nerves, your toes curling and thighs tensing as your hips pushed themselves into her touch.

“I hated how he spoke too you,” Zhulgan suddenly admitted, her hand dipping lower to brush against your slit and the other pressing on your sternum, “Ignored you when you said no… Wanted to kill him where he stood- shut him up forever.”

You appreciated the sentiment, but the last thing you wanted to think about with Zhulgan’s hand in between your thighs was General Aubron. Still, you allowed Zhulgan to work out her frustration, content to focus on the thick finger teasing your entrance, the blunt tips of her nails sending electricity up your body. Suddenly, it pushed inside you to the base, first cursing then writhing when Zhulgan’s thumb continued to rub rough circles around your clit.

Zhulgan’s hand was obviously larger than yours, but it did little to prepare you for the sheer difference in size, your walls flexing to try and accommodate. It took all you had just to moan her name, Zhulgan’s palm slapping over your mouth before you could cry out once she began to move, the rapid motion of her wrist making slick sounds.

“So tight,” Zhulgan panted into your skin, tusks scraping over your back as she moved to rest her chin on your opposite shoulder, struggling to get another finger inside to join its neighbor, “Sweet girl.”

You wanted to explode, drowning in Zhulgan’s embrace - overwhelmed with the heat and the chance of being caught at any moment, on display for all to see in your current position. Eyes rolling back as a second finger joined in pushing your towards the edge, tipping over it once you felt the stretch of both digits scissoring apart. In an attempt to stabilize yourself as your hips involuntarily spasmed around Zhulgan’s hand, you were vaguely aware of the orc chief babbling words of praise in your ear, a long whine escaping you instead of all the words you wanted to say racing in your mind.

You were too tired to protest being lowered to the ground after your climax, Zhulgan’s temporarily missing warmth almost unbearable for the moment it took her palms to leave your sides to slowly parting your legs once again, her thumbs opening you for the long stripe licked with her tongue. You gasped, your legs instinctively jolting with oversensitivity only for Zhulgan to hold you still, nuzzling your thighs and continuing to eat you out - licking you clean, you realized as you slowly felt the overwhelming feeling subside only to feel the pleasure build back up again.

“I think I messed up the braid already,” you panted once Zhulgan finally sat back up on her haunches, somehow managing to sit up and crawl with your noodle legs onto her lap, your fingers lacing into hers as you brought her hand up to kiss her knuckles.

“Hm. No, I make mine to last, unlike you,” Zhulgan said, and it took you a shocked moment to realize that she had made a joke at your expense. Once your shared laughter subsided, you sat together in a comfortable silence, head tucked comfortable underneath Zhulgan’s chin, feeling the strong heartbeat reverberate in your skull, neither one of you willing to part and return to your separate wagons just yet.

“I can feel you thinking,” Zhulgan’s voice was a rumble in her chest, a reassuring sound if she wasn’t trying to get you to talk.

“So what now?” You finally dared ask, voice low and uncertain, reluctant to bring reality back to shoot you down from your emotional high. It brought a sour taste in your mouth, worry creeping its tendrils into your thoughts.

You can do my braid again… or we can just go to straight to my wagon,” Zhulgan hummed.

“Hilarious,” you sneer, but your attitude only seems to amuse Zhulgan, her entire body shaking with her laughter, forcing you to cling to her until it faded once again, “I meant- in the future. How- what will we…?”

Zhulgan sighed, “I know what you meant.. We both have people we are responsible for. I cannot ask you to forget about your responsibilities just as you cannot ask me to forget mine-”

You nodded, burying your face in her neck.

“-But we have time still to get to the orc lands, and more to cross them, and if you need to earn more coin for wherever you go next… you can stay.”

You felt your eyes moisten ever so slightly. Longer, you know she means, but for the moment, you can pretend.

“I think… I want to go to your wagon,” you whispered, glancing up and meeting Zhulgan’s grin for just a moment before you found yourself being lifted with her as she stood, her strong arms supporting you even as you clung to her.

“Wait, my clothes!” You cried out, wriggling out of her grasp for a moment to grab your forgotten undergarments, feeling her stare as you bent down to gather the articles of clothing.

When you stood back up, Zhulgan was behind you, her hands running along your sides. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to lean back into her. For the moment, you decided, you would simply enjoy the happiness blossoming in your chest, lose yourself in the moment.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel quite so adrift, tethered by Zhulgan’s arms if only for the moment.

[blake-belladonna-defence-force]

Hello most amazing writer! ☺ Bumbleby prompt (duh!): Blake affecionately headbutting Yang like she did back in V5 with her father and rubbing her head against her just to show her how much she loves the blonde! that can basically whatever you want it to be! maybe in public, maybe the first time her doing it or simply to comfort Yang!

Okay so this is cute. Thanks for suggesting it!

I’m pretty sure she did it with Jaune too, didn’t she? God. She is soft a softy when it comes to her family and her friends. And of course, her girlfriend partner 😉

Anyway, quick note: this is set back at Beacon during a study session between the two girls. Blake’s struggling with a maths formula (How many of us can relate? *sticks up hand*) and has a bit of a rant. But as always, Yang’s there to help her out.

Her rants may or may not be based on stuff that I’ve overheard in my high school maths classes 😅

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“… If I ever go back in time and meet the idiot who invented math, I’ll run him through with Gambol Shroud.”

Yang glanced at her partner who was currently glaring down at her workbook. Blake was a very intelligent person. But she wasn’t the most mathematically minded person. She often had trouble keeping up with the class and often ended up feeling very frustrated with herself.

“Oof. Sorry, bud. I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.” Yang teased lightly, reaching over to poke Blake’s cheek. Blake huffed and rolled her eyes whole Yang laughed lightly.

“I just don’t understand this formula. What am I even looking at? Why do I even need to know it?” Blake grumbled lightly.

“Well. We’re not always going to have our scrolls. We need to be able to work out where our Aura’s at.” Yang explained, shifting closer to Blake to better help her.

”I’ve spent time without a scroll. I’ve never needed some stupid formula to tell me where I’m at.” Blake glowered.

“Yeah but this will make it more accurate. Let me put to you this way,” Yang said calmly. “If you’re even just a hairs length off with Gambol Shroud, what could happen?”

“At best, somebody gets cut. Worst, they get stabbed or dismembered.” Blake said with a shrug of her shoulder.

“Yup. So, if we’re even slightly off with Aura, it stands to reason that that could be what gets us killed.” Yang quirked an eyebrow at her friend. It was obvious that Blake’s time in the White Fang had hindered some of the knowledge that was common in combat school. But it made her no less intelligent.

“Yeah, I know that. It’s just incredibly frustrating that it’s going over my head.” Blake sighed, a deep frown marring her face.

“Here, I’ve already done this. Let me help you.” For a moment, Yang expected her stubborn partner to refuse. But when Blake agreed, she was pleasantly surprised.

“Great. So here’s what you need to do…”

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Oh my Gods. Why don’t they teach it like that? It makes so much more sense. Why make more convoluted than necessary?!”

Yang let out a laugh at Blake’s reaction. Most students had a similar reaction back at Signal. The amount of time that she tutored a fellow student only for them to finally understand this particular formula and express their exasperation was numerous.

“Trust me, Blake. You’re not alone in thinking that. It’s stupid but there’s not much we can do.” Yang sighed, stretching her arms above her head.

“I mean,” Blake started, a shit eating smirk on her face. “I’m kind of tempted to set this textbook on fire but that might not accomplish anything.”

“Blake!” Yang laughed. “No! You’ve already got detention this weekend!” Yang scolded playfully. “What did you even do?”

“Cardin tried to start on Velvet. I stepped in. Professor Taupe only saw the tail end of our argument. Apparently, he thought I was the aggressor and wouldn’t listen to reason.” Blake huffed indignantly.

“Ah grapes. Well. If you want to go speak to Ozpin about it, I can be your backup or morel support? Maybe we can get Velvet or some other witnesses to talk to him?” Yang turned to Blake to see her covering her mouth, an amused glint in her eyes and a hand covering a grin. “What is it?”

“I appreciate it, Yang. Velvet it and I were already planning on it. But I have to say…” She said with a smirk. “Grapes. That’s the “curse” you’re going with?” Blake snickered. Yang had discovered that Blake would occasionally get into little playful moods. They were usually accompanied by the most gremlin like giggle she had ever heard. But it was Blake so it was still adorable.

“Oh come on! I’m trying to set a good example for Ruby!” Yang defended, an embarrassed blush heating up her cheeks.

“That’s very admirable. But Ruby’s not here. Who would have thought that the girl who can rip an Ursa in half with her bare hands would be too scared to swear.”

“Shut up!” Yang laughed, playfully pushing her friend. “You are such a jerk.” She grinned.

“Really? I would say that I’m more of a cheeky bastard.” Blake smirked at her when her jaw dropped.

“I’ve never heard you swear before.”

“I choose not to. It’s more effective when I do. But when I do curse, I never substitute it. Unlike a certain nerd.” Blake teased, reaching over to poke her nose.

“Ugh.” Yang rolled her eyes. She wasn’t even really mad. Blake’s playful moods were something that Yang treasured. Blake could really be a riot when she wanted to be.

“But, um. In all seriousness, Yang?” Blake said, fiddling with her pencil nervously. “Thank you for your help. I really appreciate it.” Before Yang could respond, she felt Blake’s head butt against her jaw affectionately. Yang froze, surprised by the sudden show of fondness. She hesitantly places her arm over Blake’s shoulder and the other girl nuzzled her head against her jaw for a moment before pulling away.

“Come on. Before our fearless leader sends a search party for us.” Blake said quietly, a fond smile on her face. Yang returned it readily. But as they packed up and moved out, she had one thought in mind:

‘Why in the hell is my face so warm? And why do I want her to do that again?’

[asgardianthot]

Flesh And Bones - part 1

Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Soulmate AU

In a world where people bond with their soulmates through physical pain, living in the same compound makes the search much easier (or it should, if they weren’t so damn stubborn)

TW: self-inflicted injuries

words: 1742

A/N: this is my first time posting a series on the tumblrs but I’ve had the idea for months so here goes nothing

Series Masterlist

Pain is such human extravaganza.

For your body to react to certain dangers or stimulations that trigger specific nervous patterns, that’s something most living creatures are built with. We are but machines; when you lay your hand over fire and it hurts, your nervous system is alerting the rest of your body of harm and yelling at it to get away from said harm, similar to how old hair dryers would stop functioning when they overheated to prevent explosions.

That, we have a general idea of. Pain is natural and not a construct.

But suffering. Aching from love, or the lack of it… nobody does it better than humans. Super-humans included. Enhanced, hyper-trained, whatever. The pain parade of romance is something so deeply rooted into the dumbest parts of our brains, that that must be the reason behind soulmates.

The point is, it is only logical for such a cruel universe to bond love and pain so tightly.

