#trying not to close my eyes lest i pass out yet again despite having gotten more than 12 hours of sleep

[nabaath-areng]

Having to micromanage your entire physical battery day in and day out is so exhausting, especially when your ability fluctuates without rhyme or reason with every single day. I'm starting to have to reframe how I view and tackle my task lists because otherwise the grief and frustration becomes so much that I get nothing done. I'd love to complete the entire list today, but I'm gonna have to limit myself to ticking off two tasks just so I don't burn myself out to the point of being unable to do anything later...

[kurimiaki]

T, R, N and P with Diluc please?

the uncrowned king of mondstadt, diluc ragnvindr.

yandere alphabet via dear-yandere! revisions i made are flaky so. my bad wwwww

cw: dark content, physical abuse, kidnapping, confinement, claustrophobia, extremely unhealthy relationship.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Just because Diluc may be attending to business elsewhere, does not mean you are free from his heady grasp. Distant yet coddling; his attentiveness is a curse just as much as it can be a blessing. You’re never without security, that much is true. Dawn Winery is his eyes and ears, every single servant wrapped around his finger, wrapping around and constricting you. Self isolation could never be a possibility, not when Adelinde ushers you out of bed without a minute left to spare, always in such a hurry, as if wallowing in utter boredom for days on end is anything of importance. From the very beginning, Diluc had made it a point to ensure your physical health was a top priority to those surrounding you; strict itineraries have maids silently mourning over their packed workload. A plethora of duties— take you on brief walks outside the winery, never longer than 15 minutes, feed and serve meals delicately planned and catered to your health, eyes and ears constantly watching, watching, watching. They keep you like a dog on a leash, no matter how pampered. They do so dutifully. They must. Who could possibly decline such a hefty pay at the expense of silence?

It would be a blatant lie to say your physical health had declined any whilst under his... care, however, the same cannot be said for your mental well being. He can’t, despite how much he hates his inability to do so, prevent your tears. And by the archons, do you cry. Diluc is unable to approach you some days, those days when the illusion of normalcy and domestic living he works so hard to put up simply melts away, when you can do little more than curl in on yourself and wretch into your silk sheets with a litany of tears flush in your eyes. He wills himself to allow you the mercy of a few hours alone, albeit with check ups and that blatant discomfort of his when you wail at the slightest touch to your shoulder. Of course, it’s a different case entirely when such cries are symptom of punishment— whereas Diluc will weakly attempt to comfort you with softened eyes when you work yourself up, flaky and visibly uncomfortable, his resolution is unflinching and unwavering should you choose to act out of turn. Wail, sob, beg and beg for mercy, for forgiveness, his mask of nonchalance will stay firm.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No. Diluc is understanding that the situation he has thrust you into may not be ideal, he anticipates a lack of reciprocation and overall resistance, but he feels absolutely no guilt. In his eyes, this is for the best, the world is much too cruel— who better than him to make that judgement for you? Even if you do prove yourself to be capable of taking care of yourself, (with Diluc himself to measure up to) this Darknight Hero will find every minute, minuscule little thing to prove you otherwise. Just about every one of your shortcomings Diluc will try and use to his advantage, to put himself in a better light. Who else is as capable as he is, who else can prove themselves worthy of your companionship, your devotion, in the ways that he has? The longer you stay in his grasp, not that the possibility of leaving will come otherwise, the more difficult it becomes to prove him wrong. He feeds you with the utmost care, keeps you healthy, entertains you should you need conversation or otherwise, and provides, provides, provides. There may be a lack of freedom on your end, but really, do you have much room to complain? Without him, you may very well be dead. He ensures that point is driven straight to your heart, however many times is necessary until you grow compliant.

His will and rationality is fully reasonable, in his mind, hence why his wishes to keep you by his side shall forever remain solid. Perhaps it is the idea of you keeping close to him that entraptures Diluc so entirely, for he is a distant admirer. He would be contented growing old and without your touch, merely sharing your company for as long as life allows. All the same, he wishes to swallow you whole, skin, blood, guts and tears, if only to keep you with him. It is selfish, but he tells himself that is something of which he is deserving. He must.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Diluc is nothing if not dedicated to his goals, a driven man in everything he sets his mind to. In order to maintain the position he thrives in, he is forever alert, forever adapting, prepared for any strenuous situation thrown his way. Should you push past a line you are never meant to cross, jab at him a tad too harshly, well... it’s not as if he gives no thought as to how to keep you in line. Rarely are you knowing enough of his inner workings to be able to push him past the point of no return, a point where even you, his dearest, are not spared from his wrath. Emphasis on rare, for he is wholly tolerant and gentle with you, to an extent. Any person has a breaking point, and Diluc, despite his detached disposition and stoic attitude, can only withstand so much. He bottles up so much to remain composed, after all. When he snaps, he is unable to hold himself back any longer.

He is not one to take pleasure from the suffering of others. Lest they truly deserve it, is what he’ll tell himself, to at the very least maintain the illusion of normalcy. Sway not from the path of righteousness, forget not the splendor of dawn. His mind is able to concoct the most horrific scenarios he could possibly put you through, for he does the same with his enemies. In a way, when you act out of turn, an instinctual part of him, cultivated after years spent at the whims of the dangerous and unknown, sees you as just that— an enemy. He doesn’t often choose the more unsavory methods to keeping you in line, ie: beating or threatening you with his vision, further keeping true to said threats should you continue. Diluc is wholly capable of restraining the urge to simply slap the snark off of your face (he had done so regardless, once or twice), and much prefers isolating you on his own terms, away from everyone and everything, even himself. It’s a small room, not even on par with that of your shared bedroom, much more similar to a closet or crawlspace.

A room, but a cage all the same. Splintered wood floors, dank cobblestone surrounds you and few cracks in the stone leaves room for bugs of all nature to crawl through, allows the elements to rain hell upon you should you end up locked up during the harsher months. A lone maid, not even Adelinde, the head, attends to you, sparing meek glances should you call out when she gently places a meal of one roll, a piece of meat, and a few shoddily cut slabs of potato. No begging and weeping and screaming you may do will soften Diluc into coming back for you- again, his resolve is akin to that of steel, his will forever unyielding. He decides when you are thoroughly broken in, and when it is time to hold you in kind, he shines through like that of The Darknight Hero the people proclaim him to be. In the end, what is necessary is that he shows you how much better off you are when with him. He’s much too possessive and to a point, coddling, to ever consider discarding you into the wild and at the whims of hilichurl camps and abyss mages alike.

His hold is firm and grounding. Had he always been able to hold you with such ease? Had he ever truly held you in kind, as he does now? He’s warm. A familiar, comforting scent of smoke and acidic wine fills your senses and him, oh, him. He had left you, left you alone, all alone, in that room, not even a room, all alone, and yet you can do little more than gag and writhe and latch onto him with pleas of his name whispered hoarsely— ‘Diluc, Diluc, Diluc’. A cry of your savior.

He can’t look at you, won’t look at you. Won’t give you the mercy, but he couldn’t be angry. Not anymore. He holds you tighter and so flush to himself, with a ferocity narly shown to anyone but you, not in kind, not with this passion. You smell of dust, a husk of yourself. Faintly of his sheets, faintly of iron, of vomit, of filth.

Fresh memories of your betrayal burn hot in his mind. He’s contradicting himself. He cannot relent. It comes out as a whisper, barely even heard to himself, and he curses his very soul the moment it passes his lips.

“Strive to do better. Lest you want your time there to increase tenfold.”

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He can bear with defiance and unwillingness on your part, to an extent. He can anticipate as much, for he is not delusional enough to fool himself into thinking your relationship is even somewhat typical to that of a normal couple, no matter how much he wishes that to be the case. No, for the initial few weeks of your captivity (he’s always gotten so mad when you refer to him as such, a captor) Diluc allows you to lash and sob and attempt to reason with him, attempt to soften him, attempt to hurt him. He’ll allow you to do so, but he himself remains impenetrable, unblinking, almost uncaring. He is prepared for about anything and everything, always expecting the worse possibilities as to save himself from further harm. For you, as well, he is constantly anticipating and observing. In hidden, minute little ways. It may even come as a shame to him if the fact that he enforces the maids to note down your every little move ever reaches your ears.

All in all, Diluc’s complete preparation for anything and everything you may throw his way makes him extremely patient, for better or for worse. Difficult to crack, impenetrable, almost— on one hand, the distance he keeps from you to accommodate for your lack of reciprocation may come as a blessing, but it makes it all too difficult to try and pester him into letting you go, to try and understand his goals and motivations in keeping you locked right away. Your complacency is inevitable, sooner or later, Diluc will begin approaching and weaseling his way into your routine in the smallest of ways, gradually and unconsciously causing you to grow fonder of his presence. It’s a slow process, one he had planned from the very moment his wishes of a domestic life with you grew much too much to handle. He loves you completely, yearns for your love, and for it, he will wait as long as necessary.

Blazing red eyes leer down upon you, your shame increasing tenfold for each second that passes subjected to that gaze of his. A fit of expaseration, you will admit, had sent the cutlery dear Hillie had so delicately prepared flying off of the white tablecloth and onto the hardwood floors, further staining the expensive rugs with wines and crumbs and oils from his favorite meal, a concoction of pasta and steak and cheese. He had prepared yours alongside with it, striking tonight as a tad more special than the rest. You didn’t blame yourself for what you did, not when he had proposed something as outlandish as marriage.

He keeps silent, leaning back in his seat, his throne, as if he were a king observing a mere peasant begging for mercy— quite frankly, you should be. But perhaps tonight he will be more lenient, you ponder, averting your gaze to the flickering embers sparking from the fireplace beside you.

He sighs, suddenly, worn and thoroughly put out by your antics, further embarrassing you by his facade of nonchalance. No, you could tell from the way his leather gloves creaked from gripping himself too hard, he was barely concealing his own anger.

“You hardly let me finish my scentence. Come, we’ll continue this conversation upstairs.”

[morgana-ren]

SUBMISSION: How about a nasty sweaty incel shiggy waiting everyday for his dad to go to work so that he could have his relief with stepmom? 

Excellent submission! Love that. Love that a lot! I find it only fair to warn you, however, that I won’t be doing mommy kink for it. Mommy kink is one of my squicks, and one of the very, very few I have. I’ll do the closest thing to it though: Daddy kink. Also I find the irony of him making his little stepmom call him daddy to be absolutely hilarious.

Also this one is a great concept and I love it but it’s going to have to be a multi-parter cause it got a little bit long. Lemme know if you like the concept and I’ll continue it. Also this posted under anonymous for some reason so cheers to tumblr and its endless fucking glitches that it never fixes or seems to make any better.

Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, sexism, really gross incel behavior, nsfl things, masturbation, violent sexual fantasies, nefarious planning, horrible suggestions from even more horrible friends, absolute LOATHING of family, and entitled bastard.

There is only one thing on this planet that Tomura hates more than his father.

Only one thing can even compare to the level of abject disgust he has for his dad. Everything about the man is abhorrent and degenerate, only tolerated because Tomura is, admittedly, a NEET, and had no where else to go after graduation. But if anything- anything- could hold a candle, it would be his taste in women.

All women are trashy on some level, but his dad really manages to find ones that pretend so hard that they aren’t. Vipers behind the veneer of smiling faces clad in red lipstick and smart skirts. Always “kind”, always “thoughtful”, and always fleeting. Fickle, stupid bimbos charmed by his dads surface level charisma to quickly realize just how shallow the pool became.

Even his own mom was like that: She fucked off once she realized staying with him meant staying with his dad, and that was a sacrifice she wasn’t willing to make. So she left him to rot in this cesspit with his worthless father and no other way out.

He figures he can’t hold it against her, not as much as he’d like. A few weeks with his shriveled up paternal figure and most women quickly figure out they can do so much better. It’s in their nature to seek out the best, and that certainly isn’t Kotaro; A bumbling idiot with nothing to offer on the best of days. They don’t know any better, so they never last long after being brought home to meet his son, and those are the ones that even make it that far.

So when he starts yammering on about meeting yet another skank and how ‘in love’ he already is, Tomura’s eyes roll so far back in his head that he swears his retinas will detach. He makes a point to be around as little as possible, but somehow still manages to catch an earful about his latest fling and how excited he is for Tomura to meet her.

Great.

True to his word, Kotaro brings you home one evening, eager to impress his son with his latest catch.

His father had a lot of nerve dragging him from his room to meet you- his latest glorified slut. Adding insult to injury, you had the unmitigated gall to talk down to him like you were an adult and he wasn’t. Even though you had to crane your neck to look up and greet him, you still talked at him like he was some child. So different from you even though you were so much smaller than he was- barely even a few years older than he is, if even that. 

So polite, introducing yourself and gently shaking his reluctant hand, making a point to smile at him and telling him how happy were to finally meet him and that you’d heard so much about him. Your hands were so soft, so little in comparison to his own. He dwarfs his pathetic father, practically towers over you, yet you still talk to him like you’re the adult in the equation.

So young, so pretty, though. Far better than anything his father had a right to pull. They weren’t exactly swimming in cash, the house was nothing in particular to gloat about, and he’d done enough eavesdropping around late at night to know his father suffered a particular… ailment, so it certainly wasn’t sexual satisfaction keeping you around. What was it then? 

Probably nothing. You’d probably run off in a few weeks like they all do.

Kotaro is a worthless sack of drooping skin and aging bones; A ghost of a man not worthy of the phantoms he’s seen pass in his years. No longer the dominant male even in his own home: not with a stronger, more virile son coming into his prime under the roof as well. A beta male at best, withering away while his own son eclipses him in strength and intellect and physique. Tomura is in his mid twenties and blooming- His father… who even knows. He doesn’t care- he doesn’t bother to keep track. 

So, maybe you really are just a dumb little whore. It would make sense. Father dearest always had been a dirty old man; A raging pervert with wandering hands and lingering eyes. Always sets his predatory sights on some cute thing too good for him. 

Then again, the poisoned apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, now does it?

You’re cute enough you could have gotten some alpha at your beck and call, yet you’ve attached yourself to his worthless father who, in turn, parades you around like his most beloved trophy. Taking you to dinners he can’t afford despite your ‘insistence’ that you be allowed to pay, buying you things you claim you don’t need. Oh, how the moron dotes on his whores as if it’s enough to keep them anchored to him.

Strangely though, you don’t run off.

If anything, you sink your claws in even further, getting more and more comfortable and showing up more and more. Every time Tomura leaves his fucking room- which isn’t often- you’re there around the corner, smiling dumb and pretty and greeting him politely.

Fuck, he hates you. Hates your stupid voice, your shitty dresses, hates hearing his father happy for once.

It’s no surprise- but unwelcome no less- that he’d move you in sooner rather than later. Terrified to let you out of his sight for even a second lest you come to what little senses you have in your tiny brain and dump him. Of course, he’s quick to take on all of your burdens as his own, even if it means working overtime to support you. He’s always wanted another little housewife, and now he’s so close.

Tomura listens in on the whole conversation feeling sick to his gut.

You beg him not to- offering to pay your own way just like a good girl, but of course his dumbass dad will hear none of it. He’s more than happy to spend a couple of extra hours at work. His dad is so idiotic, so fucking blind. He’s playing right into it. He’s willing to be your workhorse if it means keeping you all to himself.

He’ll hear none of it. None of the fussing or the questions. You’re welcome in his home, he wants you there. It’s no imposition at all, he knows the house will be better with you around.

Except he forgets one crucial detail-

The son he leaves home alone with you every single day when he leaves. 

You’re nothing but a nuisance, something infringing on his private space. The time he used to get home alone to spend to his own devices is now split with you flittering around the house doing whatever it is bimbos like you do. Cleaning, cooking, pretending to read, whatever. He doesn’t have to see you if he doesn’t want, sure, but he still knows you’re there and that’s more than enough to annoy him.

It’s almost like you catch on to his animosity after a while. The way he won’t greet you back, the way he utterly ignores your existence. It bugs you, and as far as he’s concerned, good.

You try to slip him up, try to get close to him and make him like you. You always set a place for him at the table even after Kotaro repeatedly insists- truthfully- that he’ll never join for dinner. Even then, you always bring the plate to his door. He never bothers to answer- not after the first few times when he only opened it a sliver to see your stupid smiling face. After that, he didn’t bother answering. He’ll eat it of course- won’t pass up free food he doesn’t have to leave his room for- and then leave the dirty dish back outside where you left it. You brought it, after all. You can clean it up. 

All your efforts only get you mocked, and boy do you try so hard to get his affection. He even overhears you whining to his dad once or twice, not understanding why he doesn’t like you.

It makes him smile.

His friends- online of course, but still friends or comrades or kindred spirits or whatever- have more opportunistic ideas about it. His first post to the forum complaining about the new living situation was met with envy and awe- not necessarily the response he was expecting, though looking back on it, he supposes they were right. 

lmpwrst: Why u bitchin’? Ur living with a girl ur not related to and that’s closer than any of us have gotten u ungrateful ass

KingKockRool: Go jerk off on her pillow.

Stacystabber91: take a video hold her down and fuck her then idiot

KingKockRool: No wait till she’s sleeping and jerk it on her face

st8lker: Bet she’s ugly tho if she’s dating your dad lol

Oddly enough, he doesn’t agree. That’s one thing he understands about you, loathe as he is to admit it. His new ‘stepmom’, for all her annoyances, is pretty easy on the eyes. The kinda girl that would have caught his eye in an unrelated situation and earned a permanent spot in his spank bank. Thinking about it, the whole ‘dating his dad’ situation maybe threw off his judgement more than he realized.

He’ll let the jury decide: He finds a photo on your social media, crops everyone else out of it, and hits enter. Easy peasy. He saves it to his hard drive for later too. Might as well.

‘Here, you decide then.’

Thus the shitstorm begins. 

st8lker: Oh fuckkk fuck me mommy lmao

lmpwrst: Opportunity is wasted on u

Stacystabber91: you pussy punk bitch, i stand by what I said earlier. dont be a bitch and fuck the little cunt already

VolceliSwear: Whos the bitch

lmpwrst: Scratchy’s new stepmommy lol 

VolceliSwear: Nice. Hit it yet?

Stacystabber91: he hasn’t cause he’s a gigantic fuckin pussy like i told you all

VolceliSwear: Come on dude you actually have that gash sleeping in your house and you haven’t made a move? 

Stacystabber91: it’s not like she could say no cause you’re a big lanky bastard aren’t you? that’s one thing we got over the shortcels and you’re bigger and stronger than her so take what’s yours idiot or I will 

lmpwrst: I agree with SS lol U complain all the time about not having a hole to fuck and now u do

VolceliSwear: ^^ Isn’t your dad a limp-dicked prick who can’t get it up? Someone’s gotta do it so it might as well be you. Hit the bitch so hard and fast she doesn’t know what way is up

Stacystabber91: and send pics moron I want to see tits or I’m coming over there to do it myself

It’s an… intriguing thought. To be honest, he’s never actually considered fucking you before. Had the passive thought like he does with most girls he sees, but never stopped to think on actually doing it. For some reason, there was a mental wall between him and his father’s girlfriends. But why should there be?

Depraved little bastard that he is, he’s not above cornering a girl and forcing himself on her but he’s not keen on going to jail, so he’s never escalated past creepy photos and following the occasional broad a little too closely. Maybe a couple gropes in passing… okay, maybe a lot. But he’s never gotten caught- maybe the girls don’t report it or just couldn’t find him afterward. Either way, it’s all worked out so far because he doesn’t cross certain boundaries.

Most girls are repulsed by him and his repugnant behavior, so they stay far, far away. It’s like he’s a giant blaring warning sign that they tend to heed instinctively.

But you don’t. 

This is different. You live here, so close to him, so within reach. Just how close you are. How easy it would be for him to force you down and make you take it. Just how much time alone he really has with you since his father leaves and returns like clockwork. He’s got the entire day once his father leaves for work. And all night once he takes his sleeping medication. An easy, pretty little catch already wiggling in his web.

 ‘Maybe I will.’ 

That’s how it starts. 

Snowball into snowstorm.

With an idea and a lot of goading from his online buddies, a monster is born and weaned on his own depravity and escalates into something very real, and very dangerous.

Tomura is achingly familiar with the scene- he’s seen enough porn to give him ample ideas. But he’s got all the time in the world. It’s hard not to rush things considering how eager he is, but it’s safer to test the waters first. Get you nice and scared so you’ll keep your pretty mouth shut unless he tells you to open it for him. See how far he can get, how much he can toy with you before you finally catch on.

Who knows? Maybe you’ll fuck him willingly. You are a stupid little slut, after all. Most of you females are deep down beneath that holier-than-thou, stuck up bitchiness you hide behind.

So he starts with a time honored tradition. He steals your panties. 

The bathroom is cluttered with your shit. Your fruity shampoos and conditioners, your makeup, your perfumes. Tomura has a toothbrush and a comb he doesn’t use, a bottle of 3-1 for when he forces himself into a shower, and a singular gray towel, but the rest is between you and his father. Your body washes, your scrubs, your clothes in the hamper. 

It’s easy enough to fish out a fresh pair- only a couple of hours old. Some lacy contraption you must’ve been wearing beneath your clothes and carelessly left in the bin when you showered. It’s easy to pocket them before you hear him rummaging around, and maybe you’ll miss them, but that’s not his problem. Washer eats things all the time, doesn’t it?

He’s hidden back in his room, safely dodging you before he allows himself to indulge- Bringing them to his nose and inhaling the doubled fabric of the crotch so hard that it catches on the edge of his nostrils. 

Fuck, your cunt smell good- tangy and sweet but the tiniest hint of bitter. A couple of whiffs is enough to get his cock twitching, inflating into a painful hardness as he hears you walking around outside in the hallway. Shit, you’re so fuckin’ airheaded, walking around so oblivious as he tongues at the cloth that was nestled right up against your pussy until a few hours ago. He can taste you, sucking your left over essence through his teeth and he swears he’s going to cream all over the inside of his jeans if he doesn’t jerk off right now. 

He’s quick to drop his sweats and sprawl on his bed, thumbing the tip of his prick and licking gratuitous stripes up the slim of your discarded panties with his tongue. You’d look so good sucking his cock; On your bruised knees, face a slathered mess of cum and saliva and running makeup. Bulge in your throat from taking him so deep and trying so hard to please him like you always do- or maybe avoid a painful punishment because he isn’t above using his hands on you and you learned that the hard way.

The thought of your ruddy, soppy face makes him throb- fucking your wet little throat until you’re suffocating, pulling out to let you breathe only to cum on your face. Yanking you up to bend you over the stove and force you to make his worthless father’s dinner with his spend tacking across your face and his cock lodged deep in your cunt. Worthless fucking sack of shit that his father is, he’d spit in it too and make you serve it to him with a smile while your actual daddy watches you do it and rewards you later with his dick fucking you between your tits.

Fuck yes, that’s what he’ll make you do. He’ll make you call him daddy when he creampies you- the opportunity is too perfect to pass. He’ll fuck his father’s pretty whore as she screams and moans for daddy’s cock while his father is away at work to pay all her frivolous bills like the beta-cuck he is. None of the work and all of the reward- as it should be.

It’s not like Kotaro can fuck you, and his friends are right. Someone should. So why not him? Why not spread your legs for your boyfriend’s younger, more powerful son? Oh, sorry, did he give you the illusion that you had a choice? He’ll take what is rightfully his and there’s not a fucking thing you or his pathetic fucking father can ever do about it.

He plucks your panties from his face, moving them instead to work over his cock. It would feel so much better if you were wearing them- grinding your sweet little cunt against his dick, begging him not to fuck you but getting so wet all the same. The silky fabric feels so good against his hypersensitive skin, coupled with the clenched pumping of his fist as he daydreams about railing you into his filthy mattress until you’re too weak to even move on your own, his cum dripping from every one of your used holes. Limp, useless little whore too fucked out to even fight him as he fucks her in the ass again-

Fantasies swirl in his head, flashes of scenarios that tease him and work him into a frenzy. He’s going to cum hard to the thought filling you, your agonized face as the tip of him knocks against the opening of your womb, buried so deep in your cute pussy that he can feel the wall that keeps him firmly locked out of your guts. So close, so tight, so warm. He’s going to pump you full to the brim like the skank you are, fill you nice and thick full of his seed and then use you again and again and again-

He feels it in his spine, waves of pleasure furling at the base and congealing together impossibly tight, so ready to burst. His thighs flex, muscles in his stomach tightening and breath staggering. Searing white behind dry, clenched eyes and his cock twitches in his palm, knot bursting deep between his legs as his hand stills momentarily. His hands twitch, cock throbbing as thick ropes of cum spill over the slats of his fingers, splattering his stomach and the waist of his sweatpants and all over your adorable little panties. 

“Shit-” 

Shallow, shaky breaths, still seeing stars popping behind his eyelids. Fuck, he hasn’t cum that hard in- well, a very long time. Is it the thought of having something tangible soon? His very own cunt to abuse? Grinning, he looks down at the absolutely drenched pair in his hand, sticky with fresh seed.

He thinks so.

Instinctively, he wipes the excess off his fingers and onto his dirty, rumpled black sheets, swiping across his shirt and his skin. Just another ‘mystery spot’ among the rest, soon to become a crusty, flaked white stain on the fabric among all the preexisting ones.

With some effort on his part, he sits up, still trying to catch his breath. He thought post orgasm clarity might deter him from this path, but if anything, he’s even more determined now. Why should he sit and touch himself in a dark room when there’s a perfectly good set of holes to fuck wandering around freely outside?

Oh yeah, this should work out just fine.

There’s a knock on the door while he’s still wading through his gross thoughts, softly at first but then slightly more insistent. It jolts him alert, irritating him that he’s being bothered when he’s scheming. He’s already finished the dirty dead, all ready to put himself away for now but it’s still jarring none the less when someone comes around so closely to him wanking. A quick dash at the clock tells him it’s not dinner time yet, so what gives? Why are you bothering him now? Nothing is ready yet.

He tucks himself away and quickly buries your soiled underwear in the pocket of his sweats. Quickly wiping any remnants on the knees of his pants before swinging his door open, agitation palpable as he greets your stupid, sunny face.

Speak of the she-devil.

“Hi, Tomura! Just wondering if you have any laundry or anything you want me to take!” “N-”  He’s about to slam the door. About to. But you know what? You want his laundry? Sure. He’s got some for you.  “Yeah- yeah, sure.” 

He steps back from behind the door, letting it creak open a little as he rips off his freshly re-soiled sheets.

“Oh, good! Yeah, I’m throwing in my own so I’ll take your load too-“

Yeah you will.

Balling it up, he chucks it at you as you curiously peek your head in. You’ve never seen the inside of his room, but soon you’ll see plenty. He doesn’t know if you can feel the fresh cum on the sheets, but he’s willing to bet you can probably smell it. To your credit, you barely falter, even with the sheet cradled in your bare arms.

You’re probably having a moment of “understanding.” ‘He’s a young man with no girlfriend and no other outlet. Of course he’s going to wack off’ and all that. It’s cute, the way you pretend not to notice. That’s okay, he’ll give you something you can’t ignore.

He steps up to the door again, yanking his black shirt over his head and dropping it in your arms with a shit eating grin.

“Oh- okay, yeah-“

Your sentence halts completely as he starts to strip off his pants and you’re left staring in slight horror as your stepson strips down to his boxers in front of you before placing his sweats on the top of the pile you’re carrying- right by your face.

“I’ve got some more dirty boxers if you think you can handle anymore.” He’s grinning like a fiend, reveling in your poorly concealed discomfort as he leans against the doorframe, swinging out towards you. You’re backing away from him, desperately trying to keep your eyes up and away from his very exposed body, and especially the half hard cock tenting the front of his boxers. Your face is turning a viciously dark shade, stifling your breathing because he just knows what you’re refusing to see, you can almost certainly smell.

“Um- nope! This should be a full one! I’ll get them back to you soon!”

“Oh, take your time. No rush.” 

You scurry off down the hall much quicker than your usual casual walk, probably to scrub your arms clean with iron wool. Poor little thing, just trying to be nice and this is what it gets you.

He cackles something fierce as he shuts his door again, going to look for your ruined panties to post a pic but remembering they’re still in the pocket of his sweatpants, covered in his cum and saliva. A fun little surprise for you to find when you go through pockets to ensure nothing gets stuck in the washer.

And he notices, in the coming days, you stop leaving your clothes in the hamper- or even being able to meet his eyes.

Oh, this should be fun.

[littleoddwriter]

Hello dear! Can i request a Roman Sionis X Male!Reader where the reader is a metahuman with the ability of manipulating blood (aka a vampire) and tries to hide it from his lover until Roman finds out when Reader saves him from a mobster? Fluff please + Roman as proud as hell of his lover? Thanks in advance!

Life's Good | Roman Sionis x VampireMale!Reader

I am so sorry it took me so long to finally write this! I'm slowly catching up with the last few requests I've received before my break. I hope you're still interested in this and like what I've done with it (I admit, it got a little away from me because I was super invested in the scenario I came up with, so it is probably less fluffy than you may have wanted, sorry)!

summary; see above.

notes; CW // Blood-Drinking (mild Dub-Con for that at first); Gun Violence; Being Threatened; Murder (not graphic). Vampires; Kind of angsty?; Fluff; Aftercare (non-sexual, but you know, after feeding from someone).

