#whether by instinct or intention or planning or spur of the moment

[mxtxfanatic]

The common thread tying together how mxtx treats all her well-rounded character across all her works is that a character's past is as real as their actions. That means that a character's tragic past is a key part of their character and should be considered while analyzing them. It also means that their actions are also their own and must be considered when analyzing them. One does not negate the other. The trauma that a character experiences in the narrative is not erased by their shitty actions, but those experiences also don't redeem their immoral behavior. Everyone must live with the consequences of their chosen actions, regardless of what drove them to make those choices. That is the lesson.

[mxtchalilies]

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ RANDOM HAIKYUU BOYS + A BONDING MOMENT WITH THEIR