It’s simple, really. Sometime in the speck of dust of time in which we live, a person will get injured. They’ll bump their toe on a kitchen counter, fall on their butts, cut their finger while chopping vegetables, or maybe get into a chaotic car accident. No matter the damage, when the universe decides that hurt idiot is your hurt idiot, you’ll feel their pain on your own skin. It also didn’t matter if you knew the person or not, only chances were your soulmate was a complete stranger.

At first it comes like a tingle, a small pinch or even the ghost sensation of a scratch. But if your soulmate is nearer than they should without you realizing who they are, the sensation becomes full and the closer they are the more vivid their pain feels on your own skin. It is extremely uncertain, however, if it has to do with spatial proximity, or emotional.

Sam Wilson would eventually sit on the park, after his morning jog, or afternoon jog, and contemplate people. He enjoyed the easiness, the memory of a time before the army, when his life was simple. No PTSD, no Avenging. To be fair, the Avenger life was the cure to the PTSD somehow, for Sam Wilson was a man of action and the more quiet his life was, the more his mind wandered. He loved the agitation, the missions, the feeling of helping people, yet every once in a while, or once a day even, he would simply sit and watch the futility of civilian’s walks around the park.

A woman sat next to him and didn’t offer any sign of kindness. She seemed busy -occupied- in the way that she moved and looked around, which is why he didn’t look at her any longer so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. However, he then began getting the feeling that she was keeping an eye on him, and when he glanced at her nervous hands, he noticed the poor woman holding a needle to her skin, poking her own hand a few times.

A desperate soul.

On one side of a binary coin, some people don’t believe in soulmates. They aren’t the easiest to spot, and when a couple like that is seen, there is no proof for a simple skeptical individual that they actually felt each other’s pain. There were studies proving the neuronal effects, and were those hard to execute, but not everyone fell for them. Some argued that it was psychological placebo, that the person forced themselves to feel their lover’s feelings, some accused the studies to be biased or false. Some were old and hadn’t found one so why would they believe soulmates were real? They’re not necessary. You don’t just love the person you’ll want to spend the rest of your life with, and them alone, there’s all kinds of love and affection. Then, well… some were simply bitter, covering up their fear of never finding one for themselves.

On the polar opposite, there were the desperate ones. They would inflict harm on themselves in public spaces, expecting a reaction from the passersby.

More than once had Sam seen a man stab their own leg or cut through their palm yelling ‘can anybody feel this?’ as if they feared this was their only shot, forcing the Falcon to run and make them stop hurting themselves along with other civilians. Some couldn’t wait. And Sam never understood why someone wouldn’t be able to enjoy life if they didn’t know their one and only; It made dating much more relaxed and fun and honest. Perhaps that person would eventually become your soulmate, and even though the probabilities of that happening were slim to none, it didn’t need to ruin every romantic relationship in your life.

Therefore with pain in his chest, he addressed the young woman whose eyes were directly analyzing Sam’s hand.

“Hey, lady?” he asked her, earning a big pair of hopeful eyes to find his; yet he had to give her a sad frown to let her know he wasn’t who she was looking for, thus gaining a mimicking disappointed look, “It’s not worth all this trouble.”

Her expression quickly turned into one of distance, like she was trying to protect herself from people who didn’t understand her. She sat back and allowed a smirk to take over her face as she stared into nothingness.

“You’re one of those people who think it’s all a hoax? A construct?” when obtaining no reply, she kept pressuring the Falcon, “Placebo effect? Self-conditioning?”

Sam didn’t give in. He simply took a big breath and sat up from the bench. When he turned to face her, her eyes weren’t as distant.

“No.” He said calmly, “I think yours will come when it’s time. Until then,” he raised his eyebrows a bit, “you’re just hurting yourself for no reason.”

Sam walked away before he could see the young woman’s lower lip tremble.

-

“I didn’t eat your cereal.” Bucky protested, plopped on the couch that faced a flat screen.

Sam, however, wasn’t buying it. He held his ground, one hand on his hip and the other agitating the skimpy remains inside the carton box, making it rattle.

“It’s empty.” He insisted, in a way that screamed paranoia over being accused of overreacting or being crazy.

Instead of acting in an opposite behavior, he gave Bucky all the more reason to treat him as if he were going insane.

“Well, it wasn’t me.” The soldier replied easily, not flipping through the channels anymore but surrendering to a local news one; after a sigh, he looked at the accusatory, “Maybe Steve did it.”

Sam pursed his lips before turning to Steve with a dead look on his face.

“Steve, did you eat my cereal?” he asked condescendingly, already knowing the answer to be no.

As a matter of fact, the blonde’s shirt had small dark spots where he sweat his morning jog on, his hair was still perfect for a regular person but a bit disheveled for Captain America’s inhuman standards, and he was focused on drinking from a water bottle.

He tilted his head to Sam, who nodded, more agreeing with himself than with Rogers.

“You’re the only one who stays on the couch all morning.” He braked back at Barnes.

He didn’t respond this time, perhaps because he was, once again, being accused of being lazy and not using his time nor his gifts wisely. Perhaps because he was just tired of saying he didn’t eat the cereals in question when he had undoubtedly and decisively eaten the cereals in question.

Paying attention to the random local news he’d landed on, he got the gist of what the reporter was saying. They were presenting a quirky story of a bitter man suing his soulmate. He claimed the only reason he got into a car accident was because he felt a sudden sharp pain in his foot and got distracted, and therefore, was asking for his soulmate to pay off the insurance money. Of course they had to find the soulmate who was allegedly responsible for the crash.

“That’s ridiculous.” Bucky mocked.

Sam sat next to him, already having dropped the subject of the missing cereals. He listened to the reporter interviewing the odd man and let an amused but very quickly evaporated smile.

“People have been pulling stunts like these for ages, you can’t be surprised.”

Barnes glanced at him for a second, then returning to the TV. He still thought it was the stupidest reason to sue he’d ever heard of.

“It’s insane.” He said anyways.

“I think it’s sad.” Sam derailed the commentary on an opposite direction, “Can’t be fun starting your lifelong love story through a lawsuit.”

Steve joined the conversation from behind the couch. “I’m pretty sure it’s just a way of getting their attention. You know, find them whatever it takes. It’s actually kind of romantic.”

Bucky scoffed. He couldn’t stop Steve from being such a hopeless romantic and blindly believe in fairy tales where there was none, but he could still be annoyed by the fact.

“A little convenient, isn’t it?” he raised an eyebrow in judgement, yet not turning around to face the blonde.

“What?” Sam shot defiantly, “You don’t believe in this stuff?”

They both knew he was referring to the soulmates paraphernalia. With his glum attitude and dark observations, Barnes did seem like the kind of people to discard the idea of a soulmate. Love that never changes, souls that bond… it did not sound like James Buchanan Barnes’ cup of tea.

“Not the whole part.” He admitted, “I think there’s a lot of bullshit to it.”

The smirk grew on Wilson’s face, “So you’re one of those wacko conspirationists?”

“What if I am?” Bucky shot back, just to mess with him.

He wasn’t though, or not when it came to soulmates, at least. NASA and the government, on the other hand? The man had seen too much inside Hydra to not believe any crazy theory to be possible. He dropped the subject and became more serious, shrugging a little.

“All I’m saying is there’s lots of rules and conditions, I mean, who makes the calls?” Bucky questioned, almost angry, “Who chooses everyone’s partners? And what if you hate your soulmate?”

“That’s the point.” Steve intervened with his bright optimism, “You won���t. They’re your other half.”

Bucky pursed his lips and picked up the remote to switch channels again.

“Sounds real dumb.”

[thebonggirll]

Chapter 9 - Rage

Chapter 8

"Today's training will be a bit different. You'll have three instructors - me, All Might and another faculty member will be keeping tabs on you." Aizawa announced as the students took the information in.

"What kind of training requires three instructors?" Y/N muttered with a confused face.

"Sir!" Sero said putting his hand up, "What kind of training is this?"

"Rescue." Aizawa explained, "You'll be dealing with natural disasters, ship wrecks and stuffs like that. The class started chattering in excitement when Aizawa silenced them and continued, "Guys I'm not finished yet. What you're wearing in this exercise is upto you. I know you're excited about costumes, but keep in mind that you haven't got used to them and they might limit your abilities. This special training is in an off-campus facility, so we'll be taking a bus to get there. That's all, start getting ready." He exited the class after the little announcement.

Y/N saw Bakugou get up and leave as she smiled looking at him, without realizing.

Everyone gathered outside the school, waiting for the bus to arrive. As always, unexpectedly, Y/N's eyes drifted towards Bakugou standing with a frown on his face, probably annoyed for keeping him waiting. For some reason, nowadays, Y/N found Bakugou's reactions quite amusing.

Y/N noticed Midoriya wearing his P.E. uniform. Ochaco asked, "Deku? Why are you wearing your P.E. clothes? Where's your costume at?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Y/N said, sitting lazily on a bench, her cheeks resting on her hands.

Midoriya glared at her and then replied politely to Ochaco, "You saw it after the combat training. It was kinda trashed. I'm still waiting on the support company to fix it up."

As they continued chatting, Y/N observed Mineta walking and lightly limping towards Ochaco, his eyes filled with lust.

"Hey!" Y/N called to him, "Why are you limping?"

"Oh, yesterday while I was trying to support myself to get through the crowd and to the exit, and the girl stomped on me." He said stuttering, slightly. Y/N narrowed her eyes recalling a similar event happening with her - except that she was the one stomping on the guy's foot.

"Oh my god, you are the one who squeezed my butt in the crowd!" Y/N said, her anger rising with every passing minute. In a dangerously low voice, she said "Trust me Mineta, if you weren't in our class and a goddamn friend, I would have bloody drowned you."

Sure, Y/N got angry now and then but facing her actual wrath was something no one dared to deal with. It wasn't much of a difference to Midoriya since he knew this rage from a very long time. Although he tried to stop her from getting angry in the beginning, he was wise enough to know when to step down. It wasn't a pleasant sight.

But Bakugou was thinking different. Something about her anger intrigued him. Maybe it was because it was rare to see Y/N actually getting angry over something. Maybe it was how the whole area suddenly became quiet and felt the cold atmosphere. Maybe it was because Bakugou saw her eyes cold for the first time ever.

There was only a possibility of him feeling all these but he knew one thing for sure. Even if it was for just a second - he knew how his heart skipped a beat.

Oh no, not in a romantic way. He felt something called 'fear'.

Suddenly a whistle broke the tension in the air and Iida said with his commanding voice, "Gather round class 1-A! Using the student numbers form two lines so that we can board on the bus efficiently!"

Ofcourse, no one sat according to their student numbers. In order to cool down, Y/N decided to sit a bit far away from all the chattering students - she stood beside Todoroki's seat. Although, he was a bit surprised to see her sit beside him after the ruckus - he didn't comment on it.

"Do you mind if I sit by the window?" Y/N asked in a polite manner.