Unlike most people would think you’ve actually been born this way. Your parents were vampires, conceiving you naturally, which of course meant you’d been born a metahuman. You’ve lived quite a normal life, despite the fact that instead of eating, drinking and sleeping like other humans would, you only slept rarely, only ate people food when you had to fit in, and otherwise you fed from humans, drinking their blood. You’d never killed anyone with it, though. Enough people who wanted you to feed from them existed, establishments were you could find them were all around the world. It was a pretty good life.

Still, you usually opted to keep it secret, unsure as to how people might react. While the general opinion of vampires has changed in all these centuries, standing in front of one was still a wholly different thing for most. You understood and respected that.

So when you met Roman – his scent so enticing, you had trouble keeping your fangs in – you stood in front of the question once again. Should you tell him?

Eventually, you decided to go with the flow and see where it’d take you. You didn’t immediately want to ruin your chances with him before you’ve actually gotten to know him at all.

At first it was a casual relationship anyway, no need to tell him your big secret then. But as time went on, your relationship became more serious. You stayed over at his loft more frequently, forced to eat his food and drink his beverages, so as not to let him suspect anything. It didn’t hurt you or anything, it was just unnecessary and you’d never get really used to, well, actual food and such. All the different textures and tastes and what you could do with what to change it. It was fascinating, but not exactly your favourite thing.

Of course, one fateful day it had all come to a head.

You had just admitted to yourself that you loved Roman a couple of weeks ago, not daring to say anything to him, as you didn’t fancy ruining what you two had with those three simple, yet powerful words.

Now though, you regretted that decision more than ever, terrified that maybe you would never be able to tell him how you felt.

It all happened so fast, too. One moment, you and Roman were out on the streets, way into the evening, having just had dinner at an expensive restaurant he’d invited you to; and you were laughing, talking about something – you couldn’t remember what – when you turned into an alleyway. In the next moment, a rival mob boss shot at the two of you. Warning shots, missing you both on purpose.

“What the fuck?!” Roman exclaimed, livid, but you could smell the underlying anxiety change his usual scent from when he was enraged. You hated it.

The gang leader – whatwashisface, you could never keep up – stood now in front of you two, having Roman at gunpoint. His men had surrounded you two, pointing their guns at both of you.

“What do you want?” Sionis spat at the other mob boss, glaring at him with a piercing, wild look in his eyes.

You stayed silent, your hands raised out of instinct. The bullets wouldn’t be able to kill you, unless they were specifically made for it, but that was so unlikely, you weren’t overly worried. You were concerned about Roman, though, anxious that this might have been it.

“Set an example, that’s what. You can’t scare us into submission. You can’t control us. You really think getting a hold of the East End would give you enough power to do that? Fuck you, I say!” the leader yelled.

“Well, fucking go on then if you’re really so tough! Or are you only bark and no bite? Cowardly ambushing me in private like that, I’m inclined to believe you are nothing but a talker. You can’t scare me either, you fuck.” You really wished Roman would shut up for once, lest he’d really get himself killed this time.

Your mind was racing with all possible outcomes this situation could bring. Only one was sure to get Roman out alive; and boy were you glad you’ve fed from someone yesterday.

Even though you had never killed anyone and didn’t desire to do so, you were ready to do anything for Roman, no matter what. You didn’t care that he’d know then, know that you were a freak of nature, as some hateful people liked to call people like you. You didn’t care that you’d take lives. They weren’t innocent, dared to threaten your love and you just couldn’t see past that.

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and concentrated, focusing your abilities into play and onto every single man of this rival gang. It was rare for you to use any of your powers that didn’t exist and activate naturally, like your strength. Your parents had taught you to only use them for self defence and this situation was practically screaming for it.

Snapping your eyes back open, now glowing red, all of the men around you gasped and crumbled, letting their weapons clatter to the ground, grasping at their throats, or chest, trying so hard to save themselves. Moments later, they were all just lifeless bodies, lying around Roman and you, as if you were some victorious kings. And in a way, you were exactly that, weren’t you? Roman was soon to be the King of Gotham after all.

All too suddenly, all the strength left your body, your legs giving out. Roman, despite his apparent shock, caught you, steadied you. Gently, he lowered you to the ground, keeping his arms tightly wound around you.

It had taken a lot more out of you than you had anticipated. You desperately needed to feed.

“Y/N? Baby, hey, look at me,” Roman spoke softly, something only reserved for you, you had come to realise.

With half-lidded eyes, you looked up at him, a strained sound passing your lips. “You okay?” you asked, still unsure if everything had truly worked out the way you thought it would.

He scoffed, “Yes, quit worrying about me. Are you okay? What the fuck was that anyway?”

“Just gotta eat,” you murmured, slurring your words heavily, “Sorry about the- that. I’ll explain later.”

“What do you mean you have to eat? Baby, I can’t follow you. I hope you realise that I’m missing some of the fucking context here,” he chuckled, which bordered on sounding hysterical.

“Blood. Vampire. Now, Roman, or else- fuck. Won’t make it.” Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, your voice just barely above a whisper anymore. Fuck, you hoped he understood. Even more so, you hoped he was okay with it and that maybe he liked you enough to save your life. You didn’t exactly fancy feeding from him, when he was basically pressured into it. But he had a choice, you told yourself.

When you were slowly lifted up a bit and felt skin against your lips, you forced all your last strength to open your mouth – your fangs had automatically unsheathed when you unleashed your powers – and bite down.

The first taste of Roman was as intoxicating and overwhelming as you had always fantasised it would be. A shaky moan came out of him when you started sucking in earnest. Pretty quickly, you regained more and more strength, feeling increasingly less dead. You cupped the other side of Roman’s neck with your hand and pulled him further in. Shit, you couldn’t possibly get enough.

After a few, long moments, you felt Roman push against you, as well as pulling at your clothes, calling your name. Reluctantly, and almost as if you were just waking up from a trance, you let up and licked up the excess blood on his neck, simultaneously licking his wounds closed.

Roman was breathing heavily, and you were still feeling out of it, as you two just kneeled in this alley, holding each other, amidst the dead bodies of Sionis’ former rivals. It was bizarre.

“I think we should go home,” Roman said eventually, his voice sounded so soft, as if he was barely present in the real world.

You nodded and got up, helping Roman to do the same. He was swaying a little and this time you were the one who steadied him. Drinking someone’s blood always took a toll on both parties and you knew you had taken more from him than you usually dared to do with anyone. It made you feel guilty. You had to make it up to him later – if he still wanted you then – that was for sure.

When you had arrived at Roman’s loft, you helped him lie down on his chaise longue, legs propped up on one of his many pillows, to help his blood flow to where it was most needed. Then you went over to the kitchen to get him a glass of orange juice and an energy bar.

Roman nodded in thanks when you pressed either item in his hands, standing above him. You felt so uncomfortable, didn’t quite know what to do with your hands, or if you were even supposed to still be here. He’s been so unusually quiet the entire time, albeit it was most likely due to shock and blood loss.

“So, you’re a vampire.” Roman stated, looking at you, and you hated that you couldn’t place his expression into any kind of category. You just nodded in answer. “Right. And why exactly didn’t I know?”

Your mouth opened and closed a couple of times, looking for the right words. “I was afraid of losing you over it,” you settled on telling the truth eventually.

Again, Roman only nodded; his expression was still so indecipherable, but then a certain shine caught in his eyes. You’ve only witnessed it a couple of times thus far.

“You killed for me,” he practically gasped. “Have you killed before? Being a vampire and all, I’d presume you have.”

You shook your head, “No, that was the first time, actually.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. Then, in an instant, his expression morphed into something prideful, a huge grin plastered on his face, his eyes brighter than any stars you’ve seen in the sky above – it was breathtaking. “You killed for me,” he repeated, sitting upright, throwing his legs over the side of the chaise longue, planting his feet on the ground.

“Y-yeah, I did,” you replied, a weak chuckle leaving you. You still couldn’t quite believe that you’ve done it, especially when you spared a thought on how it made you feel – powerful, so far above others, good.

“I can’t fucking believe you. Fuck, you’re a dream come true, my little prince! You’re so special. A vampire! And you killed for me, because-“ He couldn’t finish it, realisation dawning on him, you could see it in his eyes, in the way his smile slowly vanished.

“Because I love you, yes. I couldn’t lose you over some stupid mob boss who thought he could ambush you like that.”

Roman licked his lips and nodded, placed the empty glass and half eaten energy bar on the table in front of him, and got up.

“I’m proud of you,” he then said, taking you by surprise.

“What? Why?”

“For not letting your fears get in your way. You were afraid of losing me for being a vampire, but you were probably even more terrified of losing me to my mortality. And you pushed through it. Almost fucking killed yourself, only to save me. I’m proud of you for doing that. I’m grateful, too, naturally.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Thanks, Roman,” you snickered.

Instead of continuing the conversation, Roman pressed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist. Putting your arms around his shoulders, you kissed him back, hoping to show him just how grateful you were with that single kiss.

Then you remembered your guilt from before and broke it. Roman glared at you for a moment. “What?”

“You never gave your consent, I- I fed from you and you never-“

“I did. By offering myself to you. I had a choice, you know? So quit it. You’re not guilty of anything, my boy. And just so you know, I’ll fucking kill you if you ever feed from anyone else again, ‘kay?” He was smirking, but his eyes had an edge to them, which let you know that he was serious about his threat.

Giving a short laugh, you nodded and kissed him again. Life really was good.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 24 - ao3 -

The Cloud Recesses was calm and serene, tranquil and undisturbed. But unlike its usual tranquility, Lan Qiren felt that it was the calm of the moment before a firework exploded, the air thick and heavy with the impending eruption of an oncoming storm.

Lan Qiren’s brother continued to neglect his work to court He Kexin, who seemed to have improved her opinion of him somewhat during the time that Lan Qiren was gone, though whether it was the earnestness of his passionate pursuit, flattery at the idea of a man gone mad for her, or just that she’d become resigned to the idea for the moment, it wasn’t clear. What was clear to anyone with eyes was that her regard for him, although apparently now genuine, was nowhere near as fanatical as his. Lan Qiren suspected that they had started sleeping together, which seemed like a mistake on her part.

Still, brother or no, this was not a matter in which he was qualified to intervene.

Lan Qiren returned to his usual life, although he again temporarily delayed his planned departure in order to assist with sect matters – whatever his relationship with his brother, Lan Qiren loved his sect very much, and he, at least, would not so easily allow it to slip into disarray through neglect. No one asked him about the matter of He Kexin; his teachers pretended his unjust punishment had not happened but avoided his eyes for several weeks, and his peers had mostly moved on with their lives.

(His brother pretended he didn’t exist, but Lan Qiren didn’t hold it against him. Rumor had it that Wen Ruohan had either threatened or actually hit him or both to make clear how much he disapproved of what happened to Lan Qiren, and whether or not that was true, Lan Qiren enjoyed the thought too much to quibble over how his brother wanted to salvage his dignity.)

Lan Yueheng passed along news – not gossip, he said self-righteously, just news, as if Lan Qiren would somehow miss the fact that ever since he’d paired up with that pretty storehouse clerk of his, Lan Yueheng had belatedly discovered the joys of gossip and taken to it like a fish to water – but there wasn’t much of it, not even with his beloved Zhang Xin’s prodigious capacity for romantic stories and ability to embroider just about any situation into something resembling one. Cangse Sanren wrote Lan Qiren several letters, but once she’d been assured of his health and wellbeing, they largely shifted over to complaining about the Jin sect, where she was now residing, and occasionally included lurid descriptions of Wei Changze specifically meant to shock his conscience.

How are you even seeing him, Lan Qiren wrote back. Aren’t you in Lanling? He’s a servant in Yunmeng. Doesn’t he have a job?

Jiang Fengmian has ascended to the position of sect leader, she wrote back. He has to visit the other sects relatively often, and the Jiang sect has always been close to the Jin sect. Why shouldn’t they visit?

Lan Qiren thought about his brother and shook his head. Was irresponsibility in the rainwater this year?

I trust you’ve made your view on the matter clear to Jiang Fengmian.

Of course, she replied. He seems to live in hope that one day I’ll change my mind.

You’ve never changed your mind about anything.

So I’ve told him. Really, the fact that he doesn’t realize that is yet another reason why we wouldn’t be a good pair – putting aside his role, which I don’t want to share. Can you imagine me as mistress of the Lotus Pier? I’d be awful at it.

Lan Qiren imagined it, and shuddered.

Anyway, I’m like you – I want to travel! There’s so much to see out there. What a pity it would be to be trapped inside all day, like a caged lark singing only for a select few.

You could always invite others to come share their stories with you instead, he replied, thinking of Wen Ruohan sitting alone in the room he had designed for Lan Qiren like a dollhouse, waiting for a maid to help him vent his emotions over Lao Nie and Lan Qiren both. The rumors from Qishan said he’d recently taken on a concubine and that she was pregnant; Madame Wen was apparently furious over it. Bring the world to you, if you can’t go to them. That’s what sect leaders generally do, to my understanding: feathering their nest to make it bright and pleasing to their eyes because they cannot leave lest it fall apart. That’s a way of living, too.

I suppose, she replied, fearless and carefree as ever. But not for me!

There was Lao Nie, too.

He visited the Cloud Recesses a month or so after Lan Qiren’s visit to the Nightless City, belatedly concerned about Lan Qiren’s well-being – “I didn’t hear about it,” he said, looking shamefaced. “I had other matters on my mind…I’ll talk to your brother, though. I can’t believe he would order something so disproportionate. Is he here?”

“He is not,” Lan Qiren said with a sigh. Those who said you couldn’t change a man’s essential nature were not wrong, he thought, already forgiving Lao Nie despite his lack of actual apology.

Lan Qiren had always liked people whose spirits were bold and relentless, uncompromising and unbending just like him; there was really no other way to explain his truly inexplicable fondness for Cangse Sanren and Lan Yueheng and even Wen Ruohan, except maybe to say that he found himself compelled to love where he was loved in return. Lao Nie was like two drops of water with the rest of them, forging his own path in the world, wholly and truly himself – even if he left chaos in his wake, why should Lan Qiren expect more of him than to be exactly what he was?

“He’s out night-hunting,” he added. “Down in the south. There were tales of some very unusual beasts roaming there.”

He Kexin had expressed a mild interest in response to a storyteller’s tale, and naturally Lan Qiren’s brother whisked her away at once, her and all her friends that he always seemed to be paying for. Lan Qiren had thought that she kept them around her as a means of holding his brother off, but Zhang Xin had opined over a shared cup of tea that she thought He Kexin was treating the great and powerful Qingheng-jun as a convenient purse, that treating her friends to his largesse was the point and not the defense. 

Zhang Xin liked to hold forth on her views, forthright and unstoppable and loud, and Lan Qiren could see why Lan Yueheng constantly looked so infatuated whenever he gazed upon her – she was not dissimilar to one of the explosions he created in his alchemy laboratory. They were very well matched, and Lan Qiren deeply pitied whichever teacher got stuck with their eventual offspring, which he foresaw as being the least Lan sect juniors to have ever graced their ranks.

“Gone? I’ll see him when he comes back, then,” Lao Nie said, entirely unperturbed by such concerns. “Let me tell you about my son instead! He’s wonderful – a big, fat baby.”

Lan Qiren crossed his arms. “We can talk about your baby later. What about your wife?”

“A goddess!”

Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way, Lan Qiren mused. “Lao Nie,” he said. “What about Wen da-ge?”

Lao Nie blinked at him. “Hanhan? He’s doing well, too.”

Lan Qiren resisted the urge to strangle Lao Nie.

“Oh,” Lao Nie said, apparently figuring something out based on Lan Qiren’s sour expression. “You mean the fact that he’s angry at me?”

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said patiently. “He’s very angry at you. Do you know why?”

“I’ve tried talking with him about it,” Lao Nie complained. “I don’t know why he’s being so stiff all of a sudden…it’s not like he doesn’t know what I’m like.”

This, Lan Qiren supposed, was definitely true.

“He thought of you as his,” Lan Qiren said. “Didn’t you know?”

Lao Nie shrugged, careless as a boar in full charge, heedless of the damage wrought around him as he moved through the world, none of which could penetrate his thick hide. “Of course. But being his doesn’t make me any less my own, and I can belong to others, too. Who’s he to tell me not to give myself where I will? Does he have dominion over me?”

“He doesn’t want dominion over you,” Lan Qiren said, and Lao Nie looked at him skeptically – which was fair enough. Wen Ruohan was possessed of a strong desire for domination, whether of people, places, or things; he truly believed all good things in the world ought to belong to him, and Lan Qiren only hoped that he never shifted over to thinking that he was actually the rightful owner of all things, for that path led inexorably to the reign of the tyrant. “Truly! Not over you, or any of the people close to his heart. If he wanted merely to possess you, he might as well try to snatch you off to his sect and give you his surname.”

“Not with the sort of relationship we have,” Lao Nie said, a smug smirk curling his lips. “If you know what I mean.”

Lan Qiren sighed. Truly, it was a pity to have reached the age in which everyone around him seemed to think of nothing but sex; he couldn’t wait until they were all too old for such things. Surely it couldn’t be that long…?

“You know what I mean,” he said patiently. “He’s not after Sect Leader Nie, not making some powerplay or attempting to seduce you in order to win your talents over. He likes you, Lao Nie, and all he expects from you is that you like him back.”

“I do!” Lao Nie protested. “I really do. He’s my darling Hanhan, isn’t he? He’s the one setting up walls between us, all because he’s gotten his feathers in a twist over something that’s really nothing. If it’s my time that he’s worried about splitting, what’s the surprise? My sect will always come first, as will his for him. I don’t even have a wife anymore!”

“You – don’t?” Lan Qiren stared, expression blanking out in his shock: this was not a piece of news that had reached his ears. He put down his teacup. “Lao Nie, if something happened –”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” Lao Nie said dismissively. “She’s a goddess, like I told you! She’s off and around, coming and going, everywhere and nowhere at once – how could my Nie sect hope to contain such a creature?”

“But…you married her?”

“So? Does that mean I need to live with her?”

Lan Qiren was truly taken aback. He had never heard of such an unorthodox arrangement. “You have a son together! Who is raising him?”

“Me, of course! With the aid of plenty of servants, naturally. I wouldn’t dream of tying her down…ah, Qiren, don’t look so shocked. We’re all our own people, with our own wants and desires. Sometimes those desires pair well, and you can live together happily and well for the rest of your lives; sometimes they don’t. If you fall for someone whose desires don’t line up to your own, you can still pursue something with them. That you wouldn’t match well in what’s considered the orothodox fashion is no reason not to match at all, not if there can be an unorthodox arrangement that causes no one any harm.”

“Are we still talking about your ‘goddess’ wife?” Lan Qiren asked. “Or Wen da-ge?”

Lao Nie smiled ruefully. That sharp cleverness that was always with him lingered in his eyes, having been hidden beneath his distraction and his infatuation and his deliberately careless manner. “I tried to tell him,” he said. “From the very beginning…I was the one doing the pursuing, you know. He didn’t even want me at the start. The stupid fool, he thought he’d be better off alone, alone with the cold delights of political power and the miserable fascinations of that Fire Palace of his, leaving no room in his heart for any human warmth at all. You know what they all say about him: that he lost something when he passed the boundaries of his first human lifetime, his cultivation so high as to make him closer to a god than a man.”

Lan Qiren had heard that, too. At the beginning, he’d seen what people meant, but later, once he got closer, he didn’t see it at all.

“Before I convinced him to have me, he was far worse,” Lao Nie said bluntly. “If you think he was bad when you were younger, you have no idea – forget putting you in a dollhouse and dressing you up to suit his whims over your complaints; if he’d wanted you alongside him back then, he wouldn’t have hesitated to carve out your soul and turn you into a heartless puppet instead. It wouldn’t have satisfied him, of course, and eventually he would have discarded you, never knowing why he couldn’t get what he wanted from you.”

“Know your own mind,” Lan Qiren quoted. “What he would have wanted was the heart, sincerely given, and yet that was the first part thrown away…but such a realization would be too late and too bad for the victim, even if he later regretted.”

“He didn’t regret much, when I first got to know him,” Lao Nie said. “Nothing but trouble, down to his bones; that’s what he was, and what he still is, really. Lucky for him, I like a bit of trouble.”

That was an understatement. Lao Nie liked a lot of trouble, the more the better; it was really no wonder that he’d attached himself to Wen Ruohan.

“I pursued him,” Lao Nie said, picking up the thread from where he’d left off. “I dug out all the human parts of him that I could from underneath that stiff and stern human mask of his, and in the end he wanted me, too. But throughout it all I told him, I told him, that I wasn’t free for the keeping – that I knew myself, with my nose for trouble and wickedness, that I’d never be satisfied with just the one. That the only one who’d ever have all of me was my saber, and only because she doesn’t want anything in return but blood. He liked that, once. He thought it was a good thing.”

Yes, Lan Qiren could see that. Especially in the beginning, Wen Ruohan would not have wanted someone who gave him everything; he was like a wild cat, standoffish with those that longed for him and close to those that rejected him. One of the most powerful cultivators, sect leader of the most powerful sect – if he wanted someone who would simper and flirt and yield for him, he could have a dozen at the blink of an eye.

Someone like Lao Nie, who had a firm sense of identity and neither needed nor wanted anything from the outside world, who was always truly fundamentally himself, was far more his style.

So was someone like Lan Qiren, for that matter. Uncompromising and strict, mind preoccupied with his idiosyncratic obsessions – Wen Ruohan had thought him interesting, for whatever reason, and in time had grown jealous of those other thoughts, longing to be counted among them.

Lan Qiren rubbed at his temples. “He always seemed to enjoy you going off with others,” he noted, wondering if Lao Nie had more insight into the matter. “Why is this different? He got married, too.”

“Hanhan’s tastes are changing as he remembers more of what it means to be human,” Lao Nie said thoughtfully, accepting more tea when Lan Qiren poured it out for him. “I only excavated the surface, the rough parts of him that suited my interests, and he was content with our relationship being friendly and casual. But for you he brought out his soft underbelly and the hint of civilization that he used to have, remembering what he used to be and the things he used to want…I see he even gave you some of his paintings.”

Lan Qiren looked where Lao Nie was looking and saw the two paintings on his wall by the mysterious artist. “His paintings..? He painted these? It doesn’t feel anything like him!”

“Trust me, his qi is unmistakable to one who’s known it as intimately as I have. It’s definitely him – though I’d say these paintings are nearly a century old. Can we say that we are the same people we were between yesterday and today? Even the course of the mighty river can shift over time.”

Lan Qiren was stuck looking at the paintings. Free, he’d said to Wen Ruohan, all unknowing. The person who painted these was free and happy. Their soul is like a falcon’s, tied down by nothing. 

For all the power and might that Wen Ruohan could bring to bear these days, Lan Qiren wouldn’t use any of those terms to describe him as he was now.

“He’ll forgive me,” Lao Nie said confidently, putting his cup down. “Give him time to remember why he liked me so much, remember all the warnings I gave him, and he’ll get over it. Maybe we’ll be a little less close than before, maybe there’ll be more anger and jealousy between us - at any rate, I haven’t pushed him so far to the brink that he would try to kill me to keep anyone else from having me, at least not yet. He’s just disappointed, that’s all. He’d only just realized that he wanted more when he realized he couldn’t get it.”

Lan Qiren nodded slowly. He thought that Lao Nie was right, although he also thought it was stupid of him to knowingly play with fire in such a brazen manner – Wen Ruohan really wouldn’t hesitate to murder a fellow sect leader, even one in another Great Sect, if he was determined enough, and he was smart and twisted enough to think of a way to get away with it, too.

Still, just as Lan Qiren had gotten over his feelings about Wen Ruohan’s inclination towards seeing torture and pain as entertainment, realizing that if he wanted him then he had to accept him as he was rather than rejecting him for it, Wen Ruohan would do the same for Lao Nie. He would remember what Lao Nie was like, what he’d always been like, and he would teach himself to appreciate those traits that he had once thought preferable, even as he resented them.

They’d get over this. Lan Qiren was sure of it.

What would come of it in the future, though...

“Anyway, I’ve dithered for long enough,” Lao Nie said. “I really only swung by briefly to say hello. I’m due at the Jin sect before the week’s out, and that means I have to go at once. Anything you want me to pass along to your lady-love rogue cultivator?”

“Leave Cangse Sanren alone, that’s what you can do for me,” Lan Qiren said. “Also, we’re still not lovers, nor will we ever be. Not everyone’s you!”

“No, they’re not,” Lao Nie said, grinning at him. “And that’s the way I like it – the richer the variety of the world, the more interesting people I can meet and be friends with, just like you.”

Lan Qiren was so overwhelmed by the compliment – he of course considered Lao Nie a friend of his, having as he did so many acquaintances and so few true friends, but he hadn’t realized that Lao Nie saw him as a genuine friend in return – that it didn’t even occur to him until it was too late that he hadn’t brought up the matter of his brother and He Kexin, nor told Lao Nie that he needed to stop his reckless encouragement of that relationship.

He’d tried to put that whole thing out of mind, Lan Qiren thought to himself with a sigh, and he’d succeeded – too well.

Whatever. His brother wouldn’t listen to their own sect elders, even as their exhortations shifted from encouragement to censure and their suggestions to leave it alone got more and more pointed, their interventions less and less subtle. Why would he listen to Lao Nie? 

He’d just go his own way and do what he wanted, no matter what.

Lan Qiren ought to learn from his example and put the whole thing aside, accepting the facts just as they were. He’d finally given up on the idea that he could help his sect through this moment of disaster - there would simply be nothing for it; they would have to stumble along without him or else force his brother to actually do his job, but in any event, it wasn’t his problem.

He was going to go - he was going to finally make his way out of the sect for his long-planned travel, and when he did, he wouldn’t need to worry about his brother, or He Kexin, or any of it.

Only a few more months from the date he’d informed the sect elders of, he thought, and this time he would stick to it, not delay. A few more months...he could even count the time in days, if he wished. 

His brother (and He Kexin) would return from their night-hunt in a few days, likely straight into the various elders’ less-than-subtle plans to find them and scold them over the whole thing. 

Lan Qiren would give his brother ten days after he returned - the same ten days his brother had given him - before he formally informed him that he was leaving.

It wouldn’t be long now.

[mythicamagic]

Beneath the Blackthorn Tree: a Sesskag fanfic

Summary: The man smiled then, in a way that seemed ill-fitting for such a blank, porcelain face- all white teeth and glinting eyes. It was not a smile that assured Kagome. "Well met, dear one," he uttered, voice gliding rich and velvety into her ear canal.

Something niggled in the back of Kagome's mind, blue eyes widening. "Well met." --- Or: When the Fae King is owed something, he will always collect the payment. Even if it takes centuries. Fae King Sesshoumaru fic. Sesskag AU.

---

Don't expect updates right away from this one- I just wanted to post it because I held a poll a while ago about more Monster Sesskag AU's and this concept won, so I wanna reassure people I'm working on it lol. Those who asked for it were: @missidiotmakka @saviorclaire @cookieasylum @aizawa-slaysmee @frost-guardian @liz8080 @vanishaa @akinaichan @all-my-cuffs-have-buttons @shamelessruinsfury @shastuhh @mrfeenysmustache @veroblubell @thesoaringaquila​

Read here: Ao3, fanfic.net or Dokuga

Beneath the Blackthorn Tree

 - chapter one -

"Buyo!"

Kagome huffed, lingering in the threshold of her home. Tightening a fluffy dressing gown around her, she shuddered a little from the chilly night air, closing the door behind her lest too much heat escape.

"Buyooo!" calling out again, she squinted, staring into pitch-black nothingness beyond the safety of their porch light. Silence answered her.

"Damn cat," grabbing her shoes with a string of grumbles, she roughly tugged them on and stepped outside. It was far too chilly to leave her out for the night, and besides, Buyo usually always came running the second they rattled her cat bowl.

The fifteen-year-old shuffled into murky darkness, making encouraging kitty calling noises and continuing to search for her dumb, sweet, dumpling feline.

Kagome shivered, rubbing her arms and glancing behind her. The comforting doorway of their humble house seemed much too far away, despite Kagome having not ventured too far into Higurashi Shrine's open courtyard. Everything lay far too still, quiet.

There were no insects chirping, no distant sounds from the city. It was as though someone had placed a huge dome over their house, sealing off all breezes or noise. It felt stifling; shadows hanging thick in the corners of her vision. Rippling. Expanding. Breathing.

Kagome turned her head slowly, staring into the endless void. Her heartbeat picked up. Quickening breath fanned out as visible plumes of mist. Goosebumps raised on her flesh. She gained the unsettling sense that she was being watched.

"Reow!"

Stiffening, she faced the sound's direction. "Buyo? Here kitty," she called, breathing a sigh of relief. Geeze, she'd gotten worked up for nothing. Stepping forward, Kagome wandered towards a large, lonely tree, guided by moonlight as it finally peeked out from behind thick, rolling clouds. Grandpa respectfully called it 'the sacred tree' but there was no need to heed any words from a guy who sold plastic charms and called them enchanted.