"There are plenty of other seats." Todoroki said back. Y/N stood on the same spot with a glare on her face. Todoroki understood that this stubborn girl wasn't going to move. He sighed and moved from the window seat.

Y/N quietly sat near the window seat with Todoroki awkwardly looking at the students and the other side. Y/N finally felt the guilt surfacing in her as she realized she might've been rude to Todoroki for no reason. Surely he defeated her but that wasn't a fair reason to be rude to him. And she knew how impressive he was as he alone managed to wore her down.

"Uh.." she cleared her throat, gaining Todoroki's attention, "You were really impressive in the exam."

"I know." He said in his monotonous voice.

"Yeah, you looked really cool." Y/N said, letting out an amused chuckle, "Get it? Cool?"

"Tch." She heard Bakugou in the front seat.

"What? You got a problem?" Y/N asked him in a stern voice.

Kyoka as if sensing the approaching bickering, stood up from Bakugou's seat and said, "Hey we gotta talk. Come at the back seat." She said going at backseat.

"I don't but.." Bakugou said turning halfway and looked at Y/N, "you surely have a problem."

Even if they didn't say anything, they knew what Bakugou meant by that. It was unusual to see Y/N get angry all of a sudden. Y/N ignored him and went to the backseat.

"What was that?" Kyoka asked, "I have...never seen you that angry."

"I know Mineta doesn't mean it all the time but," Y/N's expression changed into a bitter and dark one, "I despise people like him. I have no issue with the rest of you but he..is disgusting."

"....I'll be here if you need to talk. Other than the fact that you were scary, I didn't want to get in between. I know you need your space and I respect that. If you need to vent, I'm here for you." Kyoka said feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Thank you. I never said this but I feel Midoriya and I are not that of best friends who know each other's deep secrets. Somehow we are never comfortable in sharing secrets. It's like he's always looking for someone else - Bakugou to be specific. I don't want to be that friend who is a replacement for another friendship. They share a special bond." Y/N decided to lighten the mood and said bumping Kyoka's shoulder, "But ofcourse we are better."

"Yeah. And that's exactly why I need to know why there's a sudden change in your attitude towards Bakugou." Kyoka asked.

Y/N's head shot to her right as she looked at Kyoka sitting with a smirk on her face. She started stuttering almost as if she got caught doing something scandalous. "W-what do yo-you mean?"

"Going by your expression, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. It's not like I haven't noticed you looking at Bakugou much more than you usually did. Not to forget the fact that you guys walked in class together. What's going on?" Kyoka dug deep and Y/N knew she wasn't getting out of this.

She sighed and said, "I-I don't know. It's just...something changed since the last combat training. I'll fill you in later, it will take time. It's just that...I have started noticing Bakugou's efforts and although he never shows it but...his quirk is amazing and he works hard. I appreciate it."

"Sounds like you've got a crush on him." Kyoka smirked and interrupted Y/N before she could deny it and said, "We've got time. Spill it. What happened?"

On the other hand, Bakugou was restless. He was itching to know the real cause of Y/N's anger. It already pissed him off that Midoriya probably knew about it and he didn't. Maybe she was already telling Kyoka the reason. He was the only one without any knowledge about it.

He didn't even understand why he cared so much about the reason. Maybe because he will be able to piss Y/N even more. And he didn't get either what was so cool about half-and-half, that Todoroki. Sure, it was a joke but he was angry how he was the only one who didn't receive any kind of compliment from Y/N yet. He knew he was better than all these extras in the class. But the way she didn’t agree with it at all pissed him off.

Now, like a child throwing tantrum, he wanted to know about the reason more than anything.

He needed to know it. Now that Y/N and Bakugou are on talking terms, he can come to know about it somehow.

Oh he bloody knew he can.

Chapter 10

SEASON - I

Ignite

MASTERLIST

[twinkletoes-rp]

A Butterfly’s Heart

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff Pairings: Adrinette, Tikki/Plagg, background Nathalie/Emilie Relationships: Marinette & Nooroo Words: 4,085 Other Links: FFN | AO3

Dedication: Surprise gift fic for @belles-lettresdemoncoeur​ for being the best RP partner I could ask for and to cheer her up since she hasn’t been feeling well lately! (Credit to her for some of the ideas surrounding Emilie and Mari’s care and the ‘Tikki’s choice’ line (I reworked))

Summary: After the final battle for the Miraculous, Hawkmoth – A.K.A. Gabriel Agreste – is dead, Paris is safe, and its heroes are recovering.

In the midst of it all, one little butterfly has a lot of TLC coming his way.

Please note: This is definitely a canon divergent fic! Starting with "Guitar Villain" in season one, Marinette and Adrien get closer and closer (they're also older in this because fuck canon's logic - they're seventeen here, almost eighteen in Adrien's case). Because of this, Mari and Gabriel interact more, and despite being continuously impressed by her work, the two of them butt heads personality-wise, especially where Adrien and his happiness are concerned. Thus (fic spoilers starting here!), after kidnapping Ladybug and Chat and torturing LB, seeing her as the source of his problems since she's always foiling his plans, when he finds out Mari is Ladybug during the final battle, he flips out and kicks the crap out of her, so hard and so fast she doesn't have a hope of defending herself - before finally trying to take her out of the game entirely. Also, in this version of events, Nathalie has always been a very good mother figure for Adrien, loves him like her own, and does not join Gabriel. She and Emilie are also a thing. Chloe is also not a Miraculous holder here, and her and Lila's bullying is much more severe than canon would ever (be allowed) to portray.

---

Finally, the Battle for Paris is over.

Team Miraculous comes out on top, but it isn’t without fallout.

In the end, Adrien needs five days to heal from his broken nose, bloodied-raw wrists, fractured ankle, and split lip. His bruises and cuts are still healing when he refuses to sit around anymore. How can he when there’s so much going on? 

His mother is back, safe with Nathalie and Gorilla. She’s doing well, all things considered, awake and smiling and getting stronger every day with the help of the medical team, a fixed Peacock Miraculous and Duusu, and Tikki and Plagg’s combined magic. She’s walking on her own again by the end of the week.

It’s Marinette who isn’t nearly as lucky. It takes two weeks for her to wake from her medically-induced coma. From the extent of her laundry list of injuries—five broken ribs, a thrice-broken nose, finger-shaped bruises on her neck where Hawkmoth – Gabriel Agreste – tried to strangle her, the stab wound clean through her stomach, severe internal bleeding, gashes and bruises covering her body, and the fact that they lost her twice in surgery before getting her stable, just as a starting point—it’s no surprise. Adrien makes sure she gets the best care possible, calling the best nurses and doctors in all of France to come look after her (and his mother) around the clock. He’s thankful they’re professional enough not to press for more information after he claims she was just caught up in the final battle. (Nathalie checked them all out extensively before they were even contacted, and they still sign confidentiality wavers, just in case.)

Apart from Nathalie forcing him into the shower, Adrien never leaves her side.

When Marinette finally does wake up, she’s panicked and confused and in pain, but a tearfully overcome yet stubborn Adrien is there and does his best to take care of her. He calls her parents immediately, has the doctors examine her and give her something for the pain, and once they’re done and her parents have smothered her in crying-relieved hugs, he explains everything. He does it in pieces over the coming days, not wanting to overwhelm her too much at once, and with her pounding head and hazy memory of everything past being stabbed, she’s grateful. (She doesn’t remember he’s Chat Noir, for instance, that she knows that, but she knows that Chat Noir knows she’s Ladybug – Tikki had to choose between revealing her identity or saving her life, and Adrien’s tearfully thanked the little goddess a trillion and one times since that day for choosing the obvious. He will tell Marinette later, he swears, when things are…decidedly less complicated.)

She also knows that Adrien knows she’s Ladybug, and that was…a thing that happened. It took her several minutes to come down from that particular panic, but once she did, they talked it out. After a day or two of adjustment, she’s…okay with it now. If any civilian were to know her secret, especially now that the danger’s passed…she’s so glad it’s him. 

It’s another week and two days of going in and out of consciousness and healing before Marinette is able to stay awake through the day. She still can’t move much, let alone get out of bed or walk yet, but she’s getting there, and that’s all any of them cares about. She laughs happily when Tikki snuggles into her cheek in congratulations, Plagg nuzzling into her hand and purring loudly—

—and that’s when something that’s been on the edges of her previously-foggy mind finally hurtles to the forefront with a sudden jolt of clarity. Marinette springs upright like she’s been shocked, breath hitching at the pain and realization both. At her side, Adrien is instantly on high alert, instinctively taking her hand while he looks and listens for anything that might be a threat. “Marinette? What is it?”

"W-what about Nooroo? Is he okay? Where is he?"

Adrien blinks for a long moment, and then he softens. Of course. Typical Marinette. Always thinking of other people even when she’s the one who almost died. He’d managed to get the Butterfly Miraculous off his father before it could be destroyed along with him, and he’d been keeping it with him for safekeeping. He figured she’d ask eventually, so it doesn’t take more than that for him to bring it out to show her. She immediately grabs it and puts it on.

“Marinette, wait! You might not be strong enough for—!” Tikki tries to warn, Adrien and Plagg just as worried, but it’s already too late. Even if it wasn’t, they know she would have done it anyway. It’s just how she is when she cares about someone. It’s why they love her.

For now, all they can do is wait on bated breath. Plagg reaches for Tikki’s paw, the show of support for her as much as him. It’s been centuries since they’ve seen their youngest…

There’s a flash of light, and the butterfly Kwami materializes before them. Opening his eyes, Nooroo looks around, confused and worried. "Where is—?" But then, he's hit with that feeling every Kwami gets when his holder, legitimate or not, dies, and he curls in on himself. "Oh, no... M-Master..."

Realizing he’s not alone, he cautiously takes in the others in the room. Seeing Marinette with the brooch, his little face fills with tentative hope. "M-Mistress...?"

Mari can only smile kindly, a bit sadly, and shake her head, gesturing to her earrings. “Sorry…”

He gasps instantly, a shocked, awed smile coming to his face, and he sweeps into a sort of bow. "Oh, Ladybug! Forgive me, I did not know it was you!"

Marinette flushes brightly at his reaction, sending a confused, alarmed glance the others’ way. Adrien seems to be in the same boat as her, but Plagg is as exasperatedly fond as either of the kids has ever seen him, and Tikki just stares at Nooroo like she’s finally gotten back something precious. Turning back to Nooroo, Mari waves her hands in front of her carefully, not wanting to scare him, a nervous smile on her lips. "Y-you don't have to bow, really! I'm not t-that important! And don't worry about it, i-it's okay! We've never met before, so how could you know, right?"

Nooroo comes out of the bow a bit sheepish, a slightly darker purple blush coming through, and Marinette just melts. She bows right back, as low as she can in her condition, just like her mother taught her, pain be damned. "I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It's very nice to finally meet you, Nooroo. Tikki’s told me so much about you."