Reaching the Goshinboku, Kagome rounded its side, continuing her noises of encouragement to lure Buyo closer.

A strange luminous glow brightened the tree from within. Where before she'd thought it was moonlight lightening its branches, she stiffened upon realising how its bark radiated a soft blue shine. Power thrummed- pushing through her like a ripple on the tide.

Kagome stopped the second she caught sight of a child.

Their back was turned to her, hair short and snowy white. When they turned- startlingly clear, bright blue eyes immediately connected with hers. The boy shifted to face her, holding Buyo in his arms, who purred contentedly.

"O-oh...hello?" Kagome blinked, eyeing his clothing. What strange white robes. She got the sense he was Japanese, and yet his features were so pale and flawless. Not a hint of sunshine or blemishes touched his cherubic face- so much that he seemed eerily otherworldly. Too perfect. Human children didn't stand so completely still with calculating, predatory gazes, and was it her imagination- or were there tiny stumps peering out from his head? Like small, barely there horns.

The boy, who seemed to be around the age of six, stared at her quietly.

"Are you lost?" she asked, putting his strangeness aside. "I can call your parents to come pick you up if you know their number. If not, we should probably go inside," Kagome forced a smile. "It's chilly, right? You can keep holding Buyo if you want."

He blinked long white lashes, expression unchanging. He shifted closer.

"Kairi."

The boy stopped, glancing towards Goshinboku where a silky, deep voice had resounded from. Magenta stripes curling around the wrist of a pale hand caught Kagome's attention as it appeared from behind the tree, beckoning him with a lazy curl of sharp fingernails.

"Leave her be. That is not your mother," amusement coloured the masculine tone. "At least, not as you know her."

Kairi sighed, pouting. He let Buyo jump down- his necklace swaying from the motion, catching Kagome's eye. It had a strange symbol on it. She got the sense it did not belong to her homeland.

Kairi reached out to the hand, accepting it.

"Wait-!" she called, hurrying closer. "Hang on a second!"

Kairi glanced at her, pretty blue eyes glinting, smiling. The ghostly, long-fingered hand holding his own tugged- causing the boy to disappear behind the tree.

Quickly rounding its side, Kagome stopped. He'd disappeared, leaving not a trace behind. Even the tree's eerie glow had died down.

She sucked in a startled breath, having forgotten to breathe. Buyo padded away towards their house, leaving the high school girl to gawk alone. Sounds started to filter back into her hearing, crickets softly chirping. Humidity settled into previously chilled air, as though warmth had been briefly stolen, and then returned to the night.

Kagome never saw the boy again after that fateful night in the middle of July, nor the pale hand with its striped magenta wrist. Nothing unusual happened with their old tree. Buyo was the only one who knew about the bizarre experience, which was hardly a comfort.

And so Kagome placed it into the furthest reaches of her mind, putting it on a dusty shelf alongside her unused algebra knowledge. For ten years it remained untouched. Unexplored.

Until one day Yuka, one of her close high school friends- was flicking through a magazine. She wanted to hold her wedding in Ireland since her fiance had family there on his mother's side and a change in scenery sounded exotic.

"What do you think of this venue? We decided on holding the wedding in this area yesterday."

Kagome looked up from her wedding duties that consisted of choosing flower arrangements, stiffening.

"C-can I see that for a minute?"

"Hm, sure?" Yuka passed it over, stretching atop her bed and sighing. "You're definitely coming, right? I know it's hours away, but I'm seriously so excited to hold the ceremony somewhere unique. Eri is going to be majorly jealous."

Kagome stared at the familiar symbol carved into a dead-looking blackthorn tree, sitting alone within a forest. It was such a strange, out of place photo amongst the ones trying to sell Ireland to foreigners as part of a holiday package. All sprawling green hillsides, cliff sides and groups of medieval buildings situated on an outcrop of limestone.

"Yeah…" she murmured, an old memory slightly shaking to life. "I'll come."

[hrina]

In The Ring, Pt. II - Cross

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 7k REQUESTED: highly lol!

hi again! here’s PART 2 of boxer!harry :) thank u all for such a wonderful response on the first part, i can’t explain how much it means to me. i worked really hard on this chapter, so i hope u guys love it! if u do, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated, and i’ll probably ask for ur hand in marriage in return.

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

u can find the rest of this series on my masterlist, which is linked in my bio! my inbox is also there if you wanna spare a few thoughts about this part. love u guys sm, stay safe out there 💛💛💛

~*~

    January 19, 2021

It’s ten at night, and you’re curled up in bed, scrolling through social media. You should be doing the assigned readings for your anatomy class, but you’re procrastinating. Besides, watching video after video of cute kittens peeking their furry little heads out of cardboard boxes is a much better way to pass the time.

Your relaxation period is interrupted when a notification banner descends from the top of your screen. It’s an unknown number, but the content of the message makes your eyes widen in surprise.

Hi. It’s Harry. I’m at the gym.

You tap on the text immediately, waiting with bated breath as you’re taken to a different app. You chew on your bottom lip for a moment, thumbs hovering over the screen before they begin to type.

Hey! I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

Harry’s reply is short, concise, to-the-point—just like him. Oddly enough, it makes you smile.

Okay. See you soon.

~*~

The first thing that Harry notices when you walk through the door is that you’re slightly out of breath. He’s standing in the middle of the ring, his eyes fixated on the opposite side of the room as you enter. Your hair is tied up in a high ponytail, and you’re wearing a pair of leggings and a tank top under your jacket. Your sneakers squeak against the floor as you stride over to him, fingers wiggling in a friendly wave.

“Hi!” you call out, shooting him a kind smile.

Harry leans against the ropes circling the ring, careful not to put too much of his weight on the barriers lest he flip over and fall to the floor. It’s happened once or twice, and each time, he ended up with a bruised tailbone afterward.

“Hi,” he replies.

You shrug your coat from your shoulders as you draw nearer. “How are you?” you ask, peering up at him curiously.

“Good, thanks,” he says. His fingers toy absentmindedly with the silver cross pendant dangling from his neck. “Er…did you run here?”

“What? Oh, no,” you answer with a breathless laugh. “I drove. But I was hurrying—I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

You’re so fucking sweet. He’s going to throw up.

“It’s alright.” He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“Still,” you say, tightening your ponytail with both hands. “You’re going out of your way to do this for me. And while we’re on the subject of that—thank you, again. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Harry says. He slips between the ropes and hops down from the platform. “Shall we start?”

“We shall,” you agree, biting back a teasing smile. “Am I going up against you?”

Despite himself, Harry chuckles. He shakes his head. “Not yet. First, you need to learn the basics.”

“Basics,” you echo, nodding once. “Right.”

He leads you over to the side of the ring, where a pair of punching bags have been strung up near the wall. The arrangement is nothing special—twin leather bags, one brown and one black, filled with sand and stitched together with strong, coarse thread. Reflexively, you reach out, running your fingertips along the black bag and giving it a gentle push. It swings outward before returning back to you. Harry watches you closely, examining the gentle crease between your brows and the slight glaze that smooths over your pupils. He clears his throat quietly, and you seem to snap out of your trance.

“Do you know how to punch?” he asks.

You purse your lips, looking unsure of yourself. “Um…I think so.”

He nods. “Show me, then.”

The blow that you deliver to the bag is weak at best. Harry immediately notices a handful of things that you’re doing wrong. When you pull your arm back and peer up at him, he’s trying his hardest to hold back a smirk.

“What?” You frown.

“Nothing.” He snickers softly, shaking his head again. “It’s just…that was cute.”

“‘Cute’?” you parrot, narrowing your eyes. You scoff good-naturedly, stepping back and holding your arm out in invitation. “You do it, then.”

Harry’s lips twitch. “Gladly.”

The chain hanging from the ceiling rattles when his fist makes contact with the leather. The punching bag itself swings forward in an extraordinary arc before hurtling back in your direction. You gasp when Harry stops it with his palms. He grunts quietly, stilling it before turning around to face you. There’s a small smile playing on his lips, and he’s sure that his eyes are gleaming with a smug sparkle. You just cross your arms over your chest, gazing at him evenly with your chin held high.

“Fine,” you say. “Tell me what to do.”

Harry gets you situated back in front of the bag, standing beside you and studying your posture.

“First of all,” he starts, “you need to make sure that the position of your feet matches the position of your arms.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, shooting him a confused pout.

“Like this—,” Harry reaches for your shoulders before pausing, his fingers only inches away from your skin. “Er,” he clears his throat, fixing you with inquisitive eyes, “is it alright if I touch you?”

You nod wordlessly. Harry swallows down the lump in his throat as his hands close the distance between your bodies. He slants your torso to the side before reaching for your arms, bending them at the elbow so that your fingers—now curled into loose fists—are suspended in front of your face.

“If you’re angling yourself this way,” Harry starts, mimicking your stance, “you need to make sure that your right foot is leading you. But if you stand in the opposite direction—,” he changes sides, adopting a mirror image of his previous position, “—then it has to be your left foot. Got it?”

“Got it,” you say confidently. That same crease is digging into the space between your eyebrows; Harry aches to reach out and flatten it with the pad of his thumb.

“Also,” he says, delicately wrapping his fingers around your wrists, “when you punch, you can’t drop your other hand. Keep it up at all times—you need to guard your face.”

“Guard my face,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “Okay, cool.”

You throw an experimental punch at the bag, and Harry doesn’t miss the shadow of pain that flashes across your features. His eyes trail down the length of your arm, lingering on your fist. Before you can deliver another blow, he stops you, catching your knuckles in the calloused valley of his palm and halting your movements.

“Keep your thumb on the outside,” he says, peeling your fingers open and freeing your thumb from beneath them. “You’ll break it, otherwise.”

He curls the digits back up, this time so that your hand is settled in the proper arrangement. He then steps back, jerking his head toward the bag and encouraging you to take another swing. “Try it, now.”

The third blow is better than the past two. You beam up at Harry when a promising smack! echoes through the air. He smiles reassuringly at you, nodding his head and tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. “Good. That’s a start.”

“Put me in, Coach,” you tease, bringing your fists up to your face and bouncing playfully on the balls of your feet. Your eyes shimmer as you peek at him from behind your knuckles. Harry presses his lips together to keep himself composed, but he can’t stop the faint snort that slips out of his nose. You laugh cheerfully, dropping your arms back to your sides.

“Okay, so I know how to punch,” you say. “What’s next?”

“There’s four main punches in boxing,” Harry replies. He steadies himself in front of the bag, his left foot extended to provide balance.

“The jab—”

He punches with his left fist, pointed and forceful.

“—the cross—”

He strikes with his right hand, driving the weight of his body into the blow.

“—the hook—”

He curves his arm, angling it accordingly so that he can deliver a hit to the side of the bag.

“—and finally, the uppercut.”

He bends his elbow, scooping upward so that his fist makes contact with the bottom half of the bag. The sand inside shifts audibly as it rattles around, looping in every direction and gathering momentum. Harry turns back to you as it continues to swing in circles, cracking his knuckles loudly and seeking you out.

Your eyes are wide. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you look a bit…enthralled. His brow furrows in confusion.

“You alright?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, and he’s taken aback by the breathless quality of your voice. You clear your throat quickly, scratching at your hairline and looking away. “You’re just very…dedicated. That’s all.”

“I’ve got to be,” Harry hums. He turns back to the punching bag and ceases its movements. “This is how I make a living.” His lips quirk up with the hint of a smile. “We can’t all go to medical school and become doctors.”

A weak laugh tumbles from your mouth. “I haven’t even gotten in yet,” you say from behind him.

“But you will,” he murmurs, the reply slipping out before he can weigh it on his tongue. “Without a doubt.”

He pauses when the words finally sink in, his shoulders stiffening and his eyes stamping shut. If you weren’t standing so close, he would have leaned forward and crushed his forehead into the rough leather of the punching bag. His lips mould around unspoken curses as a heavy silence descends upon the two of you.

At last, you finally choke out, “I—thank you, Harry. That’s really nice of you to say.”

“No problem,” he grunts. He steps back, spinning on his heel but refusing to meet your gaze. You’re probably looking at him like that—with soft, glimmering irises and earnestness woven through every cell in your body. If your eyes lock, he knows that he’ll be overrun with the urge to kiss you.

And he knows that if that happens, he might not be able to hold himself back.

“What time do you have to be home?” Harry asks, subtly trying to change the topic.

You lift one eyebrow challengingly, like you know exactly what he’s doing. Still, though, you humour him.

“I told my dad I was going to a friend’s house,” you say, shrugging lightly. “We have time, don’t worry.” You smile as a thought crosses your mind. “Just make sure you don’t get me too sweaty by the end of the night, okay? I can’t go home looking like I’ve just run a marathon.”

Harry’s cock twitches in his shorts at the thought of rendering you sticky and speechless. Of watching you walk away from him with wobbly knees and messy hair. Of dropping you off at home and nibbling on your neck one last time for good measure. He quickly shoos the temptations away, clearing his throat and nodding in accord.

“Minimal sweating,” he concedes. “I’ll try my best.”

Deep down, he knows that you’ll most likely be drenched with perspiration once he’s through with you. You’ll figure that out soon enough, though.

Harry makes his way over to the ring, snatching up a pair of gloves lying on the platform. He turns back around, tossing them to you and fighting a smile when you yelp in surprise. With an awkward flail, you manage to catch them in your arms. You shoot him a questioning look, lifting your eyebrows and waiting for an explanation.

“Put those on,” he orders, clapping his hands together once. “We’re gonna try to perfect your stance, tonight.”

“Why do I need to wear them, then?” you ask, gazing down blankly at the gloves nestled against your chest.

“You don’t need to, I suppose,” Harry says, shrugging. “But your knuckles will probably be destroyed by the end of the night.”

“Oh.” You make a face, wrinkling your nose up in distaste. “Okay, yeah—I’ll use them.”

He smirks, folding his arms over his chest. “We want to be careful, don’t we? Those are the steady hands of a future surgeon.”

You scoff, laughing gently at his quip. “Hopefully,” you say, a sweet smile playing on your lips. “Let’s just pray that I get the right grades.”

You will, Harry thinks, but this time, he bites his tongue to keep the sentiment contained. You’re smart, and you’re beautiful, and you’re kind. You’re perfect. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to kiss you. I want to fuck you. I want to sleep next to you at night and prepare you breakfast in the morning. I want to make you laugh. I want to make you smile. I want to—

“Harry?”

He blinks. “Yeah?”

You fix him with a benevolent look. “Zoning out on me?”

“No.” He shakes his head, approaching you as you struggle to tug on one of the boxing gloves. His eyes fall to your hands and he reaches out, halting your movements with a gentle, “Let me.”

You peek up at him shyly as he guides your fingers into the glove. He keeps his gaze trained downward, avoiding your eyes. One of his rough palms grasps your elbow as he tugs the Velcro strip tight around your wrist. Once he’s done the same with the other one, he releases you and steps back.

“Thank you,” you say softly. He just nods in response.

“Make sure your feet are shoulder-width apart,” he says, and you spread your legs according to his command.

For a brief moment, the image of you separating your thighs to accommodate his hips flashes through his mind, but he squeezes his eyes shut and wills it away.

The rest of the night is painful—his cock grows stiffer and stiffer by the hour, spurred on by each sweet smile that you send his way. By the time you’re through with the session and bidding him goodnight as he locks up, he’s half-hard beneath his black shorts. He hopes that you don’t notice.

You shoot him a cheerful wave and drive away, and he watches before toddling over to his own vehicle. As soon as he slides into the driver’s seat, he releases a heavy, guttural groan, slouching forward and pressing his forehead to the crest of the steering wheel. Blindly, he sticks his key into the ignition and turns it, and the truck rumbles to life. A quick glance at the dashboard reveals that it’s well past midnight. Only then does he realise the extent of his exhaustion.

He backs out of the parking lot, pulling onto the main street and training his eyes on the road ahead. If he squints, he can still make out the red taillights of your car.

The journey back to his apartment passes in no time. Harry climbs sluggishly up four flights of stairs, tumbling into his home and pressing the door shut with one hand. He drags his feet down the hall and past the threshold of his bedroom, pausing only to rip his t-shirt from his torso before collapsing onto his mattress. Obscure silhouettes dance across his eyelids as they drift shut.

The last thing on his mind before sleep overtakes him is the gentle slope of your smile.

    February 21, 2021

One month and a handful of late-night sessions later, Harry finds himself inundated with guilt. He’s constantly plagued by memories of your virtual conversations—short, brief little interactions consisting primarily of him letting you know that he’s free to train that evening. Your responses, ripe with exclamation marks and prattles of gratitude. You’ve taken up the habit of texting him after each lesson, too, composing a quick thank-you message before shutting your phone for the night.

And Harry regrets everything—agreeing to teach you how to box, letting you know when he’s available to meet, encouraging you as your technique progresses. On several occasions, he’s considered breaking things off, telling you that he’s too busy, that you should be focussing exclusively on school instead of on how to throw a right hook.

But then you look at him like that. With bright, trusting eyes and open features and that easy, dazzling smile. And the wall that he’s been trying so hard to build back up—not that it was particularly robust to begin with—comes crashing down.

His match is set to start in fifteen minutes, and you’re not here. You have a midterm tomorrow—your father had mentioned it in passing. You’ve been holed up in your room all weekend, he said, permanently absorbed in the pages of your textbook.

And Harry’s nervous, because you’re his lucky charm. What the fuck is he supposed to do, now?

The minutes seem to fly by—before he knows it, he’s stepping out into the ring with the crowd’s thundering screams echoing in his ears. His opponent isn’t the biggest man he’s ever gone up against, but he’s definitely not scrawny. Harry’s maybe two inches shorter than him—under normal circumstances, the height difference wouldn’t have fazed him. But he’s already on edge due to your absence, so even the smallest observations are proving to be exceedingly disconcerting.

Looking back, he supposes that he should’ve known.

Doomed from the start, destined to fail—whatever you want to call it.

Point being, he loses. Horrendously.

And he’s not quite sure when they bring the stretcher out and peel him off of the floor of the ring, but he knows that it’s sometime after the second round. He blinks rapidly, fading in and out of consciousness as moisture trickles down the side of his face. Somewhere beneath the wooziness, he’s well aware that the match is over. Your father is standing over him, walking at a brisk pace to keep up with the two men carrying him out of the arena.

“What do you mean, he called in sick?” your father spits, his eyes alight with anger. “You couldn’t find anybody else?”

The man behind Harry’s head says something that he can’t quite discern. His response makes your father grit his teeth and pinch the bridge of his nose. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, punching in a number and bringing the device up to his ear.

A few moments later, his expression lights up, relief flooding his features. “Gioia? Yeah, hi…”

Harry’s vision fades to black.

~*~

“…going to have some strong words with the bastard that did this—”

“Gioia, please. That’s how the sport works.”

An outraged scoff. “Who the hell kicks a man while he’s down?”

No reply.

Harry drifts off once more.

~*~

When his eyelids flutter open, it takes a moment for him to regain his bearings. Through the blurriness of his vision, he sees a dim light hanging from the ceiling, bathing his surroundings in a pale white glow. He blinks rapidly, hoping that his sight will sharpen with each flutter of his lashes. There’s a dull pain throbbing against the right side of his torso, battering against his ribcage and pulling an agonized groan from his lips.

The low sound is met with a high gasp. Seconds later, a face is looming over his own. Harry forces himself to concentrate on the person’s features—kind, worried eyes, raised brows, and pretty, parted lips. His heart begins to gallop in his chest.

“Harry,” you breathe. A few gentle fingers card through his hair. The sensation of your nails against his scalp makes him shiver. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” he croaks, his voice hoarse.

Despite the worry swimming around in your irises, you emit a shy laugh.

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask, pulling your hand out of his hair. He nearly whines at the loss.

“Think so,” he mutters. He places his palms flat against the surface beneath him—a bed, perhaps?—and pushes himself onto his elbows. The muted pain in his side flares fiercely, making him choke on his own breath. You reach out for him, setting one hand down on his shoulder while the other wraps delicately around his bicep.

“Easy, easy,” you soothe, tutting disapprovingly. “Be careful.”

“’M always careful,” Harry says.

“Yeah,” you reply sarcastically, nodding your head. “And that’s how you ended up like this, right?”

A short, wheezing laugh punches its way out of his lungs. “Touché.”

Once he’s sitting up, he takes note of the room—well, it’s not really a room. The only thing separating the two of you from whatever lies outside is a thin curtain drawn over what he presumes to be the exit. To his left, a single cabinet with multiple drawers stands only a few feet away. You’re both tucked into a little alcove in the wall, no bigger than a standard bedroom. Harry glances around, his gaze landing on a single plastic chair facing the bed. Everything is set up like a hospital room (but far less comfortable, and severely lacking in terms of medical equipment).

“Where’s Coach?” he asks, creases forming along his forehead.

“He went to go grab us some coffee,” you explain, your eyes scanning his face. “It’s late.”

“How late?”

“Nearly two.”

“Fuck.” His head snaps toward you. “Don’t you have a midterm tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” You chew nervously on your bottom lip. “But it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” he says, gritting his teeth and glaring at you sharply. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You recoil a bit at his harsh tone. “Your stupid medic took a sick day,” you tell him, your voice hard. “And my dad asked me to come in and have a look at you. Who knows where you’d be if I hadn’t shown up.”

Regret washes over him. He slouches back against the bed—it’s more of a cot, really—and blows out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay.” You wave his apology away with a quick flick of your fingers. “Just…be quiet for a second, alright? I need to examine you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters under his breath. He doesn’t miss the way your lips twitch as the words sink in.

“Can you move to the edge of the bed?” you ask, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. “I need to see you properly, but I don’t want to make you stand just yet.”

“Sure.”

He shifts his body to the right, slowly dragging his legs off of the cot with a distressed wince. The floor is cold when his feet make contact with the ground, but he pays it no attention. He’s shirtless, clad only in the shorts he’d been wearing when he first stepped into the ring. He purses his lips and feels something stiff realign against his cheek. When he brings his hand up to his face, he finds a cottony piece of fabric taped onto his skin.

“What—?” He looks up at you in confusion.

“It was bleeding pretty badly,” you tell him. “I had to stop it, somehow.”

For the first time that night, he takes you in properly. You’re wearing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants—it looks like the type of outfit that one would shrug on if they were in a rush to leave the house. Another pang of guilt jolts through his chest.

“What happened?” Harry croaks, pulling his hand away from his cheek.

“My dad told me that the other guy was wearing a bracelet,” you say; frustration drips from your words. “He didn’t take it off before the match started. It’s not a big cut, but it’s deep. You’ll probably need a few stitches.”

“And you know how to do that?” he asks, watching as you circle around the bed and approach the cabinet on the opposite side. He twists in an attempt to keep his eyes on you, but then grunts lowly at the ache that thrums against his side. When he looks down at his torso, he discovers a large splotch of blue and purple decorating the skin covering his ribs.

“I watched my mom do it back when my dad used to coach Artie,” you say absentmindedly, rifling through a few drawers and collecting the supplies that you need. You pause, your eyes clouding over with something forlorn. “Now that I think about it, that’s probably why I want to go into medicine. I think…it would’ve made her proud.”

“It would’ve,” Harry agrees.

He watches you carefully as you make your way back over to him, afraid of prying or saying the wrong thing. Your mother’s death had hit your family hard; he rarely hears you or your father mention her. But maybe that’s for the best—wounds can’t heal if they’re being ripped open time after time again. He would know.

You dump a handful of materials down onto the bed—disinfectant, cotton swabs, tissues, gauze, a needle, thread, and a pack of medical sutures. Harry swallows heavily.

“Do you mind if I…?” you trail off, pursing your lips timidly. Somehow, he understands exactly what you’re referring to.

“No, not at all,” he says. The words fall from his mouth a bit too quickly.

With no further preamble, he spreads his legs, and you step into the space made available between his knees. You lean to the side, reaching for the disinfectant and cotton swabs on the bed, but then nearly lose your balance in the process. Harry’s hand flies upward reflexively, settling on your hip to keep you steady.

You glance down at him with wide eyes, and he hastily removes his palm from your body. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking away.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, and is it just his imagination, or do you sound a bit…breathless?

“You’ve got a couple of scrapes on your face,” you continue. You clear your throat, uncapping the antiseptic and dipping a cotton swab into the bottle. “This’ll hurt a little.”

“It’s alright—fuck!” he swears, scowling deeply at the sting that blooms across his chin. You chew on your bottom lip, dragging the swab over his injuries with practiced, nimble fingers. His toes curl against the cold, concrete floor.

Once you’ve finished sterilising his minor wounds, you turn your attention to the massive bruise on his torso.

“Can I?” you ask softly, extending your arm but pausing only inches away from his skin.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

He fights back against a shudder when your fingertips ghost over his ribs. You hesitate, applying a bit more pressure and cringing when he groans. “Sorry,” you whisper, making a move to pull away.

“No,” Harry breathes quickly. He catches your hand in his, trapping your palm back against his side. Briefly, he notes the unmistakable softness of your knuckles, so different from his own. “’S okay. Do what you need to do.”  

You nod tautly, pressing your fingers against the bruise once more. Harry grinds his teeth together, trying his best to withstand the pain. You prod around for a few seconds, your brow furrowed in concentration. When you don’t appear to find anything worrisome, you sigh in relief and drop your arm so that it rests limply at your side.

“No broken ribs,” you announce quietly. “At least, not as far as I can tell.”

“That’s reassuring,” he jokes.

A weak laugh falls from your mouth. “I haven’t gotten into med school yet, remember?”

He chuckles. Your eyes suddenly darken, and an angry scowl curls along your lips.

“He kicked you while you were knocked out,” you murmur, shaking your head in disbelief. “Fucking asshole.”

Harry’s eyebrows fly upward, his mouth twitching at your vulgar words. You catch sight of his amused expression, but instead of mirroring it, your frown only deepens.

“It’s not funny,” you say. “He fought dirty.”

“This whole setup is illegal, baby,” he says. Neither of you comment on the pet name that slips out of his mouth. He hopes that you view it as part of an expression, and not a proclamation of his affection. “Fighting dirty—they don’t care about that. If anything, it just gives them one hell of a show.”

“Still,” you mutter, gluing your eyes to the discoloured skin covering his ribs. “He shouldn’t have done it.”

Harry smiles softly, reaching out and tucking two fingers beneath your chin. Your lips part in surprise, and he tilts your face up so that he can look at you properly.

“Thank you,” he says, his tone entirely sincere, “for taking care of me.”

Your throat bobs with a hefty swallow—he can feel it against his knuckles. You lift your hand up to his face, and for a moment, he thinks that you mean to stroke his cheek lovingly. But then you scrape your thumb over the bandage covering his cut, and he’s reminded that this doesn’t mean anything.

You’re here to stitch him back up—nothing less, and certainly nothing more.

“I’m not done yet,” you say.

The two of your drop your fingers at the same time. Harry clears his throat, trying to absolve the tension in the air. You seize some of the other supplies still strewn across the bed, laying them out properly before getting to work.

You’re diligent, removing the bandage on his cheek and using a few tissues to mop up the blood that immediately begins to drip downward, rolling over the jut of his jaw. He curses when you pass another cotton swab over his injury, screwing his face up at the smarting prickle of the antiseptic.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur absentmindedly, keeping your eyes trained on the wound. “We definitely don’t want this one to get infected.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, because he can’t exactly nod with your fingers probing around.

“This is going to be the worst part,” you warn, pulling back and opening the pack of stitches.

You unwind a piece of thread from its spool, taking the string between your lips and severing it with your teeth. Harry watches you closely, anxiety frothing in the pit of his stomach. In all of his years spent boxing, he’s only needed stitches once—the procedure hurt like a bitch, especially since there had been no anaesthetic available. He remembers the pain like it was yesterday, and he’s not looking forward to having to endure it again.

When you guide the first stitch through his skin, he balls his hands into tight fists. His lips tuck themselves into a thin line, and an agonized moan bubbles up in his chest. You squeeze your eyes shut for a brief moment; upon reopening, they glisten with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your voice shakes.

“It’s okay,” Harry grits out. His blunt nails dig into his palms. “Keep…keep going.”

“A few more,” you babble; he’s not sure whether you’re trying to comfort him or yourself. “Just a few more.”

It takes you roughly fifteen minutes (you haven’t really had much practice, after all) to sew his wound closed with five stitches. It is by no means the cleanest application, but it’s not bad. You retrieve another cotton swab and dip it into the bottle of disinfectant, running it along the seam of his injury one last time. After that, you finally blow out the stale air that has accumulated in your lungs.

“Thank you,” Harry mutters. “Truly.”

“No problem,” you breathe. You busy yourself with gathering up all of the supplies, cradling them to your chest and making your way around the bed. As you dump everything back into the top drawer of the cabinet, you say, “Harry. Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” he hums. He’s nervous about speaking too animatedly, afraid to disrupt the work you’ve just done on his cheek.

“How long have you been boxing?”

He peers at you from over his shoulder, eyes following your movements as you return to his side of the cot and sit down next to him. “Er…,” he pauses, thinking, “…about ten years, now.”

“You started at sixteen?” you say, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

He smiles softly before remembering the sutures sewn into his skin. A beat of silence passes.

“Can I ask you something?” he questions.

You nod. “Of course.”

“Why did you want me to teach you how to box?” he says. You open your mouth—to feed him another lie, surely—but he carries on before you get the chance to speak. “And don’t say it’s because you were just curious, or some bullshit like that. I want the truth.”

“Harry…,” you begin softly, looking at him with pleading eyes. He shakes his head, adamant and unmoved.

“The truth.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. Instinctively, you reach for your throat, tugging at the rose-gold chain hanging there and fiddling nervously with the pendant nestled between your collarbones. It looks like you’re trying to figure out what to say, how to approach the situation without revealing something that could potentially make it any worse.

“Do you remember that guy I was seeing a few months ago?” you say, your voice small. “James?”

And oh, Harry remembers. He remembers watching the two of you swap spit on top of the bleachers at one of his matches. He remembers imagining James in the place of his opponent, and then making sure to aim all of his punches directly for the face (he won, that night.) He remembers seeing the sparkle in your eyes slowly start to dim the longer you stayed with him. He remembers the aftermath of your breakup, when James had shown up at the gym and screamed at you to come outside, deterred only after Portia threatened to call the police.

He fucking remembers.

“Yeah,” he spits. The affirmation is coated in a thick layer of venom. “What about him?”

His eyes widen a touch when it all clicks, then, like pieces of a puzzle falling perfectly into place.

“What did he do?” he demands immediately, fixing you with a stern glare. “Did he fucking touch you?”

“No!” you exclaim, shaking your head quickly. “No, no, it’s just…I’ve been seeing him around. A lot. And I’m not sure if I’m just being paranoid, maybe, but—,” you inhale deeply, “—it feels like he’s following me.”

Your name slips past Harry’s lips in a hard, firm tenor. When you look up at him warily, he stares straight into your eyes, leaving no room for you to break away.

“You need to tell someone about this,” he says steadfastly. “You need to go to the police.”

“I don’t even know if I’m right,” you tell him. Your mouth curls down into an apprehensive frown. “I don’t want to cause a fuss, especially if it all just turns out to be one big coincidence.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Harry asks. A bitter taste settles on his tongue. “How often has this been happening?”

You tilt your head to the side, lost in thought. “Two days ago,” you finally say, shrugging helplessly. “And…I don’t know. I’ve seen him, like, nine or ten times in total.”

“Ten times,” he hisses, “in a few months? That’s not normal, and you know it.”

“Harry,” you plead, tugging nervously at the hem of your t-shirt. “Please. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

“How can you—?” he starts, but then you lurch forward, putting a dainty hand on his thigh.

“Please,” you repeat, shaking your head softly. “Just…keep this between us, okay? The last thing I want is for my dad to find out.”

And maybe it’s the tenderness brewing in your eyes when you meet his gaze. Maybe it’s the wilt in your voice, the feeblest he’s ever heard. Maybe it’s the feeling of your fingers on his leg, burning a hole through his shorts and searing a mark—a brand—into his skin. Harry sighs, looking away from you and running his fingers anxiously through his curly hair.

“You’re bloody stupid, you know that?” he asks, scoffing quietly.

“Yeah,” you reply, the corners of your mouth kinking up into a half-hearted smile. “I know.”

“Got you a latte, gioia—”

The dinky curtain in front of you is pulled back by none other than your father, who is holding a tray of coffee in his right hand. He blinks at the scene laid out before him—you and Harry on the small cot, sitting a bit too close for comfort. Your hand on his thigh. You both jump, breaking away from each other and inhaling sharply. Harry clears his throat as you cough into your elbow, standing up and reaching for one of the drinks nestled in the tray.

“Thank you,” you murmur quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to your father’s cheek.

His eyes bounce between the two of you, forehead wrinkling in curiosity as he asks, “What’d I miss?”

You peer down at Harry from over the rim of your cup, panicked and beseeching. He just shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly; the tattoos inked into his skin ripple with the act. His tone is steady when he meets your father’s gaze.

“I’ve got some bruised ribs and a wicked headache, but aside from that—,” he lies, “—nothing at all.”

~*~

Your father ends up driving him home.

He parks the car just in front of Harry’s apartment complex, watching with worried eyes as he slips out of the passenger door.

“You sure you’ll be alright?” he asks.

Harry just nods, waving away his concerns. “I’m fine, Coach, really. Thanks for the ride.”

Your father nods—still looking a little unsure—before speeding off.

Climbing up four flights of stairs with bruised ribs is hell, Harry soon learns. By the time he reaches his floor, he’s panting and wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his brow. He pulls his keys out of his coat pocket, unlocking the front door and staggering into his apartment. A pained whimper slips out of his mouth as he shrugs the jacket from his shoulders.

He slowly makes his way into the bathroom, cupping his battered side over the material of his t-shirt. The water is cold when he first turns the shower on. He grits his teeth, fiddling with the temperature and meticulously removing his clothes as it warms.

The moment the first droplet hits his skin, he lets out a deep, guttural groan. He hadn’t realised just how tense he was until now. He stands under the spray of the water, tipping his head back and letting it wash away every trace of dirt and grime on his body. His hair grows heavy with moisture, sticking to his scalp and his forehead. He leans against the wall of the shower, inhaling deeply. His eyelids flutter shut, and your smiling face appears amidst the darkness.

Almost subconsciously, his hand finds its way to his cock.

Part of him is disgusted with himself. He shouldn’t be thinking of you. He shouldn’t be thinking of you. He shouldn’t be—

He moans.

In the realm of his perverse imagination, you’re straddling him, your arms looped leisurely around his neck and your whimpers echoing into the cavern of his mouth. Your hips roll against his, unhurried and languid and deep. So fucking deep. Harry reaches down with one hand, squeezing greedily at the curve of your ass, and you whine in response, encouraging him to do it again.

He pumps his length in the shower, panting quietly.

Your fronts are pressed together as you rut into his lap, your nipples brushing against the ebony birds on his chest and your silky walls wrapped around him like a vice. He grunts; you swallow the sound down, your hot, heavy breaths wafting out onto his chin. His fingers dig into your thighs when you steady yourself on your knees, doing your best to bounce up and down on him properly. It’s frantic, it’s uncoordinated, it’s sloppy, but…it’s perfect.

Your nails scrape down his back as the two of you move together, a steady series of push and pull, like water under a bridge. If you’re the moon, then he’s the tides, bending and swirling under your gentle light. Every time you rock forward, he meets you there, your bodies connecting with faint slaps of skin on skin. You gaze at him with hooded eyes, lust simmering beneath your lashes. Electricity tingles across his shoulders.

The noises that you emit are music to his ears. Delicate sighs when he nips at your breasts, earthy groans when he hits that special spot inside of you. And woven between them, imploring pleas, murmurs of right there and oh, yes and so good.

It’s embarrassing, how quickly he finishes.

He stands there, leaning against the tiles with his cock in his hand and his release dripping from his fingertips. He has the decency to feel appalled by his actions, at the very least. If you were aware of what he had just done, he knows for a fact that you would never speak to him again.

He cleans himself up, shampooing his hair and scrubbing down every inch of his body. When he steps out of the shower and shuts the water, a wave of exhaustion washes over him, making him sway on his feet. His lips vibrate with a soft sigh.

His phone chimes from where it’s perched on the bathroom counter. When he taps on it, he finds a message from you.

Feel better soon, it reads. The guilt festering in his chest increases tenfold.

Thank you, he says back, shoving the remorse down. Good luck on your midterm tomorrow.

A moment later, your reply comes through.

Thanks! Goodnight, Harry.

Goodnight, he types. He pauses for a moment, debating over whether he should include a little red heart after the word. But then he shakes his head, rolling his eyes at his own insolence and sending the text without a second thought.

He doesn’t even bother drying himself off before padding across the hall and into his bedroom. He collapses onto his mattress, still covered in tiny droplets that bead along his shoulders and trail downward, wetting the duvet. He doesn’t care. It’ll dry, and so will he.

He falls asleep moments later, the repaired skin of his cheek tingling in the dark.

~*~

PART III: Hook

PART IV: Uppercut

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[thesleepy1]

All In Endearment, Dear

A/N: My friend really liked that last fic and they wanted another one. I am so glad they liked it. One of the only positive things that happened in a while, hahaha. To anyone who comes across this, commenting, anything, even if it's just a smile makes my day. I finally get to feel that little surge of happiness when my fics are being read. It's a nice feeling, not going to lie. And to top off all of that, @queenofchaos7 requested that I continue this fic. So here we are.

Pairings: Merlin x Arthur

Summary: In an attempt to be more direct with Arthur, he takes Merlin out hunting with his knights. Something so intimate and a clear show of his loyalty, that Merlin could not mistake it as anything else. And in the middle of the forest, Arthur would not be able to chicken out like a coward, lest Merlin gets lost in the forest.

Word count: 3,824

Part 1

Part 3

Warnings: language, suggestive language, crude jokes, violence, blood,

Merlin was ignoring him. The man just had to be. Sure, Merlin came when called, was present in the council meetings, and everytime Arthur “accidently” injured himself Merlin would be there to nurse his wounds. It was just that Merlin rarely ever made eye contact with him anymore unless absolutely necessary. Merlin rarely ever lingered when called anymore, quickly leaving Arthur’s side to do who knows what.

Everyone already knew that Merlin was a wizard. Arthur was in full support of Merlin’s power and his ability to be useful among the court. For once in the brunette’s life that is.

There was no reason why Merlin should be avoiding him like this. Had he done something to make the man upset? Was it the rain comment from the week prior? Whatever it was, it was making him lose sleep. Arthur had long admitted that he was infatuated with Merlin, in love even. Though that was a big word. But obsessed to the point of losing sleep? That was where he drew the line.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled in that way of his. So distinctive that Merlin subconsciously curled up deeper into his nest of blankets. “Merlin!” Arthur yelled again, banging on Merlin’s door in Gaius’ quarters. “I know you aren’t at the tavern. I checked already. Wake up and come out here or I’m going in!”

Begrudgingly, Merlin rolled out of his straw stuffed bed and unlatched the door for Arthur. The king immediately stepped in before Merlin could close him out. “Do you realize how late it is?” Merlin asked in a sleep filled voice, not expecting Arthur to reply.

“Early actually, Merlin. The sun will be up in an hour or so,” Arthur replied, trying to hide the effects that Merlin’s sleep filled voice had on him. The king was so glad that the room was too dark to properly see.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re in my room, you twat,” Merlin groaned, trying to make Arthur out without magic. If he didn’t know any better, it looked like Arthur was in his hunting outfit.

“Would it be absurd to say I just wanted to see you?” Arthur asked in mock jest, watching Merlin’s face in the dark of the room. Even without light, he was shining.

“You see me everyday, remember? I work for you,” Merlin countered, turning on his heel to beeline for his bed.

“But you’ve been ignoring me.”

Merlin ignored him in favor for getting back into his bed.

“Merlin,” Arthur tired again. “I’m here for a reason, you know.” When Merlin didn’t reply Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m taking you hunting.”

That got the wizard right out of his bed. “What?” he exclaimed in confusion, his hair stuck up on one side. Arthur was tempted to fix it back into place.

“What do you mean, what? We’re going hunting in the forest.” Arthur approached the bedside slowly, as if coming up to a sleeping lion in its den.

“Is that an order?” Merlin mumbled against the bed, pressing his sagging pillow against his head to hide away from Arthur. His shirt was riding up his chest from the movement and Arthur had to quickly look away.

“I-it is,” Arthur stuttered, suddenly very interested in Merlin’s walls. The wizard had a little parchment picture of a bird nailed to his wall. The sketch was quite accurate, though Arthur could not remember for the life of him what kind of bird it was. “We’re going hunting with the knights.”

“Couldn’t this wait until morning?”

“It is morning, Merlin,” Arthur inched toward the door, suddenly very aware that Merlin had gotten up from his bed and was currently undressing behind him. “J-just hurry or else we’re leaving you behind.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Merlin snarked, shrugging into a new tunic. “You might stab yourself with your own sword if I’m not around.”

Arthur turned around, offended that Merlin would say such a thing, “Well I would have you know-” Merlin had yet to put on a new pair of trousers. Arthur ran from the door without saying another word, scarred for life at what he had seen. Merlin furrowed his eyebrows in confusion until he heard a distant shout. “I still expect you to be there, Merlin!” Groaning at the unfairness of life, Merlin stepped into his trousers and made his way to the courtyard.

Arthur and the knights were there waiting for him, everyone disregarding, Arthur looked just as exhausted as he was. One of them was barely holding onto his mount. “Dear god, Arthur, what are you doing?” Merlin asked with a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Take the lot of you hunting for a great beast or something the kitchen staff could roast for us!”

Merlin was ready to leap off a cliff. “At this ungodly hour?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Of course, Merlin. Do you really expect us to hunt at night?” Arthur answered with a smirk on his lips. The knights of the round table all looked as if they were ready to kill their king as well. Gwaine was half asleep on his stallion. Lancelot was sleeping with his eyes open, the lucky bastard.

“I expect you to hunt without me,” Merlin shook his head, turning his back on Arthur to saddle his own horse. The mare was purposely stronger than the others, a more reliant breed that had the best sense of home. If anything were to happen while they were hunting, Arthur wanted Merlin safe.

“Come on, Merlin. It won’t be that bad,” Arthur sounded, ordering his knights to flank him as they rode off into the forest. “Really, it could be worse.”

“It really couldn’t.” Merlin rode to his left, Percival to his right. For knights of his court, none of them except Leon seemed to be properly awake. Even Elyan who used to get up before the break of dawn to help his father was trying to not doze off. Arthur was frankly disappointed in them.

“It could be fun, Merlin,” Leon gave him a reassuring grin, reminding Arthur of a golden retriever. “If anything happens out here, we’ll be here to protect you.”

“It's more likely that Merlin would get himself into a spout of trouble. He’s a magnet for that sort of thing,” Arthur butted in, suddenly aware of how close Leon was to Merlin despite their protective formation. His knight looked bright and cheerful even when the sun barely broke the horizon. “Don’t worry, Merlin. We’ll be sure to save you from yourself,” Arthur added, playfully punched Merlin on the shoulder.

“Ouch, that hurt,” Merlin groaned, rubbing against the spot Arthur had hit.

“You’ll live,” Arthur hid the guilt that ran through his system well. “If you can’t take a punch then you won’t survive out here, you clotpole.”

“First you take my sleep then you take my insults, what next, my breakfast? Oh, wait,” Merlin snarked, holding the reins to his mare tightly. Arthur had made Merlin carry all of their supplies, his horse being the strongest and all. But the wizard didn’t know that. He just saw Arthur as dead from the head up inconsiderate.

“You haven’t had breakfast, Merlin?” Elyan asked in a concerned tone. When Merlin shook his head, Elyan quickly glared at the back of Arthur’s head. “We should catch something for you then. The rest of us had bread and cheese before departing,” Elyan informed, grabbing the box strapped to his back to notch an arrow and be on the lookout.

“He’ll be fine. Missing one meal won’t kill him,” Arthur brushed off Elyan’s concern. His knight was a much more skilled archer than he was. If he was to impress Merlin then he would need all the chances he could get. Perhaps taking his most skilled knights into the forest to hunt for sport was not the most brilliant idea.

But if it were only him and Merlin, then the wizard might have suspected something amiss. Arthur rarely went outside of the city outskirts unless it were for a diplomatic meeting. And he never hunted before day break. It was unsafe to do so alone. However, Arthur wanted all the time he needed to confess to Merlin. So, really, bringing the knights was the only smart choice.

Arthur was beginning to regret his intelligent decision.

The sun finally rose to signal that morning had truly arrived. And with it brought disappointment. They had spent the entirety of the morning running around like cocks with their heads chopped off. Not a single one of them could catch even the smallest of blue jays. No one had any luck.

Arthur even begged Merlin to cast a spell to make something fall at their feet but the wizard had refused because he found it too cruel. The king agreed but at the same time, they would be killing the creature for supper either way. Did it really matter, how?

According to Merlin, yes.

And that was how they ended up here at the river. Noon had just passed its peak and the soft morning sun was blistering with heat. Everyone was sweating in their armor and gear. Practically begging Arthur to stop for a dip. Pleading that they’ll try to catch some fish while they were at it.

Only Merlin sat fine as can be in his faded blue tunic and red handkerchief. The fabric so worn and loved, Arthur could only imagine how soft they were. Though, those two items seemed to be the only things in Merlin’s wardrobe. That and the inverted of the two, faded red tunics and blue handkerchiefs. The wizard’s sense of style was lacking to say the least.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“Besides arrogance? Not that I know of,” Arthur answered defensively, turning his back on Merlin for the second time that day. All the knights had piled their armour and clothes on the ground, running head first into the river. The wizard clearly didn’t want to be left out.

Arthur may join them in the water but there was no possible way he could compete with them. They were soldiers, training from morning till evening and then some more. Their bodies were muscular, hair greased and unruly, their scars gleamed in the sun. Arthur couldn’t help but stare at them, watching as droplets fell from their rippling chest. His face grew bright red, heat making him dizzy as he resisted the urge to look lower.

Merlin was having no such complications.

The wizard had just taken off his drawstring trousers. His boots laid next to the knight’s pile of clothes. The horses were tied to a nearby tree and happily grazing. Arthur noticed these simple things so as to not stare at Merlin’s figure. As much as he would like to make fun of Merlin, there was nothing to make a mockery of. For a simple servant, Merlin was quite fit.

“Come on, Arthur! The water is great,” Gwaine yelled from the river, splashing on shore where Arthur was still standing with his gear on. His back was to the group, but his knights knew damn well why he was not looking their way. They had found out about his little crush on Merlin after he had one too many tankards. And since then, they had not ceased in their teasing.

“There could be leeches in there for all you know,” Arthur replied, watching a family of birds high up on the tree branches.

“Leeches are harmless,” Merlin said in a cheerful tone. He could hear the man swimming and splashing behind him. “If you’re worried about the leeches’ well-being, Arthur, they’ll be fine. Missing one meal won’t kill them,” Merlin laughed in a way that made butterflies flutter in Arthur’s stomach.

“Ha, ha, very funny, Merlin.”

“The river feels wonderful,” Leon added as well, looking like a glowing greek god come alive. Sure, all of his knights were good looking, but he saw the way the soldier looked at Merlin. Just because Leon knew about his crush, doesn’t mean the man wasn’t willing to steal Merlin. The knight was so clearly flaunting his muscles, tousling his bright blonde hair with his veiny hand. “Why don’t you join us?”

“Please, Arthur?” Merlin pleaded, the sound going straight to Arthur’s heart and perhaps somewhere lower. “It will probably fix your sour mood.”

“I don’t think anything can fix that,” Percival said with a grin that took up the entirety of his face.

“I think only one thing could.” Arthur could feel Gwaine’s wink against the back of his head. He resisted the urge to gag in the back of his throat. If he loses to Gwaine, he’ll never forgive himself. Leon was worthy at the very least, Gwaine drank too much. To lose to a pig was an under disgrace.

“Fine!” Arthur yelled to his hunting party. He tugged off his gear, his tunic, and then eventually his trousers. It was all a very frantic dance to rid himself of layers, he felt like an utter git. “Are you happy now?” he turned to ask his party, preparing himself to jump into the river.

“No pants, my lord?” Elyan asked in what could pass as a concerned tone, but Arthur could hear the snicker in his voice.

“Well- Aren’t you all naked as well?” Arthur stuttered, flushed as red as the day he was born.

“Even I have my pants on,” Gwaine grinned widely, floating on his back to prove his point. The man was wearing white cotton pants with pink sewn hearts. It was quite comedic if not for the fact that Arthur was standing butt naked in front of the man of his affections.

Arthur quickly grabbed his pants and stepped into them before struggling to jump into the river. He failed to properly jump due to searing eyes on him and belly flopped into the water instead. “Gah!” Arthur cursed under his breath, surfacing with a grimace. “The water’s so cold.”

“There’s no need to feel ashamed, my lord. Performance issues are normal for someone your age.”

“Stress and lack of usage I hear are big factors in the issue,” Merlin added, grinning at Arthur playfully.

“Shut it, Merlin.”

“I think you might be scaring all the fish away, Arthur. You would think that little shrimp of yours would attract more of them.”

Having enough of their rude jests, Arthur pushed his hand through the water and splashed the nearest men. That only awarded him with six grown men thrown into a water battle. It wasn’t fair that Percival was large enough to create a tidal wave of a splash or that Merlin could use his magic to protect himself and attack the others. So when he had ran for his own horse to wade through the water, it was all within the rules.

“Cheater!”

“Traitor!”

Arthur only laughed out loud, “The horses want to be a part of the fun as well!” He had quickly grabbed ahold of his clothes and putting them on with one hand was proving to be more difficult than it seemed. “Catch me if you can-” A strong gust of wind appeared out of the blue and knocked Arthur right back into the water, his horse swimming to the other side.

“What were you saying about fun, Arthur?” Merlin looked down at him, those blue grey eyes staring right at his heart. “Are you willing to play fair, now?” Merlin said in a whisper of a voice.

Arthur parted his mouth to speak, but Merlin took his breath away. This was the moment to tell him. To confess how much he needed Merlin in his life, wanted the man without hesitation. He would never give away his kingdom, but for Merlin…. For Merlin he would consider it. A kingdom was not one without its kings.

He could not place the exact moment he fell in love with Merlin, but he had always loved the fool. “I l-”

His horse on the other side of the river nighed in warning, the steed whining in fear. Bucking up on high legs, Arthur had to hold onto Merlin’s arm to steady himself. There on the shore was a beast he had never seen before. A bear as large as a house stood on four reptilian feet, the fur of the thing made from pure glistening metal. The creature had three sets of violet eyes and radiated heat like a furnace.

Before any of them could react the bear opened its maw to reveal dozens of rows upon rows of teeth. They were sharpened to a point, serrated edges that tore through the horse with a rigid form of fiery. In the blink of an eye, the horse was gone.

“Get back on your horses!” Arthur ordered his men, back stroking onto shore for his sword. “Prepare yourself!” A breeze brushed against his back, goosebumps littering his pale skin. His men were behind him, but Merlin, the bastard that he was, was in front of him. “Merlin, get your ass back here!” he yelled, gripping his sword in hand, chest and clothes soaked through.

“He’s starving!” Merlin shouted back as if that explained everything. The brunette’s lips were tinted blue, his pale skin a purple bruise from their earlier rough water fight. He looked so small then.

“Get back here before I drag you by your ear. You are not to engage!” Arthur threatened, quickly looking out of the corner of his eye to make sure the rest of his knights were alright. They all stood prepared to give their lives for the block headed wizard. Swords at the ready, amour and gear laid askew on the floor, chest bare. Their lives for the thief that stole Arthur’s heart.

“Don’t attack!” Merlin yelled back, wading towards the bear with vigor. His chest heaved with each breath labored by fear. “The poor thing is starving,” Merlin repeated, holding his hands out in a reassuring gesture.

“Merlin,” Arthur warned in a hushed voice, afraid that if he spoke any louder the creature would feel threatened. “Get back here, it's not safe you, utter git,” he hissed between his teeth, eyes darting between the two beasts

“I’ll live,” Merlin called back, eyes glowing light amber and gold.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Lancelot muttered under his breath.

Merlin’s lips twitched upwards at the comment, “Make sure Arthur behaves if I’m gone.”

The mere implication of such a thing had the king of Camelot rushing forward. Arthur would die before having to live a day without Merlin. He was seeing red as he waded through the water, pulling the wizard behind him. “Never!” Arthur yelled louder than intended, the creature whipping its head at them.

“You bloody-” Merlin’s curse was shortened by the blood curdling roar that erupted like a volcano from the beast. It reeled back onto its two high legs, claws as long as Arthur’s arms slashing forward. The underbelly of the thing was made from thick places interwoven, almost as if it knew that was where Arthur was planning to strike.

“Bold of you to assume death could get you out of this relationship,” Arthur quipped before diving underwater.

“Relationship? If you think you could confess to me and then go off to get yourself killed, then I’ll kill you myself.”

“Hey, lovebirds! Have your lover’s quarrel after you’re not in immediate danger,” Gwaine shouted, joining Arthur underwater.

“All of you are going on a fool’s errand,” Merlin said exasperated, climbing onto shore. Leon and Elyan pulled him up with their free hands, pushing him behind them the moment he was on his feet. He rolled his eyes at this, absolutely done with his hunting party. Turning on his heel, he found his horse with all of their supplies. “The bear hasn’t eaten in days, have you seen the state of this forest?” Merlin pulled out a small sack of fruits and bread he had nabbed from the kitchen before running to meet Arthur.

The remaining knights looked onto him in concern, none of them completely used to the words and voice Merlin used when practicing magic. It was a low hiss of words, his eyes illuminated by liquid sunlight. If he weren't on their side, they would be slightly fearful of the wizard. Especially when he made the small sack fly through the air like a canon smelling of freshly baked yeast.

The bear whined low in its throat, the sound like gravel being thrown by the handful at glass windows. It caught the flying sack in between its rows of teeth, tearing through the thing thread by thread like it had the horse. Arthur was within attacking distance when the beast unhinged its maw and let put the most rancid burp.

Arthur and Gwaine fainted where they once stood. The creature lumbered away like it hadn’t just killed a member of their cavalry and scared them lifeless. Merlin swam across the river without hindrance, slapping both Arthur and Gwaine across the face the moment he touched shore. “You two better have a pulse or I’m feeding you to the bear,” Merlin threatened, feeling at their necks and wrists.

“Please, mercy,” Gwaine groaned, “The thing smells like my grandfather’s cooking.”

Merlin chuckled despite himself, the sound causing Arthur to stir. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” the king murmured more to himself than to the rest of the party.

“Really? I would have never guessed. I assumed you had planned this all out, being killed by a beastly bear included. Was that not a part of your little list of Hells for Merlin?”

“This was supposed to be a date,” Arthur said instead, struggling to sit up properly. The smell of the beast lingered and Arthur could have thrown up. “I was supposed to impress you and confess.”

“Well call me impressed,” Merlin brushed Arthur’s hair out of his hair. It was soft to the touch, even riding in a forest for the whole day couldn’t ruin it. “But I’m planning the next date.”

“Next date?”

“Oh no, no, no, a concussion isn’t getting you out of this relationship,” Merlin shook his head with a grin and a gleam in his eyes.

“I don’t have a con- Ow!” Merlin smacked him over the head. “That hurt!”

“Really? It felt like I was just hitting rocks.”

“You can’t say that to me, Merlin. I’m your boyfriend.”

Merlin couldn’t hide the blush on his face and to be honest, he didn’t want to. “I say that because you’re my boyfriend. It's said with endearment, dear.” Arthur grinned at the pet name, Merlin returning the smile as he pulled the king close. Pressing their lips together should have been done ages ago, it was breathtaking. Merlin tasted of faint crisp apples, Arthur of something utterly his own.

Arthur tasted of something delicious, Merlin decided. And he was starving.

[bbugyu]

finding something to do + kim mingyu

you had spent your better years bored with mingyu, and he thought holding your hand felt like holding his fleeting youth.

wc.4088 | almost smut, mostly fluff, friends to lovers/uni au, fem reader, that one trope where there is mutual pining but both of them think the other is gay, maybe like half an ounce of angst if you squint Really Hard, lots o swears

i usually make my fics hella neutral as far as gender and size and orientation goes but hahahaha this ones for the average sized bi girls! also just realized that i stopped using capitalization in my fics and yk what? im fine with it. this fic is based off of the song of the same name by hellogoodbye.

*

“stop honking, other people live here.”

mingyu grinned at you through the half-open passenger window, leaning over to pop open the door. the handle had never recovered from a giant cup of soda crashing into the side of his ride in the middle of a particularly rowdy summer shenanigan, the sticky substance soaking into the mechanics before he had gotten the chance to hose it down in a friend's driveway at 2am. now, you had to wait for him to open it from the inside on all future shenanigans, and you could only roll the window down half way, lest you have to laugh at mingyu aggressively pulling on the window between his palms as you pulled on the motorized switch to coerce it back into the closed position. you slid into the co-pilot seat and looked over to your best friend.

"if you answered your texts i wouldn't have to honk."

you rolled your eyes, tugging on the seatbelt. "go, gyu."

he laughed and shifted into drive, turning up his stereo as he pulled away from your apartment building, hand returning to the stick to shift up a gear. "thanks for coming."

"what else was i gonna do?" you slipped the slides off your socked feet and pulled your legs to sit cross-legged. "i finished rewatching avatar."