He feels less silly at her bow, she sees, which was her goal, and she holds out a small, gentle hand – an invitation, not a command. "I'm sorry to wake you up like this. I know you need your rest, and you’ve more than earned it. But I just...” she softens further, “…I wanted to see how you were doing. I've been worried about you for a long time. We all have been. The other Kwamis, too.” Her smile gentles, becomes the tiniest bit sad again, while her empathy rises. “You've...you've been through a lot, haven't you?"

She wants to cry at all the awful things he must have suffered at Gabriel's hands. She doesn't realize a tear's actually slipped out until there's a soft fluttering at her cheek, catching and wiping the tear away. "Please do not cry on my behalf, Marinette. I will be fine,” Nooroo reassures, backing up an inch or two to give her some space. Normally, he wouldn’t dare get this close to anyone, never mind someone he just met, even Ladybug, after what he's just been through, but...he gets a very good vibe from this child. He feels...safe with her.

She breathes a laugh and smiles a little more. She wants to cuddle him, to promise him no one will ever mistreat or misuse him or his powers again while she’s around, but she doesn't want to scare him off. Soon, she hopes. "Thank you, Nooroo. I'm happy to hear that. But until then, if you’ll have me, I'll do anything I can to help you. I've...been through similar things, so I know at least some of what you're feeling." Adrien squeezes her hand. Nooroo looks a little confused, and she can’t blame him. If he wants, she’ll tell him all about Chloe’s bullying growing up and Lila’s lies and manipulation later. She glances at Adrien, warming. "I'm sure Adrien will want to help, too.”

The boy nods vehemently, more than once. “Of course! I—” He looks away, suddenly nervous, rubbing the back of his neck. What if…Nooroo doesn’t want his help? What if he blames him, is mad at him, for not suspecting and confronting his father to save him earlier, regardless of how dangerous that would have been? But…looking at the little guy, he doesn’t seem angry in the slightest. If anything, he seems delighted to be feeling happy and safe for the first time in forever and just as awed to be meeting him as he was Ladyb—er, Marinette. Taking a breath, Adrien steels himself and comes back, determined as ever. “I want to help undo what my father’s done to you. And if I can’t quite do that, then…” he smiles sweetly, “…if I can at least help the healing process in any way, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I’d be honored.” He follows Marinette’s earlier lead and bows as low as he can. “It’s great to meet you, Nooroo. I’m Adrien Ageste.”

Nooroo smiles shyly and returns the bow, more confident this time. He doesn’t miss the way Adrien is particular in using his real name with no hints toward his own Miraculous. He figures that’s on purpose. Perhaps Marinette doesn’t know...? How interesting… He’s sure Tikki and Plagg will fill him in later. “The pleasure is mine, Adrien.” That aside, he straightens and has this to say, looking the boy right in the eyes: “You are incredibly brave to stand against your father as you have. Countless others would have turned and run without hesitation. Regardless of his choices, you are worthy, indeed. Do not doubt yourself.”

Adrien’s eyes widen, his mouth forming a small ‘o,’ and for a moment, Nooroo wonders if he’s said too much, shrinking and an apology already on his lips. A glance Marinette’s way shows she’s confused, and he senses some puzzle pieces might be fitting into cracked memories, but he can tell she hasn’t figured it out, so he thinks he’s safe. He was careful to be cryptic, of course, but he knows firsthand (technically) just how clever this Ladybug is.

All the same, Nooroo is opening his mouth to apologize, almost reflexively, just in case, when Adrien’s eyes well up with tears and a touched smile forms as his heart swells with gratitude and intense affection for the Kwami. The boy breathes a shaky laugh, the hand in Marinette’s – the hand he’d used to Cataclysm his own father right in the face – trembles, but his smile holds, and he nods, swearing then and there that he’s going to be there for Nooroo every step of the way from now on. He owes him that much. Nooroo deserves that much. “R-right. I’ll do my best. We’ll—we can do it together, all of us.” Marinette nods and squeezes his hand. “Thank you, Nooroo.”

It’s Nooroo’s turn to be surprised, even shocked, a blush and small “Oh…!” leaving him, but he’s so happy, and it’s a wonderful feeling. He laughs, the sound like tinkling bells so foreign to him now that he startles himself at first, going with it at Plagg and Tikki’s delight. Adrien and Marinette immediately know they want to hear it as often as they can. “Of—of course, Mas—A-Adrien! I meant every word!”

Marinette softens. “I’m sure Tikki and Plagg will—” Glancing over at Tikki, she pauses. There are huge tears rolling down Tikki's face while Plagg does his best to comfort her, and she can tell she’s barely holding back sobs. "T-Tikki, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Tikki answers with a lurching sob and a cry of "My baby's home!" before surging forward to wrap Nooroo in what he’s pretty sure is the tightest hug he's ever gotten. He surprises himself by accepting it as easily as he does and hugging back just as tightly, letting her cry and crying a bit himself. He should have known he’d accept it from her, though, his mother in every sense, divine creation be damned. He was so alone and so scared for so long... But he's safe now, with her, with Plagg, with these wonderful, extraordinary children. He knows he is.

When they separate minutes later, Nooroo looks between Marinette and Adrien and once again bows as low as he can. This time, they don’t stop him. "Thank you for saving me, Lady—er, Marinette and Adrien. I cannot thank you enough. I am in your debt."

Marinette melts all the more. She’s still confused about the parts of the last battle she can’t remember, but for now, she’s almost certain she’s adopted the little sweetheart. "Of course, Nooroo. But there’s no need to thank us. We're just glad you're finally home safe. That's the important thing."

Adrien nods, threading his fingers through Marinette’s and squeezing. (He doesn’t notice how red she’s turning just from that, but she returns the gesture, a shy beam coming to her face, and that’s all he needs.) “Mari’s right. You and Duusu are home and fixed now, and everything can only get better from here. I’d say that’s a pretty good place to start, wouldn’t you?”

After being with Gabriel for so long, even if his service was unwilling and terrifying, Nooroo feels some parts of him are still loyal to the man, and despite being the youngest Kwami, Nooroo isn’t stupid. He knows he’ll probably need a lot of care and help and time to work through everything he’s been through, but...he also knows they're right. He knows what he went through was anything but good, knows that the loyalty he feels is from the abuse instead of anything remotely earned or deserved, and it feels…impossibly good to finally be able to admit that, even to himself, without fear of backlash. And here, with these people and his fellow Kwamis…he truly does feel like he’ll be okay.

So, he just smiles, perhaps tiny, but bigger than it’s been in so many years, and he nods. "I...I agree! I am happy, too, to be...a-away from...him..." He can't say his name, and he doesn't want to call him ‘Master’ because he—he wasn’t, not really, not by right or Choice, as it should be. So, he settles for that for now. He'll find something to call him in time. For now...

It's only then that he notices just where they are, in some kind of sterile human environment meant for healing, and he isn't sure how he didn't realize how...hurt Marinette is until now. There are still some ugly yellow bruises and scrapes on Adrien, too. Perhaps being awake and free fazed him too much.

"Oh, no...!" he says, so horrified and quiet it's barely a whisper, fluttering closer to look between them and take in their injuries as best he can. "You're hurt! You're—you're humans, human children! Why—? Your suits should have—?!" Then, his eyes widen and well with tears, going pale as memories flood back. "I...I helped him hurt you! I...I...!"

Marinette and Adrien trade a concerned glance, Tikki and Plagg, too. Is he only just now remembering more from the battle? Does he—did he maybe block out all Miraculous battles for his own sanity? Mari makes to reach out to him carefully, but she stops barely halfway, unable to bring herself to get any closer. The last thing she wants to do is scare the poor babe. “N-Nooroo? Are you okay?”

He snaps to look at Marinette, wide, haunted eyes moving from her face to her heart and back like he's frantically checking something, looking more heartbroken by the second, a few tears rolling down. "Ladyb—M-Marinette, you—you died...! Y-your human body gave out, m-more than once, you...! Y-you're lucky to be here at all! And yet, you still...!" He sobs outright and flies toward her faster than he can remember in all his years, nuzzling into a tiny, unmarred section of her cheek. "I-I'm so sorry...! Y-you didn't deserve that...a-any of it...! A-Adrien either! I...p-please...c-can you e-ever forgive me...?"

Marinette's heart automatically goes out to the poor thing, and this time, she reaches up to almost hold him, but leaves more than enough room for him to tell her no or shy away or get away, if he needs it, just in case. She doesn't want to make him feel afraid or trapped. He's felt both for far too long. She'd rather die (maybe not the best choice of words right now, but too bad) than add to that.

"Hey... Hey, Nooroo... It's okay, minou..." She makes sure her voice is light, calm, and gentle like a warm summer breeze. "Can you...can you look at me? And I mean, really look at me?" It takes a few tries, but he does look her in the eyes eventually, and she melts a bit more. She doesn’t understand how anyone could be so terrible to a being so inherently good. She wishes she could do more for him. She will, somehow. "What wielders do with Kwamis’ powers...it's not the Kwamis’ fault. Some people, like Gabriel, only see you as tools. They want to use your power and abuse it for their own gain, no matter what it does to them or the Kwamis or anyone else. That is never the Kwamis' fault. What Gabriel did to me, to us, using your power…it was not your fault. It will never be your fault."

He still looks unconvinced, so very guilty, so she purses her lips tightly before trying another way. "Let me ask you something…" She takes a slow, deep breath. This might be hard for him (and Adrien, Tikki, and Plagg) to hear, but it's necessary. This is where her own painful memories of the final battle, what she has so far anyway, will come in handy, she supposes. "When...when Gabriel was Hawkmoth and he...he was beating me, when he...stabbed me," Nooroo flinches at the reminders, tearing up all the more, but she just smiles gently in kind, hoping to reassure him, "you didn't want to do it, right? You...I'm sure you asked him to stop, told him to, begged him, did your best to resist and fight back. Am I right?"

Nooroo nods immediately, so frantic that she's afraid he might give himself whiplash. His eyes are wide and shell-shocked and somewhat far away, he looks even paler all of a sudden, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the tears become too much. "Of course I did!” His little voice is still quiet, but it’s louder than it’s been yet, shaken and pained. “I asked him what he was doing, why he was hurting you, begged him to stop, tried to tell him you didn't do anything wrong—a-and when that didn't work, I-I said I wouldn't let him hurt you, ordered him to stop! I-I fought him as hard as I could! It's—it's why I lost energy and dropped his—his transformation before Chat Noir could—!"

Mari holds up a hand to stop him, still smiling, though the memories have made her pale as well. Her hand shakes the slightest bit, the one in Adrien’s, too, making him hold on tighter. Nooroo goes silent immediately, grateful for the reprieve, tiny chest heaving with emotion as he watches her confusedly. Adrien and the other two Kwamis are doing the same, not sure what she’s cooking up, but trusting her implicitly. "See?" she entreats, her voice falling tender and soft like the morning sunrise, shaky undercurrent be damned. "You wanted to know why, and you wanted to help me. You fought him every step of the way and did your best to stop him. I might be hurt, sure, and I...I might have lost the fight a few times and been in a coma for a while, but...I'm still here. I'm alive, and I'm sure that is because of you, Nooroo.”