"study, maybe?"

you looked at him. he was right, finals were right around the corner, but you had an uncharacteristically light load this quarter (due to you not realizing you needed approval for one course before registration and it filling before you could sign up) and you weren't too worried about the three tests you would have to take in a couple weeks. "could say the same to you."

mingyu let out another laugh, suddenly singing along to the song as he ran a hand through his hair. you smiled at his profile, then pulled out your phone to update your instagram story. as you moved the camera over to mingyu from the streetlight-lit road ahead of you, he laughed midway through a lyric and practically yelled "mwoya" at you, gripping the wheel with both hands and jumping in his seat. 

you laughed hysterically, frantically saving the video before pointing the screen at him. he turned down the music to watch it, eyes flickering between your phone and the road. he laughed at the way it cut off on both of you screaming. "what was that?"

you giggled, swiping through filters. "you being dumb."

"you love me."

"you're right."

mingyu smiled at that, adjusting the stereo volume again, bobbing his head to the rhythm as he drove to the one convenience store in your town that sold his favorite mint chocolate chip ice cream, a mission he had called upon you for at 11:30pm. when it switched over to a song you knew, mingyu noticed your subconscious humming to the tune and a few lyrics falling out of your lips, the wind from the open window whipping through your hair.

by the time you reached a small parking lot across town, you had yawned probably half a dozen times.

"tired?" mingyu pouted as he rolled up the windows and unbuckled his seatbelt. "sorry for dragging you out."

you shook your head, following suit and pulling yourself out of the car. "i slept too late, i think. i'll be fine."

you followed mingyu across the quiet street to the convenience store the two of you frequented perhaps too often, finding yourself there after late night study sessions or mid-barhop for ramen, snacks, and most importantly, the mint choco ice cream bar of mingyu's affections.

after perusing the options as if you hadn't been there earlier in the week, you picked out an ice cream bar as well as a couple bags of chips. you walked up behind mingyu at the register as he was pulling out his wallet.

"i'll pay if you come over and play smash," he said, nodding at your hands full of snacks.

you eyed him. "what's the catch?"

"you can't be mad when i play meta knight."

you groaned, but put your things on the counter for the cashier that was likely the same age as you both to scan. "fine. i'll still beat you."

mingyu grinned at you, and you snagged your ice cream bar off the counter as he paid, the other snacks getting put in a plastic bag. you grabbed the bag and held it open as mingyu retrieved his own ice cream, both of you peeling them open as you exited the convenience store.

"mm," you let out, mouth full of ice cream as you leaned against the metal bar meant to lock up bikes on the sidewalk. "it's nice out tonight."

mingyu agreed, biting into his treat. "it's refreshing but not too cold."

you nodded, watching cars pass on the street. "i can't believe it's almost summer already."

"me neither," he said, squatting in front of you as he ate. "we're gonna be seniors next year."

you groaned. "have you decided if you're doing summer quarter?"

he shook his head. "i decided against it. i only really have to take one extra course next year so it didn't feel worth it."

you nodded, looking down at him. he was looking to his left, absentmindedly watching someone walk their dog across the street.

after the ice cream was finished and you threw away your wrappers, mingyu cursed slightly at the fact that he still managed to get his finger sticky despite doing his best to avoid meltage. after he popped open your door, he dug in the glovebox for some wet naps, playfully knocking your knees aside as you tried to sit. you laughed, waiting for him to be done so you could put the bag of snacks on the floor in front of you.

when you met mingyu sophomore year, your hair was shorter and he was blonde. he had sat next to you in your shared ecology lab and promptly fell asleep before the class had even started, and you had to nudge him awake when the professor was handing out the syllabus. 

"gah, fuck, i'm up," he waved a massive hand in your face, blinking away his sleep before focusing on you with furrowed brows. "you're not seokmin."

seokmin was his roommate, you learned, and also met a few weeks later when you went over to their dorm to work on assignments together. they've since upgraded to a compact but efficient three bedroom apartment and acquired another roommate. you stared out the window into the night sky as mingyu drove to said apartment, blinking heavily at the lure of a nap. you pulled your knees up to your chest and tried to listen to the song playing from the stereo.

only moments later, mingyu glanced over and noticed that your eyes had fluttered shut, your head lolling against the window. he wondered, staring at you in awe, how much longer he could pretend he wasn't in love with you.

when you and mingyu had first gotten to know each other, you admittedly had a bit of a crush on him, until you found out he had a boyfriend. even after they split almost four months later, and you had been there to bring him chicken and beer while he fumbled with the drawstrings of his sweatpants and rubbed his swollen eyes with the back of his hand, you decidedly resigned any feelings for him, knowing it was a lost cause for you to pine after a guy that didn't even like girls. hell, you barely even liked boys - you had gone on dates with six different girls, yet not a single guy since you came to university, and mingyu had sat on your bed while you tried to get ready, giving a concise "try again" when you showed him an oversized sweatshirt.

"why not this?" you asked, groaning.

"you have good proportions, bitch. show 'em off."

rolling your eyes, you rooted around in your closet for something less shapeless. your style had always skewed a little athletic, a little hip-hop. you bought mostly mens fit shirts, making the task slightly more difficult. you found a nice pair of high waisted jeans you hadn't worn in a while and paired it with a drop shoulder tee and a turtleneck, finally getting the approval of your best friend.

all of the facts laid in front of him led mingyu to believe you were completely and utterly gay, and even if you weren't, your taste in women suggested he was the exact opposite of your type. you liked petite girls. girls with long hair and that wore skirts and lots of rings. the kind of girls that you had to lean down to kiss. 

so he continued to try out the pool of eligible bachelors in your area that were within a respectable age range. he had even tried to date some girls, but every time they tried to suggest the dates go further, he would think of the way his best friend's fingers had sent electricity through his entire body just by brushing an eyelash off his lip, or how you would trace the veins that ran through his wrist as you watched a movie together on your couch. the way your touch set his skin on fire. the way he wished he could just admit the way he felt about you. 

he always smiled and said he'd call them sometime. he never did. it wasn't fair to them, but neither was him only ever asking them out because they reminded him of you somehow.

guys were easier, he thought. they didn't remind him of you.

mingyu was so caught up in the sight of you sleeping that he absolutely ran a red. he cursed under his breath when he realized the light he was passing under had been yellow for longer than he had thought, thinking how lucky he was that the cross street was empty. good thing he was almost home.

"hey, sleepyhead," he said when you stretched suddenly as he pulled into his parking spot. "do you wanna go home?"

you shook your head, yawning. "no, i need to eat chips."

he laughed and killed the engine. "you left a pair of house shorts here and you can borrow a shirt," he said, suggesting you crash in his bed when you got too tired for smash.

"what, you don't wanna carry me home?"

mingyu slammed the car door shut and shoved his hand in his pocket. "i'd rather not, no."

you stretched again, a hand reaching out to ruffle his dark hair as he tried to punch in the door code for you to enter his building. "mean."

he laughed at you again, leading you up the three flights of stairs to his apartment.

"hey, minghao," you said, waving at the shadowy figure that was seemingly melting into the couch, illuminated by the tv.

he raised a hand in acknowledgment, sitting with his neck at a 90 degree angle, a movie with subtitles on, and his phone face down on his chest. "yo."

"wanna play smash?" mingyu asked.

"no thanks."

mingyu dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. "we're playing smash."

"you're funny."

you laughed, and mingyu pouted. "please, myungho?"

minghao finally looked at his roommate. "i'm watching annihilation. the switch is handheld for a reason."

you watched mingyu roll his eyes with a smirk on your lips. he went over to the switch dock by the tv and grabbed the console, sticking his tongue out at hao. you giggled, following mingyu down the short hall to his room as minghao waved you both off.

"have i said that i like hao a lot?"

"yes," mingyu said. "like, every time you come over."

you smiled, throwing open his dresser and carding through the shirts that would surely be massive on you. "well i do."

the switch got tossed onto his bed and he sneaked around you to grab a pair of sweatpants from the drawer above the one you were looking in. he also pulled out the pair of shorts you had left, putting them on top of the dresser. "i'm getting naked now."

you shook your head lightly, knowing he was only changing his pants, but kept your back to him out of respect anyways. you picked up the shorts. "did you wash these?"

"yeah, i threw 'em in with my laundry last week."

you nodded, spotting the color you had been looking for. "aha!" you pulled on the ashy gray shirt, revealing one of your favorite things you had ever convinced mingyu to buy. an extremely soft, lightly distressed shirt with a tasteful rip along the neckline. "i'm getting naked now."

"clear," mingyu said, letting you know he wasn't looking as he flopped onto his bed, propping up the switch on his bedside table and setting up the controllers.

you pulled off your loose sweatshirt and swapped it for the borrowed shirt, then shoved the denim shorts down your legs, laughing lightly at how your sleep shorts completely disappeared under the shirt. you turned around, stretching out your arms to show how large the shirt was on you. "look."

mingyu rolled onto his back and propped himself on an elbow to look at you, giggling as you swam in his shirt. outwardly, he smiled, but internally, he thought this was simultaneously the worst and best idea he had ever had.

you looked absolutely stunning in his clothes, he thought, but only said that you were cute. he ignored the familiar feeling in his stomach and handed you a controller as you crawled onto his bed, settling on your stomach next to him.

he had to stop putting himself in this position. you were far too pretty for him to forget his feelings towards you.

but maybe that's what he wanted. maybe he didn't want to forget his feelings. maybe the few times you had told him his dates were attractive weren't just objective reassurances. maybe he held onto the sliver of hope that you could possibly be attracted to him, too.

you slammed your face into the bed as the game loaded. "why are all switch load times utter ass?"

mingyu adjusted so that he was laying on his side with an arm propping him up and flicked the back of your head. "because the console can fit in my palm."

your hand went up to swat at the culprit of the flick, and you pouted as you lifted your head to look at him. "that's not fair, your hands are huge." you wiggled onto your elbows to grab his wrist, pressing your palms together. "see?"

mingyu laughed, feeling his cheeks heat up. "well, you have baby hands, so." he punctuated his point by curling his finger over yours. you pouted again, then slipped your fingers between his, thinking about how nice his warm hand felt over yours.

you blinked, then pulled your hand away and grabbed the joycon as the game finally loaded the skippable intro, hoping you weren't blushing too much as you cleared your throat. mingyu stared at your pink cheeks for a moment, his mind reeling. was he seeing something that wasn't there? or was his hope in you validated?

you were clicking through the menu and felt his eyes on you, and all you wanted to do was hide behind your hair and avoid eye contact. you nearly jumped when mingyu cleared his throat.

"hey, i have something i've been meaning to ask you."

your eyes met his briefly. "shoot."

"do you…" mingyu paused, trying to think of the right way to phrase his question. "i know you have exes that are guys, but is that something you're, like… still into?"

your ears burned and you wiggled until you could sit back on your own legs, fiddling with the hem of the shirt you stole and hesitating to make eye contact. "you mean, being with guys?"

"yeah," he said, watching you intently with his brows furrowed.

"yeah, i mean, i guess?" you shrugged. "i like both."

mingyu nodded slowly, watching your eyes as they stared at the wall across his small room. your cheeks were a rosy pink, and you were chewing on your lip. "me too."

you looked at him finally, your eyes wide. "what?"

he gave you a crooked smile. "i like guys and girls, too."

if you were blushing before, now you were blazing. "oh, my god, i'm an idiot."

he laughed. "what, did you think i was, like, totally gay?"

"shut up," you threw yourself down onto his bed, hiding your face in the blanket. in your defense, he had definitely called himself gay before, but you definitely called yourself gay constantly, so maybe you shouldn't put so much weight in those words. "shut up, i'm embarrassed. i don't want to talk about it."

hearing mingyu laugh next to you made you feel like you were on fire, then you felt the ghosting of fingers on your arm. you froze. mingyu's voice was soft when he spoke again. "do you wanna talk about how i have a massive crush on you?"

you slowly raised your head to look at him, cheeks burning red. he gave you a small smile before you choked out a "huh?"

"i ran a red earlier," he said suddenly, his fingers moving from your arm to absentmindedly brush your hair out of your face, then to your shoulder, then back. it was a reassuring touch, one you had felt from him before, but you still were caught off guard by his sudden succession of confessions. "you were sleeping and i couldn't stop looking at you. i totally could have crashed the car."

"dude, what the fuck." you stared at him, then lowered your voice to imitate him. "'hey i have a crush on you and i almost killed us both because of it.' that's you, that's what you sound like right now."

mingyu laughed in your face and you couldn't help the chuckle that fell out of your mouth. "sorry i almost killed us."

"i guess i can forgive you," you said, picking at your nails suddenly despite them being clean. "especially because i might have a crush on you, too."

mingyu kept staring at you with a fond smile, and you wondered if he could also hear how hard your heart was beating. "can i kiss you?"

you looked at him, trying not to stare at his lips. you nodded, almost hurriedly. his hand pulled against your back as you rolled your body to face him, and your hand reached out for his jaw as he pulled you into him. and when his lips crashed into yours, you yelped slightly, melting into him almost immediately. they were plush against yours, and he was gentle as he pushed your back onto the mattress, adjusting to hover over you slightly. when you let your head fall back onto the bed, he grinned at your blown out pupils and swollen lips, buzzing at the way your hands curled around around his neck, fingers digging into the hair at his nape. he adjusted again, a hand finding your waist as he pulled back to let you swing your leg across his lap. you pulled him back over you, enjoying the way his hips hit the back of your thighs as he caged you in with an elbow by your shoulder. you stared up at him, heart racing, eyes flicking down to his lips too many times for him to not take the hint.

mingyu had always enjoyed pleasing you. this definitely felt like the next natural progression.

he dove into you, and your arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders. mingyu was a hugger, and he also liked wearing very little clothing when he worked out, so you knew what he looked like under the plain white tee. knew what he felt like. but suddenly - with his hands slipping under what was technically his shirt to properly feel your waist, with how his tongue fought with yours - you really felt him for the first time. the way his shoulder muscles rippled just beneath the skin as he adjusted, clearly trying to not make his growing bulge so obvious. you considered the fact that you might get to see how much leg day really benefited, considering how much he posted about it with sweaty post-workout pictures on his story.

mingyu felt your thighs squeeze around his hips, pulling back slightly. "is this okay?"

"is it?" you responded, a hand pulling back to fall on his jaw. "i've wanted you for ages."

he laughed lightly. "god, we're idiots."

you had no time to respond before he was kissing you again, his hips rolling into yours, pulling a surprised moan from you. he ate it up, his fingers gripping your waist tighter at the sound. you felt his girth as it pressed against you, and you gasped. when was the last time you had been with a guy? high school?

when mingyu's teeth bit down on your lip, you were really glad he was the guy you were unconsciously waiting for.

he tugged on your hips as he rolled onto his back, pulling you to straddle his lap. you giggled slightly, settling back into the open mouthed kisses as he ran his hands from your ass up your back, slipping under the sports bra you were wearing.

then there was a knock. you yelped, burying your face in his shoulder as you heard the door swing open. "make room for king k r- oh shit!"

you laughed into mingyu's neck as he yelled for seokmin to get the hell out, his hands tugging the hem of the stolen shirt over your butt in an attempt to shield it from view. you heard him squeak out an "i'm sorry!" as the door shut again.

"i'll kill him."

you exhaled, the laughter still on your lips as you looked at his profile from where your cheek pressed against his shoulder. "bet he thinks we're secretly dating."

mingyu laughed, scratching an eyebrow before returning his palm to your ass. "not a secret now."

"oh, so we're dating now?"

mingyu craned his neck to look at you. "is that not what was going to happen?"

you giggled, sitting up and putting your hands on his chest. you adjusted your knees, fully aware of how the movement would rub you against his still hard bulge. "we have both fucked people without dating them afterwards, kim mingyu."

"ah," he said, digging his fingers into your soft ass and rutting into you gently, making you gasp. "we're gonna fuck? i thought we were just joking."

you slapped his chest, giggling still as you rolled your hips. "if you don't wanna, i could ask hao-"

"oh, shut up," he said, pulling you down to kiss him. "if you liked myungho like that you would have tried it ages ago."

you smiled, your thumb running over his adams apple as you placed gentle kisses on his jaw. "sweetie, are we jealous?"

"i don't deserve this, you know?" mingyu pulled your hips against him again, a low grunt tumbling from his beautiful mouth. "i haven't put my dick in a girl since i met you and now i'm with you and you're talking about my roommate? this seems extremely mean."

you giggled again, then placed your lips on his again. he instantly kissed you back, one hand leaving your ass to go to the back of your neck. "you're the only guy i ever think about," you whispered, getting repeatedly interrupted by mingyu's needy lips on yours.

the wolf-like grin that broke onto his face sent chills down your spine. "let's keep it that way."

*

seokmin's hand was still on the doorknob, his wide eyes blinking, when minghao paused his movie and sat up to poke his head out and look down the hall. "the hell was that?"

he puffed out his cheeks as he walked back into the living room, his palms clapping gently. "i thought you said y/n came over to play smash?"

minghao's eyebrow quirked up. "she did."

the eldest sat on the couch. "i thought mingyu was gay?"

"what?" minghao looked down the hall again. "wait, what? were they-" he stopped when he heard a muffled groan that was far too familiar.

seokmin grabbed the remote and pressed play, scratching his cheek as he turned up the volume. "what are we watching? catch me up."

[flowercrown-bard]

I'm just thinking about the first time Jaskier learns that Geralt names every horse he gets Roach. Does this amuse Jaskier? Does he realise the abandonment issues involved? Is Geralt nervous or embarrassed to tell him? Does this count as a prompt? I'm not sure if it does but I hope your day gets better!

that absolutely counts as a prompt! thank you :)

A Horse by Any Other Name

The insistent strumming of the lute was starting to get on Geralt’s nerves. One would think by now he’d be able to tune it out, but no. It was like everything the bard did was demanding Geralt’s full attention. The bard would probably let it get to his head if he knew, insisting that Geralt liked having him near or some such nonsense.

“The mighty steed by the name of Roach

Loyal even when a monster approach…es.”

The notes faltered as the bard stumbled over the words of his new song for the umpteenth time. “Damn it.”

Geralt’s lips twitched upwards, when the bard picked up the tune again, trying in vain to find a decent rhyme.

Eventually he gave up. Finally, some silence. Though not for long.

“Really, Geralt. Roach? How am I supposed to fit that into any song? She deserves to be sung about, but nothing makes a decent rhyme for that name and if I change the syntax it doesn’t fit the metre anymore.” He scoffed and put the lute onto his back. “Sometimes I think you only named her that to spite me. Roach! You couldn’t have picked literally any other name, could you? Something that would sound good in a ballad about heroism and adventure maybe?”

Geralt grunted. “No.”

His jaw clenched. The bard had no right to demand such a thing. It was none of his business what Geralt called his horse. Roach wasn’t here to be a shining accessory to the bard’s songs. She was his companion.

Despite his time at the theatre, the bard didn’t know how to take a cue. Geralt’s frown and obvious dismissal must not have been obvious enough for him.

The bard skipped some steps ahead, until he was walking backwards, looking at him with an impish grin.

“Oh…that almost sounds like it has a story behind it.” He spread his arms widely. “The great tale of why Roach is the only acceptable name for this valiant mare.”

“There isn’t one.” None that the bard would get to hear any time soon, at least.

Geralt guided Roach around the bard and urged her on to walk faster.

“Come on!” He ignored the bard calling after him. “Tell me!”

“Fuck off, bard.”

Geralt didn’t look back, but after a few seconds he heard an indignant huff and the sound of hurried footsteps.

The bard didn’t broach the subject again. Almost a week had passed and Geralt was starting to relax, hoping against his better judgement that the bard had lost interest. Experience should have told him that this hope was stupid.

As per usual Geralt was riding on horse while the bard walked behind him like a stone stuck in one’s shoe, annoying and likely to still be there, even when one thought they had finally gotten rid of it for good. And as per usual the bard was talking.

“My feet are killing me, Geralt! Don’t ever let me put on these shoes when we are going for a long walk again. Gorgeous as they are, they are not made for adventuring.”

Geralt grunted and damn it, he was unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

The bard must have picked up on it, because he doubled down, sighing overdramatically.

“You could save me from my misery, you know? You are supposed to be my hero. My knight in shining armour. So, if we keep travelling together for much longer, you could just let me ride –“

“No,” Geralt said, though at this point it was more to see the bard’s reaction than anything else. He was loath to admit it, but the bard had a point. If he were to stick around, it would be better if he didn’t have to walk everywhere. It was slowing them down and it would do no good for the bard to get blisters. If for some reason the bard would ever get in danger, being exhausted from a long walk would prove fatal.

Geralt ground his teeth together. He shouldn’t be thinking such things. There would be no travelling together. Soon enough the bard would get tired of trailing after Geralt and find someone else to latch onto, probably some pretty woman who openly showered him in adoration.

The bard’s huff brought him back to the here and now, in which the bard was still very much by his side.

“Fine then. Maybe in the next town I will just buy my own horse. And I will give it a truly beautiful name, one that can actually be used in my poetry. Like Pegasus. That is a name worthy of ballads.”

Geralt tensed. He didn’t mean to, but his heels must have dug into Roach’s sides, for she made a disgruntled sound.

The bard chuckled. “Don’t worry, Roach, my dear.” The bard came closer and gently stroked her nostrils. Geralt couldn’t help the relief he felt when Roach didn’t snap at the bard, biting the fingers that he so dearly needed for his playing. “You are still my one and only Roach.”

“She isn’t.”

The words were out before Geralt could stop himself.

The way the bard rolled his eyes was far too exaggerated for him to be truly annoyed. “Oh hush, you can stop it with your boorishness. I know you get touchy about her, but you can’t deny that Roach and I have become friends.” He paused. “Just like you can’t deny that we have become friends.”

Geralt could and very much would deny that as often as he must until the bard finally saw reason. Geralt’s jaw worked while the bard looked up at him challengingly.

Ah fuck it.

“That’s not what I meant. She isn’t the only Roach.” He paused, trying to find the right words. “Not the first one anyway.”

“The first one?” Despite Geralt avoiding the bard’s eyes, he could see his expression turn confused. “You mean there were others before her? And there will be Roaches after her?”

Geralt nodded curtly. And that was that. At least as far as Geralt was concerned. The bard obviously had a different view on things.

“So that’s why you didn’t want to talk about her name!” There was a smile in his voice that had no business being there. “It’s alright, you know. I won’t judge you for not being creative with names. Happens to the best of us. To be frank, I think it’s quite endearing.”

Geralt snapped around sharply. “Stop talking about things you know nothing about.”

He was about to spurn Roach on, just to get away from the conversation and the uncomfortably tight feeling in his chest, when he noticed that the bard had fallen eerily quiet.

Geralt risked a glance over his shoulder to find the bard staring at the ground, where he was kicking a stone in front of him, apparently lost in thought. Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. He knew he was gruff and just overall not good company, but he hadn’t thought that he would actually manage to get the bard to shut up. Somehow it didn’t sit right with him. As much as the constant chatter could be annoying, it was part of the bard and losing it felt a step closer to the inevitable. Still, he didn’t know what to do about it. He had never been good at keeping things close.

He almost slumped in relief, when the bard spoke up again, quieter this time and with none of the dramatics and exaggerated emotion of a performance. “What was the first Roach like?”

Geralt’s breath hitched. It had been so long since he had taken the time to think back to the first one, even though the memory never left him.

When Geralt didn’t immediately answer, the bard swallowed and averted his eyes. “Sorry. Ignore my question. I don’t actually want you to talk about things you don’t want to talk about.”

“He wasn’t mine,” Geralt said, unsure how much the bard was willing to hear, but feeling the strange need to tell him anyway. “When I became a witcher, I didn’t have a horse. I was quite disappointed about that actually.” His lips twitched. “It would have fit into the ridiculous idea I had about being some heroic defender of mankind.”

The bard started fidgeting and pressed his lips together, like he was burning to say something, but holding back to let Geralt talk. Geralt wouldn’t admit it, but he was grateful for it.

“The first monster I killed…. let’s just say the one I saved didn’t exactly see me as a defender.” His brows drew together at the memory. “After she regained consciousness, she ran away as fast as she could. Didn’t care that she had left her horse behind. I didn’t want him either. I was no hero and I was too bitter to think of how useful a horse would be.

“But he kept following me around.” A smile stole itself onto Geralt’s face. “Just wouldn’t leave me behind, that stubborn horse. For a week or so I didn’t give him a name. I wasn’t planning on keeping him. It was only when I had to choose between spending my coin on food for him or for myself that I decided to name him. I caught my own food that day – a roach – and figured it was a good enough name. It wasn’t the best, but I wasn’t going to keep the horse for long anyway. He didn’t leave though. Stayed with me until he wasn’t able to run fast enough when a griffin got away from me.”

There was that silence again. It was what Geralt had wanted, wasn’t it? For the bard to be quiet. But this silence was heavy, filled with something Geralt didn’t dare name, lest he would have to admit to himself that the bard wasn’t just some idiot who only followed him because he hadn’t yet realised the foolishness of it.  

He scoffed, filled with the unexpected need to hear the bard react in some way.

“You satisfied?” Geralt’s voice sounded bitter even in his own ears. “Is that something you can make a song out of?”

“No. I don’t think I will,” the bard said quietly, thoughtfully. So unlike the way Geralt was used to hearing him speak. He wasn’t sure if he minded it. “Thank you for telling me.”

Geralt grunted, his throat suddenly dry. For a terrifying moment, he had come so close to making a fool of himself by thanking the bard for listening.

When he looked at the bard out of the corner of his eye, he had a tiny smile dancing on his lips.

“It’s good to finally know that she is named after the fish.” Something loosened inside Geralt at the bard’s light-hearted words. “For the longest time I thought our dearest Roach was named after a cockroach and that would have just been a strange name.”

Geralt huffed, but didn’t hide the tiny smile that tugged at his lips. “Says someone named after a flower.”

The hearty laugh was enough to vanquish the last of the heaviness around Geralt’s chest that made it hard to breathe.

“So you do know my name after all.” The bard cocked his head to the side, smile still in place. “I had begun to wonder if you just didn’t know and reached a point where it would have been embarrassing to ask.”

“Hard to miss the name people shout when they chase you out of their rooms.”

The bard grinned. “Not to mention the multitude of adoring fans shouting my name. As they will yours once I make you famous.”

Geralt snorted.

“Actually, could you halt Roach for a moment? There’s been a pebble stuck inside my shoe for forever now and I really need to get rid of it.”

Geralt lifted a brow, but did as the bard had said. His breathe got stuck in his throat when the bard placed a hand on his leg for balance, as he took one boot off.

The smile on the bard’s face when he had finally managed to shake the pebble out of it was incredibly smug.

“Alright then, onwards!”

Geralt hesitated. “Come here.”  

“What?”

“I said come here. Onto Roach. I want to reach town before nightfall and I can’t do that when stones keep getting stuck in your shoes.”

For a heartbeat, the bard looked at Geralt with an unreadable expression, before a grin spread across his face.

It was only when he was sat behind Geralt with his arms slung around him, that the bard spoke again. “Just in case you were worried. I am not going to leave you, Geralt.”

Geralt sighed, but somehow the annoyance he had come to expect at such a declaration didn’t come.

“I am afraid you’re right, Jaskier.”

[lunam00na]

An Unlikely Affair: Chapter 2 - Down the rabbit hole..

Amélie spent the few hours she had left sorting out what little belongings she had and distributing them amongst some of the other peasants she had become familiar with from her years of working various temp jobs. The peasants were thankful, but curious as to why she was giving away all of her things. Her response was that she was going to stay in another nearby city, where some long lost family lived. Though she felt a little guilty for lying, she knew from the odd context of the letter that it was best that nobody knew where she was truly going. Not to mention the fact that the instructions stated she was to wait under some bridge in the darkness of night to catch a ride to the palace. 

Her gut quivered at the thought of being alone on these dangerous streets at night.. “Lets hope I survive long enough to actually get to the damn place..” she thought wryly. With her belongings gone, and nothing left for her to do but wait, Amélie gave a final goodbye to her small home. Coarse, wet wood brushed against her fingertips, as she placed the palm of her right hand against the shack’s door. With a sigh, she muttered under her breath, “Goodbye, you. You’ll make someone else a small refuge now.” She lingered like that for a moment, recalling a handful of good times she had spent here in the city of Grimshores. 

Her wild blonde hair was dampened from the rain; it waved back and forth in the wet breeze. She wore a brown overcoat, littered with holes that she had patched herself with whatever bits of fabric she could find. Underneath was a simple white day dress, which was more of a tan color now from the dirt and mud, than white. The clothing clung closer to her skin the longer she stood in the rain; she was skinny as a rail. 

“Okay, it’s time to go,” she rasped, her nerves getting the best of her for a second. Her head finally managed to convince her legs, and so she set off for the bridge east of town. It would take her nearly an hour to reach the bridge by foot; judging by the position of the moon in the sky, she guessed it was already past midnight. The walk gave her mind time to wander; she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the words Genny had written, than just a job opportunity. The thought crossed her mind that this was some sort of trick, perhaps she was going to meet some clever fiend under that bridge, and she would be mugged, raped and killed.. Or forced to become a prostitute for the benefit of some sick and twisted man.. 

“No. Don’t think of that,” Amélie corrected herself sternly, quickening her pace. She walked briskly down the dimly lit sidewalk. Now she was out of the slums, almost at the edge of town. The streets were all but dead, aside from the occasional homeless person sleeping on whatever dry spot they could find. Still, she found herself slipping her hand into her coat pocket, clutching a crudely fashioned knife. The letter had instructed her to bring no belongings, but she simply could not travel this far in the dark without some type of protection. She knew that if she were attacked, there was little she could do despite having this shoddy knife; but she would not go down without a fight. That was for damn sure. 

Her mind turned to the Prince.. The King. Would she meet them? Surely the King would take no interest in meeting a lowly servant such as herself. But the Prince? Maybe. Genny did mention he had come to her himself in search of help. Her cousin must have made a grand impression on the Royals. It shouldn't surprise Amélie, her cousin was quite bodacious for someone of their social standing, and she was a damn good cook. A smile played upon the corner of her lips; reminded of the trouble the two of them had gotten into during their childhood. "Hard to believe we will be together again," Amélie shook her head and snickered. 

Finally after what felt like an eternity, she made it to the bridge where she was supposed to be picked up. There was nobody here yet, or at least that she could see in this darkness. She drew closer to the bridge, inspecting the surrounding area before rounding the side and ducking underneath the wooden structure. There was nothing around but trees, and some other vegetation. A small creek ran beneath the bridge, and she was careful not to fall in, lest she wanted to catch a cold. She gripped a wooden beam with her hands, steadying herself there. The constant trickling of water made it difficult to hear if someone was approaching. By her estimate it was almost time for her ride to arrive. She waited, her eyes searching amongst the darkness for any flicker of movement. 

A few minutes passed, and suddenly the sound of hooves pounding the earth reached her ears. Amélie swallowed hard, her heart flickered anxiously beneath her breast; she felt like it was trying to break free. She put her hand over her mouth, trying to mask her heavy breaths. The rider grew closer, and finally stopped on top of the bridge above her. A moment passed, then the rider dismounted; the thud of their feet against the wooden bridge sounded loudly in her ears. Amélie cringed and grabbed hold of the knife inside her overcoat, just in case. 

Her heart thumped so loudly in her chest she was afraid the rider could hear it.. She stood slowly, inhaling and exhaling a deep breath, and prepared herself for what could happen next. The water was still flowing somewhat loudly under the bridge, but the rider was so close, Amélie could hear their feet brushing against the grass. Her hand clenched tighter around the handle of the knife; finally the rider appeared in front of her. 

He held a small lantern in one hand, the faint glow illuminated his features. Their eyes met, and for reasons unknown to her, Amélie's heart skipped a beat. 

"Are you Amelie Waters?" The stranger asked, his voice low and husky. She followed the movement of his lips with her eyes, she had heard him speak but was too distracted to answer. His eyes were the loveliest shade of hazel she'd ever seen, and they held such warmth behind them. She almost immediately felt at ease with this man; which gave her a sense of comfort yet concerned her at the same time. How was this stranger able to dazzle her within seconds of their first meeting? She felt like some silly teenager with a crush; her face heated in embarrassment. 

His hair was dark and curly with a messy short style. His face was handsome and he had a strong angular jawline to match. He was quite tall, having to duck under the bridge, and he would surely loom over her in his normal posture. 

"Ma'am? Are you Miss Amélie Waters? If so, we really should be going." The man repeated in his low, hushed voice. Amélie blinked once, twice, and then straightened herself. She felt utterly ridiculous that the man had to repeat himself because she was too busy oogling him. She shook her head once, breaking their gaze before speaking, "Y-yes, I am Amélie Waters. I'm sorry for not answering you sooner.. Anyway, uh right.. We should be going now." Oh God. He must think I'm an imbecile. She groaned internally, mentally giving herself a facepalm. 

The man smirked for a moment and then composed himself once more. "We can make more formal introductions later, but for now we should get going. People will be getting up for work soon and I'd rather we not be seen." He said firmly and motioned for her to come with him. "Of course," Amélie replied, following his lead up the creek bank and onto the wooden bridge. His horse was waiting there, it's coat was as black as the night itself. 

He took the reins in one hand and hoisted himself upon the beast with the other. 

"Need a hand?" He asked politely, outstretching his right arm to her. She took the offered hand silently, thinking it best not to say anything lest she make more of a fool of herself. With his help she sat in the saddle behind him, her torso pressing against his back. She felt her face flush again; hotness rushing to her cheeks, and she tried not to think about their close proximity. 

"You have to hold onto me like this," he instructed, reaching behind him and gently grasping her hands then placing them on his sides. Her heart started racing again, but she did as he said and held onto his sides tightly. The last thing she wanted was to fly from this horse. At this rate it wouldn't surprise me.

"Okay, let's go!” Her chauffeur commanded, and his horse began a gallop toward the castle. 

Amélie stifled a shriek as the horse tore off down the winding dirt road. Oh my god he’s trying to kill me. Her fingers dug into his sides and she buried her head between his shoulder blades. She couldn’t help but notice his scent; he smelled of musk and sandalwood. It pleased her that he smelled so good, because most of the peasants she had lived around didn’t have access to soaps and perfumes. It was a rare occasion that a man walked past her and she found his scent attractive. So far it seems everything about this man is attractive.. She mused, and then scolded herself for being such a tart. Am I so sex depraved that I fling myself at the first decent looking man who doesn’s smell like horse manure? She questioned herself internally with a chuckle. 

True, she had been quite some time without intimacy. It was at least 4 years since she last had sex.. There wasn’t much time to think about her next boot knocking when she was fighting to survive on the streets. 

“You hanging on alright back there, Miss Waters?” The man asked abruptly, shaking her mind from the gutter. She blushed furiously, even though she knew he couldn’t read her thoughts; thankfully. “I’m fine,” she muttered into his back, “I’ll be even better once my feet are back on the bloody ground!” He chuckled at her response; he had one of those laughs that made you want to smile. The man replied, “I’m sorry, Tuck doesn’t go slow!” Amélie scoffed, “No shit! You don’t say?” That earned her another laugh, she could feel the vibrations from his laughter in her hands. It gave her a warm feeling. She hadn’t felt so light in such a long time. 

The rest of their ride was uneventful and silent. At last they came to a slow trot in front of the castle gates. She had never actually seen the place in person; it was a sight to behold, even in the dark. They rode past the gates which automatically swung open as they approached. “Strange,” she thought, “you’d think there would be more of a security protocol in place for entering the palace grounds.” She summed it up to the guards recognizing who her chauffeur was. 

They came to a stop at a side entrance to what she guessed was the main part of the castle. The stranger dismounted his horse and offered her a hand down. “There you are, safely escorted with your feet back on the ground.” He said with a smug look on his face; his lips hinted at a smile. She smirked and couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him. “I never caught your name, by the way?”

“Apologies, Miss. My name is Roman. Roman Octavius Reynolds. I am the Prince of Albanon and heir next in line to the throne.” 

Her heart stopped. 

[goosewithasaxophone]

Attack On Titan seasons 3+4 Spoilers (and 1 if you haven’t started it or gotten halfway thru it yet)

EVERYONE LISTEN UP OR DONT IDC BUT I JUST FINISHED EPISODE 8 OF AOT AND I HAVE AN IRRELEVANT HEADCANON THAT HELPS ME FALL ASLEEP AT NIGHT

Levi says to the kids (i guess they’re not kids anymore 😭😭😭😭) “Don’t die on me” and i just AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA it got me thinking how fuckin TIRED THIS POOR MAN IS of LOSING HIS FRIENDS

he lost his mom as a young child, his squad in s1, Kenny, Erwin and almost Hange (TOO CLOSE MOM TOO CLOSE) in s3, now Sasha in s4 ??? he needs a BREAK !!!!!!!!!!!!

so here’s my headcanon that i think about nonstop ☺️☺️

Levi is alone in his office after they return from the fight between Eren and the other titans. Sasha is put to rest with her things gathered and folded nicely on Levi’s desk to return to her family (are they alive ?? whatever i don’t remember).

He’s sitting at his desk writing a letter to go with Sasha’s things when they’re given back to whomever. Hange walks in, she’s exhausted. They both are. She stands in his doorway watching him. He tells her to come in, his tone gruff and assertive and his voice low and tired. His eyes are dark, even under the light of the lantern on his desk, shedding a low warm glow around the little room.

Hange steps closer and stands behind him where he sits, reading over his shoulder at the letter he’s writing. Beside it, she sees another letter, in fact, it’s a small pile of letters. Each paper has his scribbly writing inked and smudged and aged. She glided her fingers across the sides of the top page in the pile, trying to read them under the dull light. She sees the name “Erwin Smith” appear several times in several variances throughout the letter. Her heart twinges at the heartfelt words in the letter. Underneath that one she searches for other names in the other letters. She sees Petra, Oluo, Eld, and Gunther throughout the other pages.

By the time she finishes reading final letter in the pile she snaps back into the moment and notices Levi writing more aggressively on Sasha’s letter. His pen is taking the pressure from his hands and almost tearing through the paper. Hange has to place her hand on his wrist before he goes too far. He resists and tears a hole in the paper.

“Fuck,” he curses aggressively under his breath. Hange is about to say something, she opens her mouth to try to say something, anything that will reassure Levi that the tear in the page is nothing to fret, he can write another copy. But she knows she can’t say that because his words are authentic and to write another copy would be replicating a feeling already felt. That’s dwelling in the past and Levi doesn’t do that.

So she says nothing, and instead places her hand on his back. If she presses her palm flat against him she can feel his breath grow shallow and rigid. His breathing becomes audible.

Levi does not show emotion. He stares straight ahead and speaks monotonously no matter the situation. He uses his actions as expression and displays loyalty through his behavior.

Unless he’s alone with Hange.

Moments pass and Hange thinks he’s pulled himself together, so she takes a step back. Just as her fingertips lift from the man’s back he slams his fist on the desk and drops his face into his hands. Hange swoops down and throws herself over him like a protective blanket. She snakes her arms around him as far as they’ll go and squeezes tightly.

Levi curls forward from within her embrace and continues to try to control his breathing. He’s failing, they’re both aware, and neither say a word. It’s not until Hange realizes he isn’t going to immediately pull himself together that she takes another action. Shuffling her feet until she’s directly in front of him she brings her arms underneath his and raises him so he’s standing. She can hold him much closer this way.

“Fucking shit,” he sobs. Despite the lack of context Hange knows exactly what he’s talking about. It translated to “Why do I keep losing people?” She says the only thing she can think to say in the moment.

“Not me,” she whispers, feeling her own tears begin to sting her eyes. “Never me.”

“You were too close,” he mumbles. “Don’t ever fucking pull some shit like that again, he growled, remembering back to the sight of her being slammed against the trees, the sound of her voice shouting in pain as she hit the hard surfaces on her way down after her gear failed to suspend her. “That was too fucking close.”

Hange chuckles weakly. “I’ll do my best.”

“No you won’t. Your wreckless ass can’t stand not being at the center of danger.”

“What do you expect, that’s how we learn about things. From the center of them.”

“You’re fucking stupid.”

“I know.”

He brings his arms around her waist and pulls tightly. She knows he doesn’t mean the things he says. She knows he doesn’t think she’s intellectually stupid. He just doesn’t want to lose her too.

“You’re not gonna lose me, but I can’t lose you either, okay?” she said, trying to take a more encouraging turn. “I can’t handle those stupid kids on my own. Someone’s gotta be around to kick the shit outta them and keep ‘em in line, okay?” He nods against her chest and keeps his face buried in her.

It’s late evenings like these, when they return from some sort of mission, after Levi has changed out of his bloodstained clothes and Hange has restored her messy ponytail and everyone else has settled in for a long awaited rest, that Levi finds himself emotionally more vulnerable. It’s late evenings like these that when Hange is around and they’re alone, he can let himself be vulnerable. She’s his closest remaining partner.

It’s the pile of letters on his desk, never sent out, only ever growing with every additional squad member’s death, that Hange sees Levi’s true colors in. He’s not the cold, distant, abusive caption that everyone fears to anger lest they experience his wrath. He’s the damaged, healing, fragile captain that is so goddamn determined to keep his squads alive because every single time a member dies, another small piece of him dies with them. When the kids came into the picture he had never felt a greater weight on his shoulders. Every boy containing Farlan’s eyes and every girl containing Isabel’s, though no one saw it but him. He had to keep these stupid, wreckless, impulsive kids alive, because if he didn’t, who would?

But now the kids weren’t kids anymore. They were growing up. They were maturing. They were seeing things that toughened their skin and their hearts. They were taking control of their lives and realizing the real important things in life.

Levi was glad he could see them grow up and become wreckless adults instead of their old wreckless selves. But it also scared him, because he used to be that fresh new wreckless adult. And now he was the only one left. Him and Hange.

And that’s why he puts up an emotionless front. Because he and Hange are the last two left. The kids may think they are on their own, but Levi keeps an eye out. He watches and observes and takes pride in their enthusiasm on the good days and stays quietly sympathetic in the defeated hope on the bad ones. He’s watching because he cares so much. And that is what makes him so afraid.

Anyway that took me a half hour to type out because the more i thought about it while writing it the more developed it got. So there’s my big detailed headcanon, probably some misinformation in there but that’s because i don’t always understand what’s going on in the show and i’m far too behind to start the manga now. hope y’all enjoy and can suffer through the rest of the season along with me <3

[popculturebuffet]

Life And Times of Scrooge McDuck Retrospective: The New Laird of Castle McDuck! “And I’ll Remember It Poppa! There’s Always Another Rainbow!”

Hello all you happy people! And welcome back to my look at the Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck! And to make up for lost time im’ doing two instalments this month, and with luck and my schedule holding out I plan to finish the main series in September, doubling up again for the last two months to finish this up. 

Background wise there’s honestly not a lot this go round, as it’s less rooted in history and more Don Rosa’s need to settle an annoying flaw with continuity. Man oh man do I relate to that and having read comics for at least half my life, i’ve seen writers do this by the bucketload to fix decisions from other writers. Sometimes for the write reasons and sometimes because EVERYTHING WAS BETTER ON MY EARTH. Don Rosa, like most writers.. has done both. 

Here though it’s for the good and for understandable reasons: Barks had Scrooge’s origin as a poor shoeshine boy from Glasgow.. but also had a rather famous and awesome story, the Old Castle’s Secret, that also gave them a giant ancestral castle. Rosa fixed this by having the McDuck’s having lost it due to a combination of being driven off the land by a fake ghost dog and poor turns of fourtune meaning they coudln’t pay the taxes to live there and were behind on taxes on it, hence the Whiskervilles having taken it over in part one. 

But obviously the Whiskervilles coudln’t KEEP the castle as Scrooge owned it in present day, thus this chapter explains how he got it. It was a stroke of genius plot wise too as it allowed him to open each act in Scotland and using the castle to measure where Scrooge is in life: As a boy dreaming of getting it back, as a young man who while not a success succeeds at this, and as an older hardned man who realizes he simply doesn’t belong here anymore who has to leave his family’s legacy here behind to start a better one in America. 

The only other real story is that a sequence here was based on the film A Matter of Life and Death, and Rosa detailed in his notes his quest to get a copy as the distribution rights here were a nightmare at the time. Thankfully that’s clearly changed as a quick look on Amazon shows both a standard DVD release, mentioned by rosa in the book and a snazzier release by the Criteron Collection are both easily available. He ended up getting a copy from Canada, and while he didn’t get any insight at least got a neat addition to his collection. Admittedly this dosen’t add much to the story, I just thought it was neat. So with all of that settled, join me after the cut as Scrooge tries to buy back his family’s legacy.

And Scrooge has already arrived in Scotland, having reunited with Downy and Matilda, who as a refresher is more responsible and straightlaced here versus the 2017 incarnation.  Part of me DOES wish they hadn’t glossed over the reunion especially since this chapter is the last time we’ll see Scrooge and his Mom together before her utterly heartbreaking passing a few chapters down the road. But I get why we opened here instead: it’s a captivating open, with Scrooge speeding to the castle, his mother and sister trying to stave the rain off and time clearly of the essence. It sucks you in as we don’t know WHY Scrooge was summoned last time, only that it was bad enough he needed to come home, and thus ratchet’s up the tension until we find out shortly. 

It turns out the back taxes on Castle McDuck are up and the castle is being sold., doing so with some glasses, foreshadowing his iconic specs wearing as the snow and brightness of the praries in various seasons mean his eyes are all done fucked up like mine.  The Whiskervilles are naturally not only the prospective buyer but already trying to take the property prematurely, with Fergus and Jake holding the line, because love isn’t always on time. But Hortense is and when the Whiskervilles mock her daddy and uncle, planning to tear down the castle out of spite, her response reminds us why donald is a ball of rage and badassery...

Have I mentioned she’s my favorite part of this story? Because she is. Her response to scrooge being back is also just pure adorable. 

Scrooge does get a big reunion with his dad and uncle, getting a big hug from Fergus, if squshing his cream cheese sandwitch... and yes that’s apparently a real thing. I mean I do love me some cream cheese don’t get me wrong, but it just feels weird to put it on bread as the only thing, but I guess i’m a bit spoiled with crackers and bagels in my day and age or putting it on tosat with salmon and.. saying all of this both makes me very hungry for cream cheese. So I guess i’ts not all bad it’s just weird to me, especially since I don’t think it’d keep all that well unregrigrated but I also don’t know the times that well. Or maybe when your that poor and hungry, it dosen’t matter how good it is and maybe i’m just spoiled by my upper middle class existance. I dunno. The point is i’m going to go get me some cream cheese be back in a minute. Here have some music. 

For all two of you that didn’t clear out, Fergus naturally for the time, turns out to be sexist, insisting Jake get “The Women” home.

Though Rosa gets a great joke out of it by having Jake wonder if he can even reign Hortense in. And I do love Hortense’s character. Whlie i’ts simple, she’s simply an angrier version of her son without the penchant for half-assed schemes, it works and makes her stand out against the more subdued rest of the McDuck family outside of Scrooge. 

Fergus explains HOW it got so bad to Scrooge: While the McDuck ancestors pooled resources to automatically pay the taxes, eventually only having two poor old men who could barely keep their family fed and a slightly less poor pulp fiction writer somewhere in America meant the taxes piled up and the Whiskervilles are within a whisker’s reach of gettng the castle, something mentioned in part 1. 

It also provides a great payoff to the first part of Scrooge’s journey: while the boy bemoans only having gotten the 10,000 dollar check from the mine sale, and that will only just about cover the castle’s taxes, he feels disheratned as it’s ALL he’s accomplished.. but in a nice moment from Fergus he points it WASN’T all for nothing: Thanks to his work they get their home back. His family can move from the cramped confines of Dismal Downs back to their ancestral homeland like they always deserved. While he may of not achieved his goal of being rich yet.. he still achieved his goal of buying the castle back, the very thing that set him on this path in the first place. It’s telling though that it takes a reminder of that, that Scrooge is loosing sight of the very human, for lack of a better term, reasons he set out: while he’s finally built a better life for his family, if just so.. all he can see is that he’s not RICH. The money is starting to cloud his judgement.. and i’tll roll over him entirely before the series is over. 

The Head of the Whiskervilles shows up with the Sheirff.. whose also a Whiskerville lest you thought unfair and crooked policing was a strictly american thing. But Fergus points out their too early.. and Scrooge flashes his check. And when the Head Whiskerville scoffs at a mcduck having money... Scrooge points out he didn’t believe in ghosts either and brags about his awesomeness in the first chapter, revealing what he did and leaving The SHierff pissed and the older whiskerville ready with a plan: he decide......

Sadly not with children’s trading cards but with swords, and gets past the legality issue by simply challenging Scrooge’s pride and angering him into accepting. Argus, the head whiskerville whose name I just got from the comic, reveals his plan to the Shierff: While he’s dueling Scrooge Sheirff can snatch the bank statment.. though why Scrooge didn’t you know, cash it before coming and how an american banks tatment is valid in early 1900′s Scotland...

So the Duel is on.. and like the money he’s made, the Duel is another Marker of how far Scrooge has come and how despite still not having made his fortune yet he’s rich with EXPERINCE. His experince fighting cattle rustlers and pirates means he has the reflexes to easily outfight his opponent.. though him saying he learned how to fight “Injun Style from Buffallo Bill”, i.e. learned how to fight like a native american from a white guy and beat Sitting Bull with it just makes me feel like i’m watching that episode of Saved by the Bell where Zach has to learn not to be racist but then thinks this outfit is acceptable. 

Scrooge also tracks the guy using the tracking skills he learned from the blackfeet which again feel like the picture above , but send Argus running.. only to lure Scrooge into a fight on the castle battlemnt in the pooring rain and disarming him. Luckily the spirit of Sir Quackly gives the lad his sword back and Scrooge wins the fight.. but promptly gets hit by lighting while celebrating Caddyshack style. 

No really Scrooge is.. or close as he got knocked into the water and is now in heaven. Sir Quackly naturally doesn’t want to see the last hope of the Clan McDuck dies and goes to talk to the tribunal of McDucks to sort it out hence the Matter of Life And Death connection. 

The Tribunal is made up of former McDucks.. it turns out Scrooge is here because of Quackly: the lighting was SUPPOSED to hit the tower, distracting Argus, and they prepare to write Scrooge off because their more concerned with golf than the fact that their whole clan’s future is on the line.. which I do not get because unless you are Tiger Woods or the Film Caddyshack, golf usually is the boring garbage water of sports and this is from someone who dosen’t like sports to begin with. I do like the Missing Links of Moorshire though so there’s that. And golf episodes of shows are usually good.. the sport itself is just incredibly boring. And I sat through Mank. I know boring. I know wanting hours of my life back. Golf is the Mank of Sports. 

What we get is a pretty tiresome sequence honestly: Quackly points out the tribuanls faults while their just dicks who only care about golf. Which again, Mank of sports. Or if you prefer the Cloud Atlas of sports but with SLIGHTLY less untetionall racisim and sadly much less Tom Hanks and Hugh Grant. The point is golf sucks and while I ilke the REST of this chapter this bit just dosen’t work for me and was clearly funnier in Rosa’s head, with the assholes not thinking much of Scrooge’s achievements and only liking him when they find out he’ll be a tight wad, the only funny joke in these draggy as hell three pages, not counting the start and finish of the sequence which arnet bad, as they send him back to earth with Quackly mentioning the dime, but not giving out WHY it’s important. That he has to figure out on his own and all that good stuff. 

So Scrooge uses his dime to unscrew the bolts and back at the castle while Argus TRIES to pawn it off as Scrooge being a coward and depart with the bank draft.... 

Damnnnn that’s badass, he gets the bank note back (only knowing because one of his ancestors mentioned it, though with his memory of the dying dream gone he dosen’t know WHY), and has Fergus run into town to pay the taxes tonight before any other shenanigans happen while he keeps the two scheming dogmen captive long enough for Fergus to get too far for them to catch up.  Argus plans to go with plan “Do a murder on Scrooge”.. but fines Scrooge is far from unprotected and not the only badass in his family.. I mean Hortense exists but I mean that ther’es more than two... you know what jut look at the ghost heads. 

So the two run for their lives..... also they forgot you know Hortense exists.. she’d revenge murder all of them and they both know it. 

So with the land safe and the taxes paid so the Family can implicitly move in, we end on a beautiful sunrise as Scrooge prepares to leave soon. Despite all the setbacks and hardship Scrooge is deterimend to still make it and knows he won’t fail forever. When Fergus mentions Gold at the end of a rainbow, Scrooge takes that, and the golden dawn as a sign. WHen Fergus understandably asks if he’s sure he’ll make it this time.. we get a nice nod to Bark’s best and most notable painting “always another rainbow to close us out”

It’s a beauitful and inspiring statment.. no matter what you face.. there’s always a light at the end of it. Always another opportunity, another goal to reach, another hill to climb.. and life to live... and it’s one i’ve taken to heart and always will.. and one that will land Scrooge his fortune yet. 

Final Thoughts: This chapter is alright but like I said the two page sequence in heaven dosen’t really work for me. It’s just not funny enough and really shoudl’ve been trimmed down a page so we could get more character stuff with Scrooge and his family> Otherwise it’s a tightly paced thrilling chapter in Scrooge’s life, showing just how far he’s come and how far he has left to go. The DIsmal Downs chapter serve as a good marker of where Scrooge is and where he’s heading as I mentioned earlier, with this one showing that while he’s not hit his goal yet, he still got his family their true home back, beat his enmeis and is a legend to be. Ther’es always another rainbow.. and he just needs to find it. All in all a decent chapter outside those two pages, and a good setup for the next three glorious chapters. 

Next Month on LIfe and Times: One is Scroogey and the other is FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD, as Scrooge meets his arch enemy and rides a motherfucking lion. And if “rides a motherfucking lion” doesn’t make you come back I do not know why you read this.  Next Time On This BLog: What is that, that Freaky Thing? It’s A naked Mole rat as we return to Kauai this time with Kim Possible and Co as Drakken tries to capture stitch and Jumba wonders if Rufus is one of his or not. 

See you at the next rainbow

[yukiwrites]

Step by Step, Towards the End

Thank you so much for the support as always, @breeachuu! I hope you like it!

Summary: Wolfram had chosen to stay by Dimitri and Byleth's side, so he would do anything to be able to keep on helping them achieve their objectives. He didn't expect to feel so proud, happy and fulfilled just by being part of history being written, though!

Commission info HERE and HERE!

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Despite being wet until their bones, the two did not let go of their embrace, sharing the very last of their warmth with each other. As Dimitri was weary from pouring his heart out for the first time in his life, he started to get heavier and heavier in Wolfram’s arms.

Although he was part dragon, Wolfram wasn’t one to rely much on physical strength, so Dimitri’s weight would undoubtedly topple them both on a puddle lest Wolfram did something. The answer came from a nearby cot at the stables -- Aquilo called on Wolfie once he saw his master trembling with cold and with lack of strength in his legs.

Little by little did they both walk without breaking physical contact until they reached Aquilo’s cot, and further until they were within Aquilo’s embrace, under his wing.

As a wyvern, Aquilo’s body was not warm in the slightest, not to mention the piercing cold of Dimitri’s armor… And yet, their embrace filled Wolfram’s chest with warmth, especially since he held Dimitri within his bosom, allowing the Prince something he most likely hadn’t had ever since his family passed away: solace, and a shoulder to cry on.

At some point, despite it all, Dimitri fell into a short sleep, one that wasn’t accompanied by the ghosts of the past; one that allowed him to rest his weary bones for the first time in… a decade. Wolfie simply did what his Mother and Father did for him whenever they nested: he ran his fingers through Dimitri’s wet hair, bringing him a sense of belonging.

The rain stopped before dawn broke, and the ensuing silence woke Dimitri up from his light sleep. He blinked slowly, as though wondering if he was within a dream for it to be so comfortable, but soon met with Wolfram’s blue lips and tired eyes.

“Oh…” Dimitri flinched. “Forgive me, I wasn’t myself.” He sat up, noticing he was under Aquilo’s wing. “I must ask for forgiveness once again, you’re freezing! Let us-”

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m fine.” Wolfie placed a placating hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. “I’m here because I want to be, so no need to apologize to me! Besides, I’m more worried about you. Are you feeling better?”

“I,” Dimitri opened his mouth, then closed it as he looked down. “Yes, I am feeling better. Thank you for stopping me on my suicidal mission, Wolfram. Were you not there, I would perhaps die a dog’s death pursuing Edelgard…”

“Mhm,” Wolfie bobbed his head to the sides, taking Dimitri’s hand into his. “I’m still worried, though, especially about those stabs. You didn’t let anyone take a look at it yesterday, right? I used a bit of healing magic during the night, but magic won’t heal infections, so I wanna take a look at it as soon as possible.”

Dimitri deflated, a small smile sprouting on his lips from the solace of having someone worry about him. “Of course. The maids should have started placing hot water on the tubs, so please come warm yourself in my quarters.”

Wolfram felt a shiver run down his spine and smiled weakly. “Sure! I won’t say no to a warm bath.”

The walk to Dimitri’s quarters was silent, though they never let go of each other’s hands, as though still lingering on the previous night’s events. Once they arrived, they almost ran into the maid that was coming out of the room from supplying the tub with hot water.

“K-kyaa!” She shrieked lightly as she saw Dimitri up close, shivering as though she had met the god of death itself. “F-forgive me my impudence, please spare me-” she bowed deeply, fearing meeting Dimitri’s eyes.

Hesitating, the prince let out a pained smile and stopped reaching out for the bowing maid.

“It’s alright. Thank you for your service, miss,” he said politely, which prompted the girl to look up to him in shock before she nodded vigorously and scurried off to continue with her work.

Wolfram followed the girl’s back with his eyes, then turned to Dimitri, placing one hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

The prince nodded, entering the room. “I’ve much to atone for, and many to apologize to for my past behavior,” he took a deep breath, as though that was the first time he did so in five years. “Thinking for myself and living for myself is no easy task, but I… am ready to walk towards that direction.”

“Mhm,” Wolfie leaned on the door as pride swelled in his chest. Dimitri took off his cloak, placing it on a coat hanger beside the door.

“Then, please, Wolfram, help yourself to the hot water.” He started unbuckling his bracers.