Marinette is pretty sure she’s turning his entire view of the situation on its head. Good. “You dropping the transformation when you did gave Chat Noir the time and opening he needed to step in and take Gabriel down. Without that, he might have kept beating me, and Chat might not have been able to stop him. He might have killed me for real." His eyes are glued on hers, wide and shocked and awed once again, but for entirely different reasons this time, better ones than the mantle she holds, and it’s her heart’s turn to swell. "I wouldn't be here, alive, right now without you, Nooroo." Tears gather in her eyes, too, and she can't help but smile softly, lightly, like sunlight through clouds. "So, thank you so much. Thank you for everything."

Adrien is tearing up himself at the display and revelations here, and he has his own thanks to give for saving his best friend, partner, and the love of his life, but he can do that later. For now, he’s going to let them have their moment. They’ve earned it, and he can’t deny how cute they are together.

Nooroo is so happy and relieved and already loves her so much that he sobs with it, his tears overjoyed and touched now, and he zooms in to nuzzle into her, hug her cheek, wipe away her tears that fall. “Th-thank you, Marinette!”

Once they’ve both calmed down, he still has one more thing. "You've been...having nightmares, I expect." Nooroo glances over at Adrien, Tikki, and Plagg to confirm, and it's a silent, unanimous yes. Vivid memories of her heart rate monitor spiking in the dark of night, shaking, hyperventilating, tears, broken cries of Chat or Adrien’s name, whispered pleas and apologies. He moves to nuzzle into her a little more, voice lowering. "I can help with that. Let me guard your dreams, Marinette. Let me do that much, if not for your sake, then for mine. Please."

Mari swallows the lump that forms at how...sweet he is. Tikki was so, so right to have spoken so highly of him. Someday, she’ll find a way to tell him just how amazing he is—and have him believe it. "If that’s something you feel you need to do, if you're sure...I'd really like that. I trust you, Nooroo. Thank you, little friend."

A small gasp leaves him, and she draws back, worried she said something wrong. But as luck would have it, the little butterfly is positively beaming, not so much tentative anymore as glowing. "A...a friend? Really? I've—I've never had one of those before!" Then, remembering himself, a faint blushing coloring his cheeks, "Ah! A human one, that is!"

Marinette laughs, softening. "I know exactly how that feels.” She glances over to meet Adrien’s eyes, warming. She's sure the two of them can bond over that later, once they open up about their similar experiences. She’d love that. "And now you do. You have me now." Nooroo cheers and flutters up to press his forehead to the star of her face. Happily pressing back, she motions to Adrien, too. "I'm sure Adrien will be, too.”

He nods without hesitation. “Absolutely!”

Marinette grins brightly. “Emilie, Nathalie, Gorilla, my parents...the rest of Team Miraculous. You'll have lots of friends soon enough, Nooroo. If you want them, of course."

Nooroo is crying again, but he's hugging Mari's cheek as she’s found only a Kwami can, and this time, he gladly lets her touch him, her fingers stroking his back below his wings with the gentlest of caresses. He snuggles in more, as much as he possibly can. "M-more than anything...!"

Then it's settled.

“Welcome home, Nooroo.”

[sambukasam]

Happy Ending

Summary: Your first fire cupping session goes a lot smoother than you had anticipated

Kink Bingo Square Filled: Cupping

AU Square Filled: Free Space

Pairing: Masseur!Dean x Reader

Warnings: no smut, but... a happy ending is really heavily implied

Word Count: 1132

A/N: first entry for au bingo this year! thanks again for 700 followers!

Created for @spnkinkbingo and @spnaubingo

Kink Bingo Masterlist ↔︎ AU Bingo Masterlist ↔︎ Normal Masterlist

You relaxed into the massage table, groaning as Dean's expert hands worked out the knots in your shoulders. The room smelled like incense and whatever oil he was working into your skin and you felt like you could just drift off to sleep, even if the hottest man you'd ever seen was touching your bare body.

You fought the urge to whine when he pulled his hands away, finished with the massage.

He stepped away for a second and you heard glass clinking against glass, and you tensed as you knew what was coming up next. One of your friends had recommended fire cupping when you told her of a stubborn stiff muscle, and after another while of it not getting any better you took up her offer and asked her to book an appointment for you at her usual place.

You knew it wasn't supposed to hurt, but you couldn't help but feel nervous in case it would. What if the masseur dropped the flaming cotton ball on your back? That would hurt a hell of a lot more than your stiff muscle.

"Alright, we're going to start the Chinese cupping now," Dean said in a soothing voice as if he could sense your anxiety. "Don't worry, it won't hurt."

"Have you had it done on yourself before?" You asked, both to stall and out of genuine curiosity.

"Yeah, I get it done every now and again. I have an old sports injury that it helps with."

You nodded your head as much as you could with the position it was in before verbalising. "Okay, you can start now."

You heard when the cotton ball was lit, and tensed up a bit when you could feel him step closer to your back. "Relax," he whispered, and you found yourself listening.

You jumped as a glass cup was put gently against your shoulder, and felt a warm sensation as your skin tightened and was partially sucked into it.

"See? Not so bad."

"No, not so bad," you echoed, finding yourself returning to the same state you were in when he was massaging you.

"Want me to do your fullback? We have enough time left in your session for it."

"Um, yeah, go for it."

The room was quiet, ambient music playing quietly while Dean added and removed cups from your back until he got to your lower back. You tensed as he neared where your towel was covering your ass, not sure if you had a problem with it or not. He seemed to be struggling to find more space, so you took the matter into your own hands.

"Do you want me to pull the towel down a little? So you have more room?" You rushed the second sentence out when you realised what it sounded like, wanting to facepalm. The number of people who aimed for a happy ending with him must be ridiculous.

"If you don't mind," he answered, and you could picture a smile on his face as you carefully lowered the towel down an inch or two, taking care not to pull it down too far and expose yourself to the poor man.

You waited with bated breath as he moved the one that was near your lower back to the spot where your back met your ass, and then he was moving another one to a similar spot on your other cheek. You knew it wasn't sexual, but you couldn't help but shift a little from how close he was getting to your butt. If he so much as nudged the towel the wrong way, your ass would be out for the world to see.

The room was filling with tension and the most frustrating part of it all was you had no idea if he could sense it because you couldn't see anything but the floor.

A quiet alarm went off, sounding like wind chimes and went perfectly with the tranquil atmosphere that was in the room, but it still made you jump a mile in the air.

Dean cleared his throat and removed the cups from the swell of your ass. "Well, uh, that concludes the session. I'm gonna give you a massage on the house though, help work any last kinks out."

You popped your face out of the hole and folded your arms under it, resting your cheek on them as you tilted your head to look at him. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow and his chest was rising and falling faster than it should have been given the circumstances, and either your peripheral vision was playing tricks on you or he totally had a boner. Was he turned on too?

"You don't have to if you don't want to," you said softly, and you bit your lip and tried to inconspicuously drift your eyes down to his crotch to see if he really did have a hard-on. You swallowed audibly when, yep, that was totally a hard dick.

"I'm sorry, this is really unprofessional of me," he apologised as soon as he noticed where you were looking, ducking his head as he turned around and put the glass cups he'd used quickly on a tray.

You decided, hey, maybe you deserved a happy ending. You got up into a seated position slowly, pulling the towel up and covering yourself as you went. "Dean?" You asked, making him turn around to face you.

You slowly brought your hands to the part of your towel you'd tied together, gauging his reaction and giving him the chance to object to what was going on. When his eyes followed your hands and he made no move to stop your actions, you untied the towel and dropped it to the floor.

He swore and dropped the cup he was holding, not even flinching as it bounced off the ground without smashing. He took a hesitant step towards you before regaining his confidence and finishing making his way towards you. He cupped your jaw and looked into your eyes, asking for permission.

You leaned up and kissed him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pressing your naked body against his fully clothed one. His hands went to your ass, wrapping your legs around his waist and lifting you up, walking to the massage table you'd been lying on and dropping you onto it, all the while not breaking the kiss.

"This your first happy ending?" You joked breathlessly while he pulled back from the kiss to yank his shirt off over his head.

"Will you believe me if I say it is?"

"With magic hands like that? Doubtful."

"My hands aren't the only magic part of me," he joked cheesily and you laughed, pulling him in for another kiss and unbuckling his belt.

"How about you let me show you just how good my hands are."

-

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Giving In

In which Harry and y/n are too impatient to wait until Valentines Day…

A/N: Shoutout to @stylesunchained for the title because I was seriously stumped.  Anyway, HAPPY VALENTINES DAY MY LOVELY FOLLOWERS! This is probably the filthiest thing I’ve ever written so… enjoy. 

Harry sighs, closing the car door behind him and trudging sleepily up the steps to his girlfriend’s apartment. Having just finished his morning workout, he is a bit sore and his muscles are trembling. But, he promised her he’d spend the day and night at her house because it is, after all, the day before Valentine’s Day. And what better way to spend Valentine’s Day, Harry thinks, than curled up in bed the entire day with the girl you love? 

But he is tired. Exhausted even. And seeing as it isn’t quite Valentine’s Day yet, all he really wants from today is a shower and a cuddle. Maybe even a nap if the moment presents itself. 

He opens the door to her apartment (she’s left it unlocked, because of course) and is immediately greeted by the smell of fresh coffee and the apple cinnamon candle he’d bought her the other week. His tummy rumbles and he realizes he’s as hungry as he is sleepy. He knows she’s only recently woken up and he’s jealous. Why did his morning workouts have to start so damn early? 

He’s barely got his sneakers off before he sees her come bounding around the corner. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, as usual– but with messy morning hair and mismatched pajamas. (And no bra, he notices, but he’ll focus on that later.)

He smiles as she kisses his cheek, her lips warm and her breath smelling like coffee. She steps back suddenly, wrinkling up her nose and frowning and up at him. “You stink.“ 

He laughs. "Good morning to you, too.” He opens his arms like he’s going to envelop her in his filth and she squeaks, jumping back quickly. 

“NO!” She says, holding up a finger at him. As if that could stop him. Bless her. “No, not until you’ve showered." 

"Y'not even going to kiss me?” He asks, putting on his best fake pout. 

 She sighs, turning to walk into the kitchen with him following behind her. “I already did, Harry. You can’t be greedy. Saving all my good kisses for tomorrow." 

Harry giggles, sitting on one of her bar stools while she stands on her tiptoes to get a mug- his mug- off the top shelf. "Want some coffee?” He doesn’t know why she’s even asking, because she’s already pouring it for him. And of course his answer is yes. 