“Oh, no, I’m not going until after you! You’re the patient here and I want this wound clean and dressed before I’m to do anything!” Wolfie puffed his cheeks, poking Dimitri’s shoulder.

Chuckling, the prince nodded obediently. “Very well, friend. Thank you for taking such good care of me.” After saying that, and free from his bracers, Dimitri started to undress himself of his armor.

The cloak and the armor were heavy on their own, yes, but as each piece of clothing came off, Wolfram could see where all that weight that almost crushed him the night before came from: Dimitri’s body knew nothing but muscles and scars. They were firm to the eye and Wolfie was sure that they would be just as hard if he were to touch them and-

He felt… rather weird. His throat was dry and his reflex was to look away once Dimitri was about to take off his breeches. Only when the prince was fully immersed into the tub did Wolfram look again, somewhat conscious of how weird his heart was beating at that moment.

“How does it look?” Dimitri tilted his head to the side, revealing his naked nape, the place where the stabbing was most severe. As Wolfram thought, it looked like it would infect soon, so he was adamant on cleaning it well.

“Phew, good thing we caught it early!” The half-manakete said once he was satisfied with the cleaning job. “Okay, but I’ll need some herbs and bandages… I’ll go get them now!” He fled before Dimitri could even protest, his face on fire.

Wolfie ran towards the infirmary inside the bridge (that was reserved for high-ranking soldiers), his face so hot he almost forgot how cold he had been just an hour previous. His mind was chaotic, trying to understand his erratic emotions, though his hands moved with the ease of familiarity with the place. He didn’t even realize he was already on his way back after getting everything he needed until he was in front of Dimitri’s door again.

“I’m back!” he went in without being fully ready, his heart pounding.

It pounded harder once he saw that Dimitri was sitting on the bed with only a towel wrapped around his waist and a smaller one hanging over his shoulders.

“Welcome back,” he smiled warmly. The wound in his eye was already closed and taken care of, but it was the first time Wolfie was seeing Dimitri without his eyepatch, so he needed a moment to revive his heart.

“How handsome…” he mumbled, then gasped. “Um, okay! Here they are! Lemme look at your wound again!” He spoke in a high-pitched voice that was foreign to his own ears. However, once he got close, he realized it would be no use to dress the wound on Dimitri’s neck if his hair was still dripping wet. “Wait, let me dry this for you,” Wolfie placed the medicine on a nearby table, then carefully took the towel on Dimitri’s shoulder to start drying his hair.

“... Thank you,” Dimitri closed his eyes, leaning his head on Wolfram’s touch. For some reason, he didn’t feel like apologizing or saying that he would do it himself. It felt good, warm and comforting to be pampered as though he was a child, even if only for a moment.

Wolfram’s heart went off like a battle horn; his face so red and rigid he even had trouble swallowing and breathing. Still, he couldn’t help but drown all of those noises his brain and heart were making to simply enjoy the moment. For how long had he wanted his first friend to be this well? It was a moment Wolfie wouldn’t trade for anything.

He dried Dimitri’s hair in silence, then only instructed the prince to move this or that way so he could properly dress the wounds before finally nodding with an easy smile. “There you go, all patched up! You need to rest, you hear? If you strain this area too much, it REALLY might infect…”

“Of course. Thank you once again, Wolfram. Now, please, warm yourself before the water gets cold; I cannot be at ease seeing how wet you got because of me.”

As though reminded of his still damp clothes, Wolfie shivered. “Uh-oh, I completely forgot about it. Okay, I’ll go take a bath now, thank you! But I can just heat up the water with my fire, so no need to worry about it getting cold, nyaha!” He winked -- as much as one could actually see it -- before running away behind the room divider.

Seeing Dimitri look UP at him with that warm gaze -- it made Wolfie feel all tangled up and weird inside. He had to warm himself up before he went crazy!

Since he had access to hair oil inside this room, Wolfram used the opportunity to wash his hair as well. It had gotten rather long in the past five years -- its tips were of a light green that resembled Nidra’s hair, which made Wolfie even prouder of being able to grow out his hair.

He took after Henry in many ways, especially in the hair area; his locks were thin and barely grew after some point, so no matter how much Wolfie wanted to have a long braid like his older brothers, he could never do it.

But that wasn’t the case anymore! Now he could braid his hair in Meliodas’ fashion, though his locks weren’t nearly as long as his brother’s: they barely reached up to the middle of his back, but that was a start!

Wolfie came out of the room divider with a smile as he lovingly dried his hair. He found Dimitri midway to putting his armor back on, which made the smile die immediately.

“Wait, you need to rest!” He protested, blocking Dimitri’s path to another piece of armor.

Dimitri’s hand dropped, but his back was straight and his gaze was firm. “Thank you for worrying about me so much, Wolfram. Truly. I also must ask for forgiveness for how I’ve behaved in the past few months.” He bowed deeply, making Wolfram flinch.

“H-hey, I don’t need this-”

“No, you do. If it weren’t for you, the Professor and everyone, I wouldn’t be here today. I wouldn’t be alive to think of what step to take next… So, yes, you and all the others need to be thanked and apologized to.” He was resolute. “I must admit I still do not know what to do to atone for all the monstrous acts I commited, but I do know that I will live my entire life looking for the answer.” He looked up to the ceiling, as though he could see something that wasn’t there. “The first step I need to take in order to redeem myself and live for what I believe in is… to return to Fhirdiad.”

Wolfram gasped at the remark, feeling pride swell in his heart. They were going to save the people that were suffering under the Dukedom and the Empire’s heel!

“I have always believed that to be the right path, but the shackles were…” he glanced up to the ceiling again, then smiled bitterly, “they were too much to bear. They are still heavy and I might falter under them, but if I am to follow the path of the living… then I am willing to bear that weight.”

“Mhm…” Wolfie clutched his chest with emotion, then watched as Dimitri reached out to take said hand into his.

“So I beg you not to stop me, friend. I must attend the morning council to relay not only my apologies but the change of course to the others. Instead, will you not go with me?”

Wolfram smiled, then pouted. “That’s unfair; of course I’ll go with you!”

Dimitri chuckled, squeezing Wolfie’s hand slightly before letting go. “Thank you, Wolfram.”

On their way to the council, Wolfram felt strange that there were many eyes on him -- he could feel glances from afar and from the people passing by them; all directed at him. What could it be?

The answer would arrive as soon as they stepped into the room: all of their classmates gasped at Dimitri’s entrance (and Dedue even faltered, worrying about his wounds), though their eyes lingered on Wolfram; specifically, his ears.

“Ah!” He gasped, then shut his mouth with one hand. How could he forget? He had revealed himself the previous day to save Dimitri! Now everyone knew he wasn’t human. Their eyes moved back to Dimitri during his speech, so Wolfram was given a few minutes to think of his situation.

He was wearing some random clothes that were hanging around Dimitri’s room since his own were completely drenched from last night, so it was no wonder that he didn’t even wear his own bandanna. Wolfie had been so focused on Dimitri, he forgot everything else!

It was a wonder in and of itself, honestly, especially because keeping that secret had always weighed heavily on him from day one. Now, it was gone with the wind, poof! Like it never happened… and Wolfie only just now noticed it.

It was almost funny!

He was smiling by the end of the meeting, which had spanned several hours after Dimitri suggested they change their course, so before Gilbert officially closed all topics for the day, Wolfie raised his hand with a light heart.

“What is it, lad?” Gilbert asked as he placed the documents he had taken back on the table.

Wolfram and Dimitri exchanged glances and the prince took a step back with a smile. Once Wolfie was at the center of the room, he found Caspar’s and Dorothea’s gazes before anyone else’s, which gave him even more strength to reveal everything.

“Yesterday… well, I was gonna say that some of you might’ve seen me flying without my wyvern yesterday, but even now you can see how different I am from all of you, right?” He turned his head to the sides, his still loose hair dancing behind him. “Actually, I’m not fully human and, well, I came from a faraway place to help.”

“Help? With the war? Did you know?!” Annette raised her hand as though asking a question at a seminar.

“Hmm, honestly, I was instructed to stay with Byleth, no matter what happened, so I didn’t really know what was going to happen.” Wolfie scratched his cheek. “I’m really sorry for deceiving you all about my amnesia, but I really didn’t have any choice. I couldn’t show up and say I wasn’t human in a place I never saw shape-shifters about…”

“Shape-shifter…” Mercedes hummed. “It was said that the Children of the Goddess could transform into dragons. Are you perhaps…?” She trailed off, placing one hand over her chest.

“Uh, I have a human father and a dragon mother, but she’s not a goddess. Well… I did come here on our own goddess’ orders, so…”

“Amazing! You came into contact with her?” Mercedes approached, smiling brightly. Behind her, Ignatz was also eager to listen.

“Nyaha!” Wolfie giggled.” Alright, giddy up…!” He raised his sleeves, looking for a chair to sit on. Telling that tale would take a while, but it seemed that most of them were willing to listen, so Wolfie smiled widely and got ready to finally reveal everything.

Well, he was going to keep the parts about Rhea, Flayn and Seteth to himself. Byleth also shared more of what happened to her when she came to him with questions, so it wasn’t his place to reveal that either, but he just had to say what he had already told Caspar and Dorothea, so it would all be okay!

Unfortunately, Wolfram didn’t take into account the amount of questions many people could ask as opposed to only two people, so the reveal ended up stretching all the way until lunch time, and then a bit more. The half-manakete even forgot that he had planned on giving Dimitri his jewel right after they exited the meeting, so once he freed himself from the last stragglers, he went back to the familiar corridor towards Dimitri’s room.

Since his heart was light all day, Wolfram wasn’t still completely into the mood a manakete would usually be in for a jewel exchanging moment. He knocked on the door with an easy smile, then entered with Dimitri’s permission to find the prince awkwardly on top of the bed.

“Dedue and the Professor threatened me, saying that they would not let me out of their sight unless I rested, so resting I am.” He huffed in a defeated sigh.

“Heehee,” Wolfie giggled in response, thanking both of them in his mind. “Good, because that’s where a patient should be.” He sat on the bed, which finally allowed Dimitri to sit up (‘resting’ was not something he was accustomed to), then fiddled with his pockets.

The nervousness came a bit late, but surely it wrapped Wolfie in its clutches. “Um, I have something for you,” he croaked out.

“You’ve given me so much already, Wolfram.” Dimitri touched the tip of Wolfie’s knee, which was close to him.

“But this is something I promised to give you five years ago, though; it’s looong overdue.” Wolfie pressed his lips nervously, fidgeting with the jewel in his pocket. “Remember that lock of hair I asked you to give me?”

Dimitri stared blankly at Wolfram for a good second before gasping softly. “... Indeed! You said that your kin forges a… jewel of sorts to symbolize their relationship…”

“Mhm,” Wolfie took out the jewel from his pocket, placing it on Dimitri’s palm. “We pour different feelings into our fire to craft jewels based on how we feel about this or that person. And in this… are my thoughts about you. I crafted this a bit after I heard you were dead, then missing, so there’s a lot of longing and hoping.”

“... I see.” Dimitri spoke softly, touching the jewel with his index. “You’ve been worrying about me for such a long time, have you not? I’ve no words of thanks left…”

“There’s no need for more thanks, just, um… This is a big deal for my people, so I’m only asking you to take good care of it?”

“Absolutely! If I had the skill, I would attach a chain to it to hand around my neck right away, but since this is too precious to try my luck on this, may I ask if I can hand it to someone so they can make it into a necklace?”

Wolfram fidgeted. “Um, I think it’s better if I do it. It’s something really intimate, you know?”

“Of course, thank you for teaching me yet another aspect of your culture. Then, I am returning this to you,” he placed the jewel back into Wolfram’s hand. “I look forward to the day when I can carry it with me always.”

“Mhm…” Wolfie felt all mushy inside, which even translated to his flushed cheeks. “Thanks for accepting it, Dimitri. It means a lot.” He giggled, then clutched his and Dimitri’s jewels into his hand and kissed it lovingly.

Seeing the heartwarming scene, Dimitri couldn’t help but smile in turn, not even realizing he reached out to caress Wolfram’s long hair.

So many things had changed.

Yet, the most important ones hadn’t, thankfully.

There wasn’t much time for Dimitri to rest, unfortunately. Since they were in a race against time -- their enemy already had a tight hold on the capitol and were striking at the remaining loyal houses as they spoke -- they needed to make haste to Fhirdiad if they wanted to bring Cornelia’s reign of terror to the end.

Along with Dimitri’s changed behavior and Wolfram’s revelation, many aspects of their daily lives improved. The prince now took the time to speak with every single soldier he could, not to mention the maids and servants.

Caspar even told Wolfram that Dimitri had apologized to him about the way he had treated Caspar’s uncle, Randolph, back at the monastery’s invasion! Wolfram couldn’t be prouder of the both of them, honestly. Dimitri, for obvious reasons, but Caspar for being able to forgive so easily and let go of the past, despite Wolfram having been the one who dealt the killing blow on Randolph.

The closer they got to Faerghus, the colder it got. Despite spring being in full bloom, a land of the north was still a land of the north until the end. Wolfie had to resort to wearing more layers of clothes under his armor, resigning himself to not transforming during the battle for Fhirdiad if it meant not wearing an open back shirt like usual.

Yet, despite the cold, the streets were burning -- self-inflicted flames hailing from the Dukedom’s soldiers themselves, who were intent on bringing down the city with them if they had to.

The fight was fierce and full of traps along the way, but soon Dimitri’s spear dug itself inside Cornelia’s chest, bringing an end to the tyranny of a woman mad with power. She had spouted some nonsense about Dimitri’s stepmother causing the tragedy that had changed his life forever, but the prince stood tall in face of her poisonous words, emerging victorious in the end.

Once he relayed his victory speech to the soldiers, Gilbert approached from behind, urging him to go up to the balcony and greet the people he had saved.

Dimitri paled in an instant. “Do you mean- no! I cannot face them, not after everything I did-”

“It’s precisely because you did everything you could that you must face them now, Your Majesty.” Gilbert bowed deeply, facing his King, at long last.

Still faltering, Dimitri took a shaky breath. “Very well. “ he took a step forward, then glanced at the allies that followed close behind -- Gilbert, Byleth, Dedue and Wolfram -- before smiling.

The roars of the people could be heard even before they could be seen.

“What… what is this?” Dimitri gapped at the warm welcome. He was expecting stones, not cheers of victory.

“As you can see, the people are rejoicing in the return of their King.” Gilbert said solemnly.

“Bloodstained as I am… Am I fit to be King?” His voice shook as his eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t cry, Dimitri.” Byleth poked at the tall man, smiling mischievously.

Sniffling, Dimitri dried his face. “These are happy tears, my friend.”

Hearing his emotional voice made Wolfie sniffle as well, though his tears went unseen. The thunderous applause of the people in front of him reverberated through his chest, making him stand upright and allow himself to feel proud. He was so proud of his friend; of his company; of… of even himself! It was because everyone had banded together to put an end to evil that they managed to achieve such an overwhelming victory!

With these light thoughts and steps, the group went to the victory celebration that the soldiers prepared while Dimitri was busy meeting the people.

The venue wasn't as fancy as it had been back at the Monastery -- they weren’t going to fill the royal hall with battle-worn soldiers, after all -- since they were huddling themselves around the barracks, but the atmosphere was just as lively. No, it was much, much livelier than in the past, since they were now celebrating a victory they had shed blood to achieve.

Caspar took Wolfram for a spin just like he had done when they were students, but this time there was no one to kick them out for tripping on other people. There was only laughter, song and good food all around.

Wolfram spun so much he started to get nauseous, so he excused himself for a bit to get some fresh air -- something he mildly regretted since the so-called ‘fresh air’ was cold as ice, despite the season.

However, he didn’t regret it TOO much, seeing as he found Dimitri at the balcony he had chosen.

Dimitri noticed Wolfram approaching and smiled softly. “Have you grown weary of the festivities already?”

“No way, there’s a lot more partying in me yet.” Wolfie giggled, then shook his head slightly. “But all that dancing upset the food in my stomach so I was just taking a walk. What about you, though? You’re the main character!”

“It’s not that I’ve grown weary,” Dimitri looked beyond the balcony, towards the brightly lit city below, “I just find it difficult to be around everyone at the moment. Being back here in the castle after so long compelled me to visit the graves of my loved ones. It’s been too long since I offered flowers, perhaps a full decade.”

“Oh,” Wolfie pressed his lips, allowing Dimitri his space to speak.

“But I cannot stay away from them any longer. I’ve chosen to live for myself, but that does not mean that I disregard the dead. It simply means that I will live all the life in me to atone for everything.”

Wolfram opened his mouth to contest; to say that he had nothing to atone for, not regarding the ones who died, but he stopped himself. He knew that this was a matter too heavy to approach for the moment; not to mention that Dimitri wanted to atone for his five years encroached in darkness as well, so Wolfie had no right to say anything in that regard.

Instead, he took a step towards Dimitri, took his hand and leaned his head on on the prince’s shoulder. “I’m really proud of you, did you know? When you stood there in front of the people and showed your emotions,” he felt Dimitri shift, as though embarrassed for having cried in front of so many people, “and vowed to be the best person you can be to them until you can handle it. You’re going great.”

Dimitri’s chin trembled with emotion as he feared that he would dissolve in tears for the second time that night. Speaking was difficult, and the words of thanks only came after many tries. “Thank you, Wolfram. Truly.”

Wolfie simply nodded, but before he could even reply, he heard hurried steps coming in their direction with his sensitive hearing. His head snapped up to where the sound was coming from, followed by Dimitri’s confused gaze.

Soon, however, Dimitri heard the steps as well.

“Your Highness, I finally found you!” A foot soldier gasped for breath. “There’s an express messenger from the Alliance at the parlor, it’s urgent!”

Startled, Dimitri exchanged hurried glances with Wolfram. “Very well, thank you for running all the way here. Lead me to him.”

Apparently, the Empire was about to strike Derdriu, so Claude had sent an express messenger asking for the Kingdom’s aid right as he felt the shift in the Empire’s forces. Wolfram truly respected Claude’s backbone -- to ask help of someone who had been his enemy in the previous battle, albeit a misplaced one, was a power move.

Regardless of how each of them felt about the situation, their morale was at an all-time high after retaking the capital. That being so, they headed to the Aquatic Capital with clear heads and firm arms.

As they travelled, they devised many strategies to be able to jump into action as soon as they arrived, but the one Byleth suggested the most seemed to be the one that they would find themselves in: from how the Professor read the battlefield and how much she knew Claude, they would most likely fight in a pincer attack.

Claude was planning on luring the Empire’s forces into his territory so Dimitri could strike them on the back and effectively wipe them out. Truly a power move; Wolfram’s respect for him grew even more.

He conveyed as much once they met on the battlefield while Wolfie served as a fast messenger as usual.

“Wolf, you haven’t changed at all! Or should I say that you changed just as much as I expected you would? Done with the amnesia act now?” Claude teased despite being out of breath for covering his allies with his arrows from above.

Laughing, the half manakete simply relayed the message, glad that Claude’s wit hadn’t disappeared even after half a decade.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel weird while fighting those people. He was basically moving back and forth to relay Byleth’s orders, but he still had to protect himself here and there, so he was involved in a skirmish or two.

They felt familiar, like enemies he had fought before… Or watched someone fight before. But where? Who was it? The battle was so chaotic he couldn’t even focus on pulling a memory from years ago.

Yet, despite Wolfram’s worry, the battle progressed much faster than anyone had expected once the Kingdom army arrived. Of course, a pincer attack was usually always a winning tactic so it was no wonder that Claude was confident in that strategy.

But the truly shocking part of that entire endeavor was not the battle itself, but the results after it was won: Claude had taken measures to merge the Alliance back into the Kingdom, solidifying a step into the unification of Fódlan by Dimitri instead of by what Edelgard had been trying to do for the past five years.

“I need to leave right away, so our reunion won’t be as long,” Claude had told them the night before he was set to board a ship to somewhere far away, “but when I come back, I wanna hear all of the juicy details, you hear?”

Wolfie giggled after accepting Claude’s stretched hand into a warm handshake that shared a promise to meet again, whenever their futures crossed. Wolfram wondered in passing if he would still be in this world whenever Claude returned, but somehow, he felt that regardless of how long it took, they would meet again, against all circumstances.

Merging the Alliance back into the Kingdom after hundreds of years of its independence was a surprising boon to their cause -- though it would mean many, many mountains of documents to sign and reports to read once things calmed down -- but there was still one step to take before they could bring the fight into the Empire’s territory: they had to retake Arianrhod, the Fortress City.

It was once the border between the Kingdom and the Empire, which was now being controlled by the imperial forces. Dimitri had to take it back to ensure that Fhirdiad would be safe while they breached into the Empire’s territory towards Enbarr.

The plan was to retake Arianrhod, mostly known as the Silver Maiden, right after reclaiming Faerghus, but Claude’s matter was more pressing, so the endeavor was pushed back. Now, however, it was their priority.

It was the final step to reclaiming all of Faerghus, especially now before the imperial forces inside it were strengthened.

The fortress resembled the Great Bridge of Myrddin, though it was certainly more focused on defense and entrapment than on attack. There were many demonic beasts guarding the devices that controlled the traps, but Wolfram was able to take on one of them all by himself.

In Fódlan, or at least in this world where Fódlan was located, there were many kinds of magic; many still that were innate to some people. Although Wolfram was an outlander, it wasn’t as though he didn’t have untapped magic inside of him; it was simply because there was no such practice in Archena.

Because of all of these factors, Wolfram was able to find a powerful kind of magic within him: one that he called ‘Naga’ in respect to his kind’s Mother. It was devastatingly effective against monsters of all kind, to the point that he was able to fry a demonic beast in one shot after using the magic. Though it was a one-use only magic, it was something that would be a tremendous help in the future.

“Holy shit!” Caspar yelled from beside Wolfram during the battle after seeing the scorched body of the beast fall to the ground. “What was that? Awesome!”

Even Byleth commented on it after Wolfie returned to her with a message. “So this was your innate magic. Is it common in your world? It’s powerful.”

“Heehee…” Wolfram laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know, honestly. I just felt a surge of power and used it. We don’t use innate magic where I’m from, so I don’t know if it’s common or not.”

“I see; interesting. I wish I could go there someday to perhaps teach more people about magic from this world.”

“Oh, that would be interesting! I know my Father would love to learn more about magic!” Wolfie giggled happily, gearing himself up again to deliver another message.

Just one more step… Just after conquering this fortress, they would finally be able to start their war against the Empire in earnest.

The next stop: Fort Merceus!

[solesurvivorpaigeargot]

I wanna hearing about Paige's family with #5.

Super detailed questions about your OCs

5. Do they have any siblings? What’s their names? What is their relationship with them? Has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults?

HOO BOI my friend, you have volunteered for an infodump. I’m putting in a read-more cut to prevent dash clogging.

Paige was the second-to-last child out of five, with three brothers and one sister. 

Isabelle [Bella, Belle] -- the eldest, Paige’s sister and seven years older than her. Basically ended up as built-in babysitter/second mom. Paige calls her Izzy and is the only one who is allowed to call her that [anyone else will get whacked, including Bella’s husband]. Their relationship when Paige was a kiddo was pretty strained; Paige grew up running wild with her brothers whilst Isabelle, the eldest daughter of a very conservative and publicly religious family, was constantly being watched and judged on how responsible she was and how well she was growing into a ‘lady’ as she was expected to do. Meanwhile Paige, as the younger daughter and surrounded by boys, was excused for more wild behavior and often given a flavor of the ‘boys will be boys’ pass when she got into trouble until she hit puberty and suddenly got whacked in the face with more feminine expectations. 

Somewhere in Paige’s early teens, she and Izzy had it out in an honest to goodness, full-on fight, wherein Izzy accused Paige of being a spoiled brat who was incapable of understanding just how hard it was to hold up under everyone’s expectations, and Paige threw it right back by calling those expectations petty bullshit and questioning why Izzy didn’t just toss it all out if she hated being a lady. The two grew apart after that, maintaining some sisterly affection but mostly not getting in each other’s way. Izzy taught Paige how to look after her hair when she started growing it out, taught her how to do make-up, gave her advice on clothes and shoes for interviews, that sort of thing. 

They both ultimately stayed at arm’s length until Shaun was born, at which point Izzy had reached out to try and reconnect. She and her husband had been living in Pennsylvania when the bombs fell. Izzy’s family was well off enough that they might have gotten a spot in a vault, but Paige hadn’t been keeping up with them enough to know whether or not they’d registered...

Ethan -- eldest brother, five years older than Paige, she always looked up to him as her cool older brother. He and his friends had a garage band when he was a teen, but he gave it up when their parents put pressure on him to start figuring out something ‘real’ to do with his life. Music became a beloved hobby, noodling about on his guitar when he could get away with it, but never when their father was home, as he’d threatened to smash it on more than one occasion. 

Like Isabelle, Ethan was often leaned upon to be more adult than he actually was, looking after his younger siblings but with a touch more wiggle room. Where Isabelle was very much considered the one with full parental authority, and thus expected to enforce the rules to their fullest extent, Ethan allowed Paige, Daniel, and Zach to get away with the occasional mischief with a wink and a smile that assured them he didn’t see anything. 

Besides music, Ethan also had a gift of gab that made him excellent at talking himself and his siblings out of any trouble-- something he and Paige shared, and the two would get into deep arguments over tiny things as a kind of sport. At school a teacher encouraged him towards debate club and theater, and he participated in multiple school productions before, again, their parents reminded him that artistic careers were more fantasy than anything to build your life around. Instead, they pushed him towards law, which he fucking hated but attempted to make them happy.

He dropped out after his first year of college, arriving at home with black dyed hair, two tattoos and three piercings he hadn’t had when he left for school, giving their parents the finger, and all but disappearing when Paige was fourteen. Nineteen years old, he was technically an adult, his their parents couldn’t drag him back. Dad doesn’t talk about Ethan, and mom would cry when he was mentioned. Paige worried he died chasing a dream for the longest time, until she left for law school and started getting postcards-- turned out Ethan was still in contact with Izzy, and had embraced his musical career [and all the hardship that came with it] with everything he had. 

Last Paige heard, Ethan had been somewhere on the western seaboard when the bombs fell. She finds it unlikely that he, or any descendants of him, survived... though, if he went ghoul, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was still living the traveling musician life two centuries later. 

Daniel [Danny] -- middle brother, two years older than Paige, and oldest of the trouble trio. Daniel, Paige, and Zach were always the three making messes together as young kids, running wild, exploring the backwoods on the family farm, finding fun and odd ways to get chores done, and generally being kids. Danny was the tough one out of the three of them; easily the biggest out of all of Paige’s siblings and the one who got in people’s faces if anyone was messing with anyone else in the family. 

Danny and Paige frequently butted heads; they were both stubborn as hell and outspoken, and before Paige was expected to be more lady-like it very regularly came to blows. It’s thanks to Danny that Paige knew how to squirm out of most holds by the time she was an adult, even if the other person was larger than her, and exactly which soft spots to shove her elbows or heels into. This tendency towards brawling changed as they got older, however, as Danny realized that Paige was going to be a petite woman her entire life and went out of his way to teach her some honest-to-goodness self-defense tactics after hearing a few of his friends say a few... off color things about his sister. 

Danny stayed in Minnesota to attend a trade school, finding work in the automation industry; installing and maintaining machines used for mass manufacture. He married almost immediately out of highschool, and the timing of his first kid suggests that his wife was pregnant before the wedding. Paige kept in contact with him, and Danny actually made the trip out to visit her when Shaun was born. While Paige suspects that he’s dead, unless of course he ended up ghoul, she has occasionally speculated that if Danny and his family survived the initial bombing? He had practical skills that might have seen him through long enough to have descendants that survived to the present day.  Zachariah [Zach] -- the youngest, a year younger than Paige and her childhood partner in crime. Zach, like Paige, was kinda on the small side. Unlike Paige, Zach was also intensely shy in a family full of outspoken, opinionated, stubborn mules. It wasn’t that he didn’t have opinions, mind-- rather that he had a lot of trouble putting the words together to express them. Zach would often stick with Paige like her second shadow, because Paige was very good at picking up on what he meant to say to others and saying it for him, or re-iterating when he spoke too quietly and he got ignored. 

That said, Zach was often the mastermind behind what he, Paige, and Danny got up to as little kids-- quiet, but quick witted, and a grade-A prankster. 

As adolescents, Zach and Paige were occasionally confused for being twins despite there being a year difference between them. Their faces were strikingly similar, with Zach having deeply brown eyes rather than Paige’s hazel being the main difference. Sometimes their mischief would play into this, and Paige was allowed to get away with many things as a young teen simply by virtue of being mistaken for her brother. 

When Ethan ran out on the family, Zach was probably the one most deeply effected by it, and Paige did everything she could to support him at the time. They both looked up to Ethan, but Zach even more so because he was also musically inclined and had been learning the drums from one of Ethan’s friends. Sometimes the band even let him do some kind of back-up percussion when they were practicing before their father shut it down, and it was during those practice sessions that Zach tended to really light up. When Ethan left? Zach fell deeply into depression for a long time, and Paige felt like it was her responsibility to hold him up lest she lose another brother. 