He hums in response as she finishes making the cup- just the way he likes it, and puts it on the counter in front of him. Muttering a quiet “thank you, love” he raises the mug to his lips. It’s delicious, the coffee that only she can make. No matter how many times he tries to make it at his own home, it never tastes as good as hers. She swears it’s because she puts extra “love” in it, but he’s got a suspicion it’s just a bit of extra sugar. 

Still, it’s delicious, and he all but moans as it runs down his throat. “Mm. Wonderful." 

She beams, leaning forward on the counter and propping her head in her hands. "Tell me about your work out! Did your trainer kick your butt again?” Harry smirks, chuckling softly into his mug. “Absolutely not,” he says. “M'stronger than that." 

She nods towards the bandage on his hand. "What’s that?" 

He sighs, because he’s forgotten it’s there. His hand has been hurting a lot lately and today he’d pushed it a bit too far while boxing. Again. And he knows she worries, but he wishes she wouldn’t. (Though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love the feeling it gave him when she worried). "Went a bit too hard today. S'fine.” He takes another sip, hoping she won’t worry anymore, but she’s not buying it. 

“Harryyyy,” she sighs, furrowing her eyebrows. “You need to be more careful. Really. I know you like pushing yourself but… can’t you push a little bit less?”

Harry laughs, going into the same explanation he always gives her. “The trainer said it was fine.” Or “I went even harder last week, and it was fine then.” And even “It doesn’t even hurt that bad.” He’s giving her his usual spiel when he notices her staring. Her little pout has softened and blossomed into a tiny smile, and her eyes aren’t really focused, they’re scanning his face. Specifically his forehead. He pauses, frowning a bit. “What?”

She reaches forward and strokes at a little curl peeking out from under his beanie. Her fingers feel warm against his skin and god, she knows how much he loves when she plays with his hair. He smiles now. She hasn’t even answered him, she just keeps twirling her fingers around the little curl and smiling. So he repeats, “What, love?”

“Your curls,” she says, reaching up under his beanie to scratch at his head. “They’re coming back.” She gently slides the beanie off his head and giggles lightly at the mess of curls and fluff and hat-hair on his head. His cheeks are red, but she’s sweet, so he nuzzles his head under her hand– asking her to keep scratching.

“Yeah?“ He says. "S'it look good?”

She giggles. “It’s a mess.” She twirls her finger around one of the barely-there curls. “But it’s adorable. Missed these curls.”

He smiles. She’s so damn endearing. “They missed you too. Missed you playing with ‘em.”

She pulls her hand away then, and he almost whines at the loss of contact. “Well I’ll play with them some more when they’re less stinky and sweaty.”

He huffs out a sigh, like a child who hasn’t gotten his way, but takes another sip of his coffee while she speaks. “Totally didn’t mean to interrupt your story. Sorry. I’m still mad about your hand, but you’re just so cute. Your curls are distracting.”

“But not the rest of me, hm?” He wiggles his eyebrows and she snorts.

“No, the rest of you is pretty cute too.”

“Not manly and rugged?”

“You’re hot, Harry, I’ll give you that.”

“But smelly.”

“Very.”

He laughs, taking another long sip of his coffee before getting to his feet. “Right. I’ll shower then.”

“You’ve had like two sips of coffee!”

“I’ll take it in there with me. Gotta get clean so you’ll love me again.” She rolls her eyes at this but the dimple tugging at her cheek gives her away. “Y'can always join me in there, you know.”

He raises his eyebrow and she narrows her eyes at him. “You little shit. You know the rules.”

And Harry does indeed know the rules. As much as he wishes he didn’t. He and y/n have agreed, for whatever stupid reason, not to have sex (and anything remotely similar) until actual Valentine’s Day. It had started when she’d teased him about how he always had to be touching her, and how she knew he’d never be able to keep his hands to himself. Not that she minded, of course, but it was still funny to her how they “fucked like rabbits,” as she put it. Call it Harry’s stubborn pride or her incessant need to be right constantly, but here they are. They haven’t touched one another sexually in four days. While it may not seem like all that long, to Harry, it’s been four days too many.

So he sighs, shaking his head. “Fine. But if we aren’t going to touch one another I’d like to ask you to please put a bra on because your nipples are begging for me to suck on them through that t-shirt right now.”

Harry never tires of the reaction he gets out of her when he speaks so matter of factly about destroying her. Like now, for example, her mouth hangs open like a fish and her eyelashes are batting heavily, because she doesn’t know what else she can do. He doesn’t even give her a chance to say anything before he walks up to her and gently closes her mouth. “I could, if you’d like. If you want to get into the shower with me I could take care of ‘em. Take care of a few other little things too. Things that, I’m sure, miss my mouth.” He strokes her hair gently behind her ear and smiles. “S'up to you.”

He’s being selfish, of course, but god has he wanted to take her distracting little nipples into his mouth since the minute he walked in the door. She blinks up at him, suddenly so different than the bold, adorable little thing she was moments ago. And he thinks she’s about to do it, she’s about to kiss him and let him carry her to the bathroom…. when she shakes her head and swallows. “No. We are not going to give in that easily, Harry. We promised we’d wait until tomorrow for all that!”

He shrugs, though he must admit, his dick was starting to like the idea of having her in the shower with him. “Fine then. Might just have a wank in your shower all by myself though.”

He walks past her and giggles when he hears her call back “don’t you dare!”

Of course he doesn’t wank in her shower. He misses her, but he isn’t quite that desperate yet. When he gets out he is somewhat disappointed to find that she’s taken his advice and put on a bra. (He is, however, greeted by a fresh plate of pancakes, so really he can’t complain all that much.)

The day continues on in the same way. Cuddled up into one another, her legs draped across his lap. Innocent, giggly kisses are shared but in honesty their attention is mostly taken by the plethora of cheesy romantic comedies they’re watching. (Currently it’s The Notebook, because what else?)

His morning workout is starting to catch up with him, however, when he notices she’s running her fingers through his messy curls. How long has she been doing that? Is she trying to get him to fall asleep? Harry doesn’t mind either way, but god, he really loves this girl and this feeling.

He half sighs, half moans. “Feels good, baby.”

“Yeah?” And Harry’s ears are completely perked at this. She’s using that tone of voice reserved for when she wants something. And usually he likes whatever it is she wants.

He smirks, turning his head to find her already looking at him. “You really missed my curls, did you?”

She smiles, squirming a bit so that her legs brush against the slight bulge in his sweats. “A little, yeah.” She gives them a bit of a tug to prove her point. “Excited to have them back. All the things I can do with your hair. I really missed having something to tug on when you’re…..”

She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth then, stopping herself. He knows exactly what she was going to say and it lights a fire in his belly that he knows shouldn’t be there. Still, against all reason, he wants her to say it. “When what, petal?”

And he notices the way her eyelashes flutter closed. “Petal” is a name saved only for special occasions. He doesn’t know how it even started, but all he knows is that it’s a word that drips with seduction when he uses it. It’s something that melts her heart and dampens her panties and, dammit, if she can hint at what she wants then he can do it better.

She’s smirking now. “Just… when we’re sitting together. Like this. That’s all.”

Harry chuckles, taking her other hand in his and bringing it up to his lips. “Petal, you and I both know that’s not what you were going to say.” He notices her chest rising and falling as her breath hitches in her throat, and he’s wondering if her nipples are hardening beneath that bra. They haven’t even so much as touched one another, but the sexual tension in the air building so quickly after only a few words has his heart racing and his thoughts drifting.

She smiles, scratching at his scalp again, with her nails this time, and his lips curl– almost in a snarl because goddamn, she knows what her nails do to him. “Mm, baby,” he hums. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to get me hard.”

“Why would I do that?” She yanks a bit. “You know the rule is no sex. Not my fault your curls turn me on." 

"So you’ve got a curl kink, have you?" 

"A Harry kink. A Harry with curls kink, if you will. And a Harry with curls when he talks about sucking on my nipples kink.”

Harry can’t help but laugh. She’s so cute and so sexy and he loves times like this. He tilts his head to kiss the inside of her wrist. “So you’re still thinking about that.”

She sighs, the smirk still tugging at her lips. “Mmm. Yes. And thinking about how nice it would feel to tug on those curls while you’re–”

He leans forward and kisses her cheek then, sponging little kisses in a trail to her lips before settling there. He feels her melt into him, like she’s been waiting for this just as long as he has. Her back arches a bit and he can feel the swell of her breasts against him. And god, he can’t do this anymore. His hands travel to her hips and, after a bit of a shuffle, he coaxes her into his lap so that her knees rest on either side of his thighs.

He holds her hips in his big hands and gives a bit of a squeeze, which she jolts at, grinding her center against his. Her hands make their way from resting on his shoulders to up into his hair. The way her long fingers caress and scratch and tug at his hair has him hardening by the second, and he digs his nails into the skin of her hips. Her back arches once more, allowing him access to her neck– which he quickly attacks. Kiss after wet, open-mouthed kiss is sponged along her throat, and he saves the one spot he knows makes her toes curl for last.  His hand finds a way to cup her breast through the tshirt. She moans and Christ, he doesn’t know how much longer he can last.

“Love,” he breathes, rolling his hips a bit so the bulge in his sweatpants gets some much needed friction. She flips her hair over her shoulder and now uses this time to take her turn on his neck. He tries his hardest to sound collected but he’s fooling no one. “Please…. we’d better… shit baby we’d better stop if… oooohhh my god right there…. yes baby keep kissing right there… oh my god your hand is… is….”

He wants this girl so fucking badly that he’s babbling now. And with good reason– she’s got one hand full on yanking his hair to keep his head forced back and his neck exposed, and the other hand trailing down his chest, to his stomach….. and lower still….

She smirks against his throat. “I’ve been thinking,” she says slowly. Seductively. God almighty. “We can’t have sex until tomorrow, right?” She places a kiss just under his jaw and his hand involuntarily squeezes at her breast again. “But… we didn’t really specify what kind. Or–”

Again, he hardly lets her finish her sentence. He’s too busy lifting her shirt up over her head. And what he is met with- what he is now luckily and so gloriously eye to eye with– is the most gorgeous lacy little thing he’s ever seen. He all but gasps out loud. “Christ, petal. What is this?”

She smiles, and he knows he’s giving her the exact reaction she’d hoped for when she’d bought this bra. When that was, he doesn’t know, but holy fuck does it look good. “Do you like it, baby? Was saving it for tomorrow, but you told me to put a bra on, so.” She shrugs.

Harry lets out a long breath as his eyes linger on the thin red lace that curves and dips so fucking beautifully with her breasts. He almost doesn’t want to take it off of her.

Almost.

“Baby, I… petal.” He swallows and she beams. Every time he calls her that, he has a suspicion she gets wetter because now he can smell her. It’s intoxicating. His eyes nearly roll back in his head when she ruts up against him. “It’s fucking beautiful. You’re an angel.”

She leans forward just a bit and he can’t stop himself from kissing her cleavage. The skin is warm and thick beneath his lips and he swears he could stay here, right between her breasts, for days. Especially with the scent of her mixed with the perfume she’s wearing. He groans, bumping his nose against the valley of her breasts. “Swear to God, baby. You’re killing me.”

“Yeah?” She smirks, pushing her forehead against his to fasten their lips together once more. “Thought you might like it.” She reaches back to tug his hair again, almost forcefully yanking his head back once more so she can bite his neck. And god, Harry is proper hard now. He reaches up to massage her breasts, dipping his thumbs into the lacy cups to run them over her pebbled nipples. She hisses, grinding her hips against his sweatpants. His sweatpants that, if he doesn’t get out of soon, he thinks, he’ll ruin.

“Baby,” he says. “Can we… can I…” He doesn’t even know what it is he’s trying to ask for right now but he knows he wants his mouth somewhere on her delicious body and his cock somewhere inside of it.

She pulls away from his neck, lips curled in the most enticing little grin. “Harry….” she says slowly. “I want to try something.” She pulls back a bit and reaches behind her to unhook her bra.

While she works to get the clasps undone, Harry doesn’t even know where to look. He wants to watch her breasts when they fall the minute her bra comes off. Or her face, the way it’s so sexy but so cute how hard she’s focusing. But when the bra is finally undone, he can’t tear his eyes away from her beautiful breasts, so dangerously close to his face. “Fuck, baby,” he says. “I–”

“Fuck them,” she breathes, reaching up to take her own breasts in her hands and push them together.

Now he does look up at her, though it almost pains him to look away. He swallows, trying to figure out if she said what he thinks she said. “What?”

“Fuck my tits, Harry,” she says, slower this time. His cock feels like it could bust out of his pants and he has to blink away his shock. Such filthy words out of such a pretty mouth. A mouth that is wickedly grinning. “They’re all yours. They want you between them.”

He grabs her hips and pulls her forward, enveloping her right nipple between his lips. His tongue flicks against it and she hisses, eyelashes fluttering closed and nails digging into his shoulder. When he releases her nipple, it’s with a loud slurping noise. “Baby,” he says, the word dripping off of his wet lips like honey. “Are you sure?”

“Been wanting to try it for a long time now,” she says, her timidness now poking through her mask of seduction. “If you want to, I want you to. I really want you to, actually.”

Harry squirms out from under her then, much to her surprise. He begins undressing himself, shirt first, and says quickly, “Lie back.” It comes out a lot more demanding than he intends but the smile on her face proves she doesn’t mind. They both work to remove the remaining articles of clothing off of themselves while she obeys and Harry is now painfully hard. Seeing her there, naked and pushing her breasts together, waiting for him to absolutely devour her. Goddamn, is he a lucky man.

He goes to the end of the couch near her feet but she sits up suddenly. “WAIT!” She says, and Harry almost sighs.

“Yes love?“

"I bought oil. Like, really special oil for this. I was gonna give it to you tomorrow but….” She trails off and they both become self aware. They are naked, and they’re about to fuck. A lot. She giggles. “Anyway its in my room in the top drawer. We’ve got to oil up my boobs if we want this to work well.”

The thought of her boobs covered in oil sends a jolt through Harry’s body, and he’s off rummaging through her top drawer for this new, never been opened oil before she can say another word. She thinks of everything, and he makes a mental note to tell her how wonderfully planned this all is. He really, really loves her.

He returns to the couch, where she remains in the exact same position as before, and he takes both of her feet in his hands. He spreads her legs for him to crawl up between. She’s wet- deliciously so- and Harry wastes no time in running his tongue up her slit. She whines at the contact while her elbows dig into the couch cushions. “Harrrryyy–” she begins, wiggling under his tongue that’s now teasing at her clit.

He kisses it gently, sucking a little harder than he should. “Tastes so fuckin good, y/n. Love how wet I’ve got you.” He flicks his tongue against her clit once more. “How many times have you touched this pussy in the last four days?”

His tongue shows no sign of letting up, so she struggles to get the words out. “Every night. SHIT Harry, every night.”

“And why is that?” He swirls his tongue around, reaching up now to hold her thighs in place.

“Because I missed…. missed you oh fuck that’s so good Harry.” It all comes out in one breathless groan and Harry smirks against her engorged little bundle of nerves. He gives it one last kiss before pulling away.

“Oh, you missed me did you?” He shuffles a bit, situating his body higher and higher on her own so that he’s lined up with her breasts. “Miss my cock?” He opens the bottle of oil and squirts some in his hand. It smells so fucking food, Harry swears he’s seeing stars. Fuck.

She whines like an actual porn star when his hands come in contact with her boobs, squeezing and rubbing them together while he’s trying to get the oil all over them. The sight of her wriggling beneath his touch while her breasts glisten is enough to cause his cock to ache- truly ache, and he tries his hardest to speed up the process while still making this as enjoyable as he can for her. She whimpers every time his fingers roll around her nipples.

When her boobs are evenly coated, he repositions himself, takes his shaft by the base and slaps his dick lightly against her breast. She moans. “Yessss Harry… oh god, can you touch me again? Please?” The desperation in her voice is fucking sexy and both she and Harry notice the pearl of precum at the head of him.

He swallows. “You’re such a good girl, y/n.” He’s teasing at himself, stroking up and down while trying to keep his voice even. “So fucking good for me. Wanting me to fuck these gorgeous tits of yours. My girl is so fucking good to me.

He lowers himself then, placing his tip just at the base of her cleavage. With one hand just grazing his balls and the other behind him rubbing circles on her clit, he begins thrusting

It’s sinful. It’s filthy and sinful and so intoxicating that Harry thinks he could cry. Her hands pushing her breasts together so tightly, with just enough room for his cock to slide in and out. It’s messy and occasionally his dick pops out from between them. But holy fuck, he’s never been more in love with this woman.

She coaxes one of her legs up over the back of the couch to give his fingers easier access to her clit. He curls his fingers and rubs how he knows she loves, but it’s a bit of a struggle, if he’s honest, because his cock has never felt like this before. The added sensation of his tip hitting her chin every now and then has his toes curling and his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"God Harry– FUCK!” She half screams, half grunts. Her hips are doing their best to roll against him, but the weight of his body has her pinned, and whether it’s heaven or hell, she cannot decide.

“Petal…. baby, oh my god shit, your tits feel so fucking good.” The words coming out of Harry’s mouth are verging on vulgar but she loves it, letting her eyes roll back when his tip hits her chin again.

“Harry I’m cumming…. shitFUCK I’m cumming.” And for a moment Harry stops the thrusting of his cock so that he can focus on rubbing her clit though orgasm. He didn’t spend a lot of time eating her and he hasn’t stuck so much as his pinky finger inside of her but she’s cumming hard and fast and he only wishes he could taste her- have his tongue inside of her so he can taste her while her walls clench around him.

When her moaning and cursing comes to an end, Harry brings his fingers from her core to his lips and almost faints. The taste, the smell, the entire essence of her has him head over heels infatuated. And the way she’s looking up at him, waiting for him to finish, causes an almost animalistic groan to come out of his mouth. “Fuckin hell, petal. You’re delicious.”

“Fuck my tits,” she repeats, as an almost reminder. “Please. I want you to cum on them now.” And shit, who is he to say no to that?

So he continues. Harder this time. He uses the hand that was just on her clit to cover one of her small hands and run his thumb over her nipple. They’re both squeezing her breasts now, and his cock feels warm and snug and ready to burst at any moment. He’s watching the way he slides between her boobs, in and out, and he’s mesmerized by the sight of it. 

She, however, is looking up at him with doe-eyed adoration, and when he finally makes eye contact with her, he feels he could cry.

She smiles at him as his tip hits her chin again and he lets out a most unmanly whine. “Fuck,” he grunts. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Harry.” She arches her back a bit as he picks up the speed of his thrusting. “Feels so good,” she purrs, her voice shaky with every thrust. “Want you to cum all over my chest…. daddy.”

And that fucking does it. Harry’s nearly cross eyed now and after a few more thrusts, he’s cumming. Hot and hard. He’s trying his hardest to aim it at her chest instead of her face, although he can’t help the little spurts that end up on her chin. She doesn’t seem to mind though, especially when she peeks her tongue out between her lips to lick them up. And although Harry can barely keep his eyes open as it is, the sight of his cum on her bare breasts, on her chin, hell, in her mouth even, is driving him over the edge. How on earth did he get so lucky?

When he’s spent and panting and feels he could pass out from exhaustion, he sits back down between her legs and rests his back against the opposite side of the couch. They’re facing one another, and she’s got a sleepy little smile on her face (that mirrors Harry’s own, he’s sure). Neither says a word, but no words are needed in this moment. It’s perfect. It’s bliss. It’s love.

With each blink, Harry finds it harder and harder to open his eyes again. That is, of course, until y/n takes her breasts in her hands again and pushes them up towards her chin. Her tongue peeks out once again and she licks up as much of his juices as she can reach. Fucking hell.

He smirks, reaching up to rub softly at his eyes. “Christ, petal, you’re going to kill me.”

“Can’t reach all of it,” she says, licking her lips. “But it’s so good.”

He watches her and heaves a heavy sigh. She really is so fucking beautiful. She grins back at him, her lips now wet and plump, and his heart flutters. He stands slowly, scratching absentmindedly at his tummy. “Need a towel?”

She giggles, giving up her attempts to lick up the parts she can’t reach. “Please.”

He laughs, bending down to press a kiss to her forehead. She smells so good, he knows he’ll never get over it. He loves it. He presses another very tiny kiss to her head after pulling away. “Okay. I’ll get you some clothes too.”

He turns to walk to her bedroom and hears her call behind him. “Thank yoooooou!”

He smiles to himself and is almost down the hall when she calls again, “Harry?!" 

He stops, turning around. "Yes?”

“I love you. Thank you.”

God she’s adorable. Filthy, kinky, but adorable. “I should be thanking you, love." 

"No, definitely not,” she giggles. There’s silence, and Harry’s about to begin walking again when he hears, “Harrrrrrry?”

He chuckles. "Yes, love?" 

"Remember earlier when you wanted to take a nap?”

“F'course.”

"Think I want that too now. Can we cuddle?”

He’s smirking, and he shakes his head at how cute she’s being. "Always.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

He turns to disappear into her bedroom now, and returns moments later holding a towel and a few items of clothing for both of them. She’s grinning and blushing, and the sight is too adorable for him to not kiss her cheek before wiping her chest with the towel. She’s so shy now, so embarrassed, and Harry knows she can get this way after an orgasm. And naturally, he doesn’t mind reassuring her that it was wonderful. She was wonderful. And how lucky he knows he is.

The next time she speaks is when they’re getting dressed beside one another. “By the way, I still have something planned for tomorrow.”

Harry smiles, pulling his shirt over his head. “Oh yeah?”

She wiggles while she pulls her yoga pants over her bum. “Mhm. Tomorrow’s when the actual fun stuff happens. The even sexier stuff.”

And if Harry wasn’t so spent, he swears he’d get hard again. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, but she’s not even paying attention- she’s pulling one of his hoodies on over her head. “Love. If you aren’t careful you’ll get me hard again.”

She only giggles while her head peeks through the neck hole of his hoodie. “You’re gonna have to save that for tomorrow,” she says. “Today was a freebie.” She leans forward and kisses his jaw and he smiles when she nearly whispers, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed and that it wasn’t too rushed or gross or anything haha.  But it was a much discussed topic on my blog, so hey. Figured I’d give it a shot.  THANK YOU ALL! 

~S

[kane-and-griffin]

Hey so I known you don't particularly ship bellarke, but what do you think of the bellarke/kabby parallels? I'm only asking because I'm curious to see what the other side of the fandom thinks?

I actually do ship Bellarke!  Kabby is my #1 but I’ve always been invested in Clarke and Bellamy’s relationship.  I have very strong opinions about Kabby/Bellarke parallels and have talked about this at LENGTH on Meta Station, where @reblogginhood, my co-host and best friend, is a ride-or-die Bellarke shipper, so most of the time I feel like I have dual citizenship through Erin (and vice versa, since the Kabby fandom loves her too).  We both love both those ships, and we both love all four of those characters, just in rearranged order, and we like to yell about this a LOT.

I’ve meta’d on this before a number of different times, but I’m too lazy to go back and dig up old posts, so here goes.

First of all, if you are a Bellarke shipper (are you a Bellarke shipper? Am I reading this ask correctly?  HELLO FROM THE OTHER SIIIIIIIIIIDE), the most important thing I want to say in aid of positive fandom-to-fandom relations is that the phrase “Kabby/Bellarke parallels” has begun to elicit a knee-jerk primal scream reaction among Kabby shippers over the past few months, since we regularly find the Kabby tag full of posts that either describe Kabby as the “old” version of Bellarke, or that it only exists to pave the way for Bellarke, or that the parallels that exist (and they do exist, and we’ll get to that in a second) essentially make Kane and Abby metaphors instead of people who only exist in the narrative to shed light on Bellarke instead of being their own characters with value and storylines of their own.  Articles or blog posts highlighting the things that make Kabby special to Kabby shippers will get reblogged with someone saying “if you change the names, it’s about Bellarke!” or with lengthy meta about how Bellarke had that thing first or that the Kabby version of some particular moment or symbol or metaphor or visual cue or phrase only exists because it will become MORE important later, when it’s attached to Bellarke. 

So I’m frustrated because I love this ask, I love getting this question, I love talking about the relationship among these four characters, but also it’s hard - as you can imagine - to feel like we’re told over and over again that the things we feel make our ship, and these two characters, really special to us, don’t really matter on their own merits.  

Anyway, I’m saying that both A) so the Kabby fandom, where we are perpetually having this conversation, knows MOM’S ON IT, and B) so that you as a Bellarke shipper who seems delightful and asked a great question has some context for why sometimes other asks or posts about this - which aren’t phrased as nicely as yours was - receive a negative response or make Kabby shippers upset.  I think the context is important here, because this has been a BIG thing in our world of late and we’re all a little thin-skinned about it right now.

Okay but that being said LET’S MOVE ON TO THE FUN PART AND TALK ABOUT CHARACTER PARALLELS BECAUSE I LOVE CHARACTER PARALLELS AND I THINK ABOUT THESE ONES ALL THE TIME AND I’M FULL OF OPINIONS AND YOU ASKED FOR THEM SO YOU’RE GONNA GET ‘EM

oh wait I found another post where I already did this STILL GONNA YELL ABOUT IT THOUGH, MY HOUSE MY RULES

Okay so FIRST OF ALL let me just real quick BLOW YOUR MIND with my Kabby/Bellarke parallels theory, which is that the REAL parallel is Abby/Bellamy vs. Clarke/Kane and everyone else has it backwards. 

I think the easy, default place most people go to when we talk about this is to contrast Kane and Bellamy - the self-doubting, tortured, wannabe martyrs who carry the weight of every sin on their shoulders well past the point of reason - with Abby and Clarke - the resourceful mother and daughter who never give up and will drag all of humanity kicking and screaming to their salvation if it’s the LAST THING THEY FUCKING DO.  And I think there’s a lot of interesting character stuff to be mined there, for sure; I think Kane and Bellamy’s parallel redemption arcs are some of the best stuff they’ve done in the whole series (until 3A Bellamy regressed back to an asshole but let’s skip past that for the moment), illustrating the way that for both of them, the Culling was really a turning point where they realized that they will forever carry the burden of having been complicit in that massive loss of innocent life (Bellamy for throwing away Raven’s radio and Kane for not waiting like Abby asked him to) which could have been prevented if they had listened to the Griffins.  It’s beautifully executed, even in S1 when these two characters have never interacted onscreen, and it ramps up even more in S2 where we see them meet and immediately butt heads with each other before in S3 developing a real partnership.  (Which then got torn to shreds.  I’m still bitter over 3A Kellamy  I’M GONNA NEED A HUG IN S4 JASON DO U HEAR ME) (I mean I need Kane to hug Bellamy, not like I’m requesting a hug from Jason, TO BE CLEAR).  And I think the mother/daughter parallels are drawn beautifully as well, especially in S1 where we see Abby on the Ark and Clarke on the ground filling similar roles and working towards the same goal, barreling through the opposition however they must.

BUT.  If we’re talking about which characters are MOST SIMILAR, then I think you CANNOT get away from the reality that the parallels are actually gender-flipped.

Clarke has a lot of her mom in her, clearly, as well as a lot of her dad.  But she’s not actually the kind of leader her mom is.  She’s the kind of leader Kane is.  Abby and Bellamy are the ones with the crowd charisma and the stubborn recklessness; Clarke and Kane are the cool-headed, deliberate strategic thinkers.  Bellamy and Abby have quick minds and no fear and will do absolutely anything, no matter how insane, to protect the people they love.  You can map, beat-for-beat, so many of the things Bellamy does for Octavia onto the things Abby does for Clarke, and vice versa.  Abby sneaking the kids out the back door with guns in the middle of the night to go find Clarke? Bellamy would do that in a second.  Bellamy sneaking onto the dropship to make sure Octavia doesn’t go to earth unprotected?  ABBY AF.  They both begin the show as people who are fiercely focused on keeping the person they love most safe, and it makes them blind to ancillary consequences.  Bellamy will fight anyone.  Abby will tell any lie.  There is no such thing as too far, when the person you love is at stake.  WE know Abby’s hope that the kids are alive is borne out by fact, but NO ONE ELSE ON THE ARK KNOWS THAT.  From Kane’s point of view, she’s being as unreasonable and reckless as Clarke thinks Bellamy is when she yells at him about the radio.  Or think about Abby sneaking Bellamy and Finn out the back door with guns to go hunt for Clarke, even knowing she would get in trouble for it.  You know who else would do THAT EXACT SAME THING in those circumstances?  BELLAMY BLAKE.  I bet they cooked up that scheme together off-camera.  So what I think is interesting for both of them is how their circle expands over the course of three seasons to change the way they are as leaders, and the ways in which their recklessness is tempered by their leadership partners. 

I’m fascinated by the relationship between Clarke and Kane, and I hope we get more of it in S4.  I heard rumblings that they go together to find Kenza, the Nightblood scout, and I’m hoping we get a lil’ dad/daughter road trip bonding, because I think they have a really strong connection and they share a similar leadership brain.  Where Abby and Bellamy are quick and passionate and make snap decisions, Clarke and Kane are more calculating.  They’re thinking in the big picture and the longer term.  Floating 300 people to save the whole Ark, and irradiating the residents of Mt. Weather to save all the Sky People, are identical decision-making processes; not everyone can live, someone is going to have to die, so how to we map out the most effective path where the fewest of my people die as possible for maximum survival?  Whereas there’s nothing Bellamy wouldn’t burn to the ground to save Octavia.  Leadership isn’t PERSONAL for Clarke and Kane, not right off the bat.  It’s about the numbers.  It’s about as many people as possible surviving.  And so sometimes you have to let the bomb fall on Tondc, because letting those people die is the only way to give your own people the chance to live, even though Abby “there has to be another way” Griffin finds that notion so appalling she can hardly even recognize her daughter in that moment.  But you know who understood it immediately, and didn’t judge her?  Kane.  Kane and Abby’s scene underground in 2x13 is such a beautiful, crucial moment in their relationship, but it’s also the moment the show really begins to lean in on this idea that Kane can see Clarke more clearly than Abby can, because she’s Abby’s baby girl and Abby is still trying to protect her from harm - including from the harm of having to make, and then face the consequences of, terrible decisions.  But Kane is the one who tells Abby not to diminish either Clarke or Lexa’s leadership skills just because they’re young.  Kane is the one who calmly talks Clarke down when they’re trying to figure out who poisoned Lexa’s drink, using the same kind of coolheaded, rational language we can easily imagine Clarke using to one of the delinquents if the shoe was on the other foot.  And so it makes perfect sense that it would be Clarke and Kane who make the strategic decision, together, that Skaikru joining the Grounder Alliance is the smartest long-term tactical decision - a notion we see that Abby and Bellamy don’t like, because they, emotional thinkers that they are, still haven’t forgiven Lexa or decided they can trust her again.

I’m really interested in where the lines end up getting drawn in S4, but it definitely seems to me, from the bits and pieces we’ve seen and heard, that Clarke has some kind of crazy-ass save-the-world plan that other people think is too reckless or too dangerous or will have too high a casualty rate, and that the group sort of divides itself into factions based on who is willing to get on board and who is resisting (or just giving up and waiting to die).  And it does seem, from the trailer, that Kane and Abby are using the same language Clarke is using.  We’ve also heard that Bellamy and Clarke are back as a power duo again, so my guess is he’ll be on the squad too.  So what I’m really excited about, because we’ve never really had this before, is the four of them working together as a co-leadership team.  I want to see Chancellor Kane and Ambassador Clarke negotiating with Roan and Luna.  I want Abby and Bellamy working together in Arkadia to convince their people to go along with Clarke’s plan.  I want Clarke and Abby to talk about Lexa and Jake, about how you go on with a hole in your heart and how to grieve and heal.  I want Kane and Bellamy to talk through all the things that happened in S3, how Bellamy almost got Kane executed because he stopped trusting him, how ALIE made Kane almost murder Bellamy in cold blood, and where they go from here.  I want us to see the parallel relationship dynamics - the big-hearted, loving Griffins who are used to giving and receiving affection reaching out to the isolated protector men who are still getting used to the idea that they have a place they belong and people who care about them. 

TO CONCLUDE: Abby is Bellamy and Clarke is Kane and they’re a big beautiful leadership power squad family and I love them all with my whole heart THANK U AND GOODNIGHT