Despite being the often-overlooked child in the family, Zach had damn near perfect grades... and yet, their parents appeared to lack specific expectation for him. Rather, the had a vague assurance that he’d simply do well at whatever he decided to do, and Zach confided in Paige that he had no idea what to do with his scholastic success-- that it didn’t feel real to him. That he wasn’t a person, but rather a mass of goo that could just be poured into whatever shape worked best for the people around him. 

Paige still regrets not having any good advice for him. Last she heard, he’d gone to school to pursue an engineering degree, like their father; imitating a ready example. She suspects that he might have gone after something musical, if not for what happened with Ethan, and that his choice paralysis was a form of avoiding even thinking about that kind of rebellion. Like Danny, Zach’s schooling didn’t take him far from the family home, and he still lived in Minnesota at the time of the bombing. He was, at the time, unmarried. Given time to think further on it, Paige actually suspects that Zach might have been some form of closeted due to still being close to the family and their parents intense involvement with the church. Thinking about that always makes her wish she’d been there for him more, that she’d been smarter and figured out what he’d been dealing with and helped him handle it better. 

Like everyone else, Paige is pretty sure Zach is dead... and he’s probably the one she’s mourns the most, because it feels like he never really got to live in the first place. 

[raendown]

Pairing: TobiramaKagami Rated: E Chapter: 4/4 Word count: 6250 Summary: It shouldn’t be so surprising that it’s Kagami who makes the opening move, asking for so little when he desires so much. From there their relationship unfolds in a tapestry of firsts they’ve both been waiting to experience.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Senpō

One night in Tobirama’s bed turned in to two. Two nights in Tobirama’s bed brought him back three days later to stay for another two nights. Rumors flew from one corner of the village to the other as they were wont to do but Kagami knew the truth; it wasn’t the sheets or anything they did between them that kept him coming back, it was the warmth in Tobirama’s eyes as they woke slowly in the rising dawn, the affection bare and open that he knew damn well how lucky he was to have earned. 

So no, it was not the fact that the man possessed hands clever enough to be illegal which had him showing up on a familiar doorstep for the third time this week. It certainly didn’t hurt, though, and he could admit to that. 

Kagami’s smile stretched from one side of his face to the other when the door opened, faltering only because the breath hitched in his chest to find Tobirama in a casual yukata belted loosely at the hips. The man didn’t even seem to properly understand how deadly he was. It was always so effortless for him. 

“I was starting to wonder where you were,” Tobirama said, beckoning him in. “You know you don’t have to knock, right? I keep telling you to just let yourself in.”

“And let your wards burn my head off? No thank you.” Placing his sandals neatly to one side, Kagami straightened only to squeak with surprise when he was immediately pulled in to a kiss. 

“You’ve been keyed in to my wards for years.” 

Tobirama swept away after stealing his breath and dropping a bomb on him as though entirely ignorant of the effect either would have on his guest. It took a minute or so for Kagami to work his way through that, wobbling down the hall and in to the living room on unsteady feet. Even after years of friendship and weeks of dating it still managed to blow him away how much trust this man put in him. What he had done to earn it he wasn’t sure but he was happy for it nonetheless. 

He found his boyfriend in the kitchen with both hands covered in bubbles, clearly only halfway through the night’s dishes. Kagami rubbed at his stomach and wished that he’d had the foresight to bring along something to eat, evening patrol was always boring and boredom usually led to hunger, but it was far from the first time he had gone without food. His stomach wouldn’t be happy with him come morning but it would survive. 

Or such were his thoughts until Tobirama looked over one shoulder with an indulgent smile and nodded to the other end of the counter where a plate sat off to one side with an upturned bowl covering it. Curious, he padded across the room to lift the bowl. Then he clutched at his stomach again to cover the motion of reaching up to touch his heart, almost moaning as the scent of soba noodles washed over him. His favorite. When he peeked over he finally saw there was a place already set for him at the table just waiting for him to bring the food over and enjoy - which he did after pressing himself against Tobirama’s back and showering his gratitude across the man’s shoulders with gentle kisses. 

It only took him a couple of minutes to inhale the delicious meal, quick enough the rest of the dishes weren’t even finished yet. He brought his bowl over to join the rest and snatched up a towel to do his part drying the ones already clean and resting in the second sink. 

“How did you know I hadn’t eaten?” he asked, carefully not moving his gaze away from the bowl he was sliding in to a cupboard. 

“You never eat during patrol,” was the simple answer. 

“I could have stopped to grab something on the way here.”

From the corner of his eye he could see Tobirama giving him an indulgent smile. “And spend more time away from my stellar company? What a suggestion.” 

As much as Kagami wanted to rib the man for being so full of himself he was right, that was the entire reason he had passed on the chance to feed himself. It wasn’t his fault that Tobirama’s company was so compelling. He knew better than to say that, though, lest he suffer through a round of gentle teasing. Most of the people who didn’t know him well would assume that Tobirama and teasing were two words that simply didn’t go together in a sentence but Kagami had learned years ago that he was merciless in having a laugh at his loved ones’ expense. 

Recently he had also discovered the man to be merciless when it came to teasing in bed as well. He still wasn’t sure if he loved it more than he hated it but he wasn’t going to ask for it to stop. It was way too good for that.

“Anyway, the food was still warm which means you didn’t cook it all that long ago. It’s pretty late. What time did you leave the office today without me there to drag you out?”

“Not late enough for the scolding I can see you preparing in your head,” Tobirama murmured.

Kagami eyed him suspiciously. “Mhm and then when you got home I suppose you just relaxed away the whole evening?”

“I may have brought a few documents home with me.”

“Aha! I knew it!”

“Oh yes, do pardon me.” Tobirama set the last dish in the second sink and pulled the plug from under all the bubbles. “How horrible to get more work done today so that I might be free to lie in as long as I like tomorrow and watch the sunrise paint you like a masterpiece.”

“Guh,” was all the intelligent reply he could come up with. 

It just wasn’t fair how easily his partner could pull lines like that out of thin air. More than aware of the amusement that followed him, Kagami abandoned the last few dishes to drip dry themselves and stomped off down the hall with as much ire as he could muster. Which, admittedly, wasn’t exactly much. He could hardly be angry at Tobirama for showering him with all the attention and affections he had long dreamed of, more so than he had even dared to imagine in his own fantasies. 

Despite how recently their relationship had gotten to this level it felt surprisingly natural preparing for bed in a home that wasn’t his own. Already there was a drawer in the dresser filled with spare clothing in his size and the bathroom now sported a proper cup for holding two toothbrushes where Tobirama used to simply lay his down behind the tap. Oddly unhygienic for someone so obsessed with order in every other facet of life. Kagami was smiling to himself as he dropped his dusty work clothes in the hamper and slid on a clean if threadbare yukata to sleep in. Getting used to being here was hardly a bad thing. And he supposed that it hadn’t really been that short of a time since the two of them got together, not really, it only felt that way because he’d been floating around with his head in the clouds ever since their first date. Compared to other couples he supposed they had actually moved a bit slower than most. 

Saru in particular was a big believer that the first date was a perfectly acceptable milestone for a first time. That had always seemed a little fast to Kagami but since he hadn’t actually had any experience until Tobirama unexpectedly returned his feelings he couldn’t exactly say he was an authority on the matter.

With only a few months of dating experience under his belt he crawled in between soft cotton sheets and watched Tobirama wander in to the room, apparently finished setting the kitchen back to rights. He could feel the weight of red eyes watching him. Rather than face whatever thoughts were in that gaze, sure to evoke some kind of embarrassing reaction from him, Kagami chose to burrow underneath the blankets instead and roll over in a mockery of sleepiness. Surely a very convincing act. 

Tobirama’s laugh said otherwise. 

As he listened to the sounds of the other getting changed and popping in to the bathroom for nightly ablutions Kagami told himself to stay calm. When he felt the bed dip and another body fit itself close up against his own, regardless of what he’d just told it to do, his heart skyrocketed off at speeds previously unachieved by humankind. Obviously Tobirama felt it. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked. 

“Just fine! Nothing’s wrong!” To Kagami’s utter mortification his voice came out as little more than a squeak. 

“Your mouth says nothing but the thunder going on between your ribs says something.”

Nervously licking his lips, he squirmed. Then he froze back to stillness when that rubbed certain parts of their anatomy together that he was only too interested in at the moment. “Okay. Um. Maybe I do have something on my mind. That I, er, wanted to suggest?”

“Go on,” Tobirama practically purred in his ear. 

“Sex!?”

If the earth would have opened up and swallowed him whole right then he would have been very grateful. After the lonely hours on patrol he’d spent trying to come up with some kind of suave and casual way to bring up this topic he’d thought he at least had something better than nervously blurting out a single word like that was the entire suggestion. The silence that followed his outburst felt like it weighed on every inch of his skin.

“Would you care to elaborate on that concept?” His partner asked eventually, tone careful and devoid of any inflection negative or positive. 

“Not really,” Kagami said honestly. “Pretty sure I just embarrassed myself enough for one night.”

“And if I happened to mention that you may have piqued my interest?”

“I would still be planning how big of a hole I’m going to dig so I can crawl in to it and disappear forever.” 

Tobirama laughed softly, warm puffs of air skating across the back of his neck, then strong arms were pulling him impossibly closer. “Perhaps I should take the lead on this one, hm? You do seem to enjoy a little...guidance, shall we say, in these matters.”

“Nnnggg.” Kagami covered his face with both hands but the man was right. He did still need a little help navigating the embarrassments of intimacy. 

“Did you wish to ask questions or were you hoping for a practical demonstration?” He was laughing, the bastard. Not outright but there was definitely some amusement in his tone. Considering how ridiculous that outburst had been one couldn’t really blame him but he didn’t have to be so obvious about it. 

Squirming did nothing to break the silence. Neither did squeezing his eyes tightly or counting backwards from ten. Eventually Kagami was forced to admit that he needed to open his mouth and use actual words like a big boy no matter how painful it was. Easier said than done, though, when he could feel Tobirama’s pulse in the wrists holding him so tightly, clear evidence that he wasn’t the only one affected by the current topic of conversation. Was the idea of laying with him really that exciting? 

“If you’ve been waiting for me to say that I’m ready or something,” he mumbled, “this is me saying it.” 

“Ah. You know me so well.”

“You say that like you don’t know me even better.”

His body rolled easily in to the open space when Tobirama shifted away, falling naturally on to his back and biting his lip when six feet of albino muscle shifted in again to cage him from above. No sight on earth would ever be more deadly or more sexy than the feral grin looking down at him. 

“I hope I never stop learning new things about you,” Tobirama murmured. 

Kagami would have replied if he weren’t suddenly robbed of all his breath by the hand skimming up the inside of one leg. He bit down in to his bottom lip and valiantly did his best to hold eye contact as fingers traced senseless patterns higher and higher, a featherlight touch that made his muscles twitch and his blood race with anticipation. Those fingers had already discovered a multitude of ways to drive him over the brink of insanity. Tobirama never seemed to be short of ways to drive him wild with desire, forever touching and tasting and exploring parts of him that he never could have imagined would be so sensitive. Much as he loathed to admit it he really had been enjoying the ‘guidance’ he’d gotten so far. Being the center of all that glorious attention and creativity was an honor many would kill for. 

Certainly many of them would do worse than murder to be him at the moment, to have Tobirama slip a hand under the edge of their sleeping yukata and drag upwards with an aching slowness then pull away to trace a single finger along the crease of Kagami’s groin. He even seemed to delight in the shivers that rewarded his efforts and grinned in response to a half-hearted glare. They were both comfortable enough with each other that there wasn’t much need for either to wear undergarments to bed. Kagami regretted that unnecessity if only for how it exposed his helpless excitement even more. It was fairly hard to misinterpret the large tent in his clothing after all. 

“Today”-with a leer Tobirama rolled to fit one knee between both of his prey’s-“I believe I’d like to learn what sounds you make when I press inside you.”

“You can’t just say things like that!” Kagami cried. 

He would have protested further but for that dastardly knee that slowly pressed upwards in to him, his hips automatically responding by rolling to meet it in a slow grind that was more tease than anything else. Words in general escaped him along with a breathy moan when Tobirama shifted up off the mattress to slide entirely between his open thighs in a way that was rather hard to misinterpret. The hunger in his eyes was also pretty hard to mistake for anything else. He was not a man who found any need to be shy about his desires, something Kagami admired him for. If only he too could find that confidence. 

What he found instead was cool air kissing across the skin of his chest when Tobirama plucked the knot of his yukata open like he was offended by the barrier it made between them. For all the nights they had spent together and all the times they had stripped each other to the skin, sweet exploration always falling headlong in to the sort of mutual heat that leaves no one unsatisfied, his partner had never pushed him to go beyond that imaginary line drawn in the sand which so many people considered powerful somehow. Already getting close to his late twenties, Kagami had dealt with his fair share of teasing for remaining a virgin. He was more than ready to remove that title from his conscience. 

If only his cheeks would stop being so obvious about how embarrassing he still found this sort of thing. Or how embarrassed he was about being embarrassed. 

He expected Tobirama to completely strip him but as soon as his yukata was parted and pressed out of the way it went ignored. For some reason he couldn’t quite explain there was something incredibly erotic about being only mostly undressed, as though his partner simply couldn’t wait to keep touching him. And touch him he did. Kagami arched under the fingers that traced patterns on his skin like they were determined to map out his entire body all over again for the dozenth time. 

“One of these days,” he gasped, “you’re gonna find a way to literally kill me with pleasure.”

“Hm, I do believe I once heard a man refer to an orgasm as ‘a little death’.” Tobirama flashed him a wicked grin full of teeth before leaning down to sink those teeth in to his neck. 

“Ahhh god that’s terrible. Good. Teeth good, words terrible, fuck don’t stop.” 

“I don’t plan to.”

Directly in contrast with his words Tobirama pulled away for a moment to lean over towards the bedside table, tugging open one of the drawers and pulling something out. When he held it up Kagami felt a little silly for not guessing what it was.

“I presume you know what this is for.”

“Lube,” he replied inanely. He did know what that was for. In fact he even had a small tube of it at home, although it was probably expired by now since the one and only time he had attempted to touch himself like that was years ago. He’d been renting an apartment with several other clansmen of an age with him at that point and one of them had nearly walked in on his little experiment. It was such a close call that he’d never tried again even after moving out in to his own home, the idea of it forever connected with the potential for public shame in his mind. 

In a way he was sort of glad now. Watching Tobirama’s hand disappear between his legs and feeling that first touch against his entrance, slick and foreign, pandered to some very specific preferences he hadn’t even known he cared about until Tobirama unknowingly began to fulfil them. There was something special about knowing that only the man he loved had ever touched him in these ways. It was somehow the very opposite of possessiveness but he couldn’t for the life of him think of the word, not with smooth lips taking his own in a deep kiss just as that thin questing finger pressed inside him for the first time. 

Grateful to his partner for stifling the gasp that would have been ripped from his throat, Kagami struggled to bring his thoughts in to order, wanting to respond in some way but unable to think of how. He couldn’t always be the only one receiving some kind of stimulation. That didn’t seem fair, even if Tobirama had repeatedly assured him that seeing him in the throes of pleasure was a treat in itself. He reached out with some vague thought about exploring with his own hands but they only got as far as the soft white hair framing the face above him, gripping and pulling in time with the second finger pressing in to him. Their kiss was broken when he threw his own head back and gave vent to a wordless cry, eyes closed, every nerve ending in his body on fire. 

“W-what happens if I don’t last?” He managed to ask despite the lack of air to breathe. 

“That would depend on whether you feel you can keep going afterwards,” Tobirama answered with the same blunt tone as he did most questions. 

“Keep going!?” 

He cracked his eyes open to see a surprisingly gentle smile looking back. “You’re always allowed to say no. Feeling a little overwhelmed, are we?” 

“It...it feels good,” Kagami admitted. 

“Mn, it’s supposed to.”

A very good point, well punctuated by a twist of fingers. Fear of disappointing his partner gave him the urge to ask more questions but pride, stupid useless pride, reared its head at the worst of moments as it was wont to do. It almost sounded like someone else’s voice boldly declaring, “I can take whatever you throw at me!” 

If they were sparring he had the distinct impression that he would have regretted those words instantly. But they weren’t sparring and he’d already said it - and it wasn’t as though trying to keep up with this man wouldn’t be pleasurable. He trusted his partner to stop if he did become overwhelmed. Well, more so than usual. Generally the second Tobirama laid hands on him he was overwhelmed but it was always in the best possible way and he had yet to come away unsatisfied or with any sort of regret. 

He was just having a little trouble computing the sheer levels of satisfaction waiting for him if two fingers was already threatening a nirvana the likes of which he’d never known. 

Barely half a minute later his thoughts were derailed yet again with the introduction of a third finger. Kagami writhed, unsure how else to deal with all these new sensations, and when Tobirama’s weight began to shuffle down the bed he assumed it was to give him room for whatever contortions he was apparently trying to work himself in to. Then sharp teeth nipped at the inside of his thighs and for a moment he went entirely rigid with surprise. It was followed immediately by a deep shudder, eyes rolling in to the back of his head. 

“Feels very different like that, doesn’t it?” Tobirama’s voice asked smugly from somewhere near his crotch. 

“Nnngggg,” he answered intelligently. Clenching around the very welcome intrusion inside him had indeed felt different. Better. He considered doing it again but he was already in danger of cumming before they actually got to the supposed good part of this so instead he reached blindly downwards until his fingers came in contact with solid broad shoulders. When had he let go of Tobirama’s hair? It was so hard to keep track of anything but those wicked fingers. 

A curious sound greeted him, followed by soft kisses much too close to somewhere that would have ended this in moments. Kagami struggled to remember how to form sentences. 

“I’m - ah god - am I not r-ready yet?” 

“Well that’s hardly a question for me,” Tobirama mused in a teasingly thoughtful voice. “Do you feel ready?”

“Yes!” Kagami wasn’t sure if he was answering the question or responding to the fingers scissoring inside him. Probably both. 

Either way his point seemed to come across well enough for Tobirama to chuckle lightly and gift him with another dusting of light kisses before pulling his hand away. “I suppose I could be convinced to have mercy.”

Strangely enough being empty so suddenly did not feel like a mercy until he saw his partner reaching for the lube again. Even someone with as little experience as him could guess what that was for. He couldn’t even bring himself to care that he was trembling with sheer anticipation as he watched Tobirama rummage around in the nightstand and come out with a condom. Doubtless they were both clean but neither of them had thought to have themselves tested; a condom was definitely the safest way to go. Not to mention he wasn’t sure how he felt about the mess this was supposed to leave behind. How did one clean inside themselves? 

Kagami didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until Tobirama paused and looked down at him, bemused, to say, “Now would be a terrible time to pass out.”

“I’m good,” he wheezed. At the sharp lift of one pale eyebrow he drew in a deep breath and fumbled his way through a shaky grin. “Just nervous. There’s no way to tell if I’m actually going to enjoy this until it happens and that’s kind of wreaking havoc on my instincts to be prepared, you know?” 

“You seemed to enjoy the preparation well enough,” Tobirama pointed out.

“Ah, true. I-I did. A lot. Please stop letting me stall or I will somehow talk myself out of something that I very much do want.”

Getting on with this was definitely worth a little amusement at his own expense. Tobirama was definitely right, he had more than enjoyed the pleasure a few fingers could give. What he was worried about was all the talk he’d heard about how different the next part felt and specifically the ones that said it might hurt. He'd never been sure whether that rumor was just about girls or not. 

Thankfully he wasn’t left waiting any longer. Strong hands traced the inside of his thighs one more time before gripping under both of his knees to lift up and out. It felt natural to wrap them around his partner’s hips and Tobirama seemed to approve so he hooked his ankles together and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. It felt somehow rude to stare while Tobirama lined himself up, though he definitely knew when the man had found his mark, pressure against a now very sensitive area slamming his eyes shut and setting him to trembling again. 

He was grateful for the kisses that tried to distract him but it wasn’t quite enough. Probably nothing on earth could have entirely distracted him from having Tobirama’s cock pressing in to him with agonizing slowness, stretching his entrance to the very limits. By the time the head finally slipped in he was gasping and the sensation of it startled him in to clenching - which of course only made him gasp a little more. Through the wave of pleasure he still found room to feel a little smug, however, when he heard Tobirama let out a low groan in his ear. It was good to know he wasn’t the only one enjoying this.

“I may have miscalculated.” The words came out a little strangled as though Tobirama had struggled to force them out. 

“Ung?” Coherency was a little beyond him at the moment but Kagami did his best to make some sort of noise that sounded vaguely like concern. He really hoped nothing was actually wrong. Stopping when they were finally getting started was definitely not on his agenda no matter how nervous he had been. 

“Gods, you feel so much better than I imagined.” 

If he weren’t already probably about as red as the blood filling his cheeks Kagami just knew that he would have flushed all over again. “Don’t be weird!” he cried. “And m-move! Please?” 

For perhaps three whole seconds he very seriously considered begging just to see if that would get the man to continue. He’d never been all that attached to his pride anyway. As it was, it appeared to be unnecessary. Tobirama seemed to get all he needed from that single ‘please’. When he moved his hips the motion was still as controlled as he ever was and yet from the quiet sound that escaped him again it was clear that such control came at a mighty effort. 

It didn’t matter how many times they laid together or how long this relationship lasted; it would never stop blowing his mind that he was able to test Senju Tobirama’s infamous self-control. 

His mind was maybe also blown by the feeling of that pale cock burying itself deeper and deeper inside of him. Barely a fraction of an inch before it would have pressed up against his prostate his partner stopped and Kagami couldn’t even spare the energy to be ashamed of the wounded groan he made as it pulled away again. 

“Hnnnaaaah do that again!” he demanded mindlessly.

“With pleasure,” Tobirama shot back in a strained voice. 

Then he did it again. And again. Somehow he managed to set a perfectly even rhythm while both of them filled the room with all sorts of lewd noises and half garbled sentences praising each other. It made sense now why so many people lost their good sense in the face of any prospect of experiencing this. Kagami understood now how sex could make people so stupid. It was worth it. This was worth the years he had spent pining and the months it had taken to get to this point, would have been worth any amount of begging or pleading or even murder if it had been asked of him. Right now in the moment it was hard to think of anything he wouldn’t do to make sure this never ended. 

Of course, because the universe was unfair, it did have to end and it only took a minute or so before he could feel it rushing up on him with all the force of his partner’s strongest suiton. Each time Tobirama rolled his hips back the head of his cock pulled at Kagami’s entrance and each time he slid back in was like a religious experience, like feeling complete at the same time as too full in the best possible way. He wasn’t nearly ready for it all to be over. Male hubris had led him, just like every other man before him, to assume that he wouldn’t be like the rumors, that surely he could last longer than a couple of minutes his first time. But as much as he didn’t want it to stop there was no denying the tension building, coiling, roiling inside of him faster than he could process. 

Fingers digging in to whatever bit of his partner he happened to be clutching, Kagami tried to communicate through the sparks bursting behind his eyelids. 

“I’m-! Hah, god, I’m gon- nnh!”

Tobirama mumbled something against his skin that might have been some kind of snarky quip if not for how absolutely wrecked he sounded. Whatever he was trying to say was lost to the sounds of their gasping breaths and the whine building in Kagami’s throat, higher and higher until it cracked in to broken syllables and spilled over his lips like the fire spilling through his veins. 

Obviously he had experienced his fair share of incredible orgasms at the hands of the man above him; none of them could have possibly prepared him for the world-melting sensation of having Tobirama hike both of his legs up just that little bit higher and slide in that last portion of an inch deeper, driving against his prostate for the first time and tearing a garbled shout from his throat as he went crashing over the edge. His entire body clenched and arched, unsure how else to deal with this influx of sensations, and it was all only made better by the distant awareness of how Tobirama himself had gone stiff. Their bodies twitched and jerked together while their cries intermingled until they slowly petered away to become soft helpless noises whispered in to the sweaty skin of each other’s necks. 

Chest heaving for air, every muscle in his body lax in the aftermath, Kagami stared up at the ceiling through cracked eyelids and wondered if this was what nirvana was supposed to feel like. He’d listened to his fair share of horror stories about other people’s first times and for a brief moment he pitied them that they would never have the experience he’d just had. It was only a very brief flash of pity, though. Tobirama was his alone and if he could help it he would not be allowing anyone else to so much as fantasize about the man. 

He’d never been the possessive type before but exceptions could be made. That was just how an Uchiha loved.

Gentle fingers traced the shape of his hips before slipping away to reach up and cup his jaw, neither pulling nor guiding but simply holding him as though he were made of precious glass, stroking along his jawline with a careful thumb. He could feel the tremble in Tobirama’s other arm where it held his weight against the mattress and smiled a dopey little smile. Even completely wrung out the man was solicitous in his quiet way. 

“Thank you.” His voice soft and thoughtful, it took a moment to realize that Tobirama really had spoken. 

“F-for sex?”

His partner let out a single bark of laughter. “No- well, I suppose yes. It is only polite to thank someone for a gift.”

“Don’t be embarrassing!” Kagami shouted, squirming aimlessly.

“Your presence is always a gift; that you trust me with your heart and all your most vulnerable moments is even more so.”

“Gah! You have to stop or I will literally die. At least wait until you’re not- not- you know!” 

He couldn’t bring himself to reference the fact that Tobirama was still buried inside him, softened now but no less perfect. What embarrassed him the most was how much he enjoyed the sensation. Obviously during the act it was a good feeling - to make a massive understatement - but he hadn’t expected how complete it would leave him feeling to enjoy the afterglow like this without moving, locked together like they were one being made whole, unwilling to separate for as long as possible. 

Tobirama seemed to know what he was referring to, genius that the man was, but unfortunately he took that as a cue to slowly pull away. In his absence Kagami felt empty in a way he never had before. It was a strange feeling, although it did give him a bit of insight in to that fabled ‘round two’ that was apparently so popular. 

Letting his partner clean him was incredibly embarrassing; the only thing that stopped him from pushing Tobirama away was the thought of reaching around to clean himself while the other sat there and watched. Or worse the thought of doing a poor job of it because he couldn’t see that area and he’d never had to do this before. His clenched fists and gaze set resolutely on the ceiling seemed to cause some amusement but thankfully nothing was said about either that or the way his face was doing yet another impression of a ripe strawberry. 

As soon as the other man stepped off the bed to go wash his hands Kagami spun and buried himself underneath the covers in the hopes that it would muffle the ridiculous urge building in his chest to squeal like a little girl. That had been everything he had ever hoped it would be and more. He felt like an adolescent mooning over their first crush and honestly the description wasn’t very far off, though he had left his adolescence behind years ago. By the time Tobirama came back in to the room he had managed to compose himself enough that hopefully he didn’t look like some wide-eyed innocent despite the fact that he still felt that way every time they kissed. Seeing the other walk around naked so brazenly certainly was not helping. 

“Feeling alright?” Tobirama asked as he lifted the covers to slide back in to the bed. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Dunno why everyone says you’re always sore after.”

“If they are sore then it’s because they were not stretched properly and their partner is either selfish or ignorant.” 

Rolling inwards to curl up against all that pale muscular heat, Kagami smiled. “You are neither.”

“Mn. Arguments could be made.” 

True as that was, he chose not to say anything. Arguments could be made against all shinobi for being ignorant or selfish in their own ways but he wasn’t much up for a philosophical debate at the moment. His brain still resembled mush just a little too much for that. 

“What I meant to say earlier”-Tobirama’s fingers combed through his hair, a soothing touch-“was thank you for challenging me. Thank you for having the courage even if you didn't believe it was a real date. You took a chance that even I dared not take and I admire that. I’m grateful. If you hadn’t we might never have had what we do now.” 

“Didn’t I tell you to stop saying embarrassing things?” Kagami mumbled. 

“Perhaps you did, I can’t seem to remember.” Tobirama hummed as though in deep thought.

Lightly slapping him on the chest did nothing more than make him chuckle. Luckily for him he did have a very nice laugh, hard earned as it usually was. And he did have a point. Even now Kagami wasn’t sure where he’d plucked up the courage to issue that challenge, one date in exchange for winning a game against the smartest man in the village, but he was glad that he’d done it. 

“So what you’re saying,” he mused teasingly, “is that between the two of us I currently hold the record for most romantic gesture. You should really put in a little more effort or I might start feeling unappreciated.”

“Oh I'll show you some appreciation alright.” 

With an almost feral grin Tobirama rolled them over, kissing him through the laughter that bubbled out, and Kagami decided he really had no problem with wherever this was headed. Now and in the future. He would never have a first time again but the two of them still had many firsts left to experience together and he couldn’t even imagine making these memories with anyone else. Everything in him would always belong to this man, wholly and completely. 

As his partner had said, it took a lot of courage for him to issue the challenge that so drastically changed their lives, but he was glad that he’d done it. Tobirama was the first and only man he had ever considered going to so much effort for and if their relationship continued along the paths it had been going down there would never be another.

Kagami smiled, holding tightly to the one he could still hardly believe was his own. He was more than alright with having this - and only this - for the rest of his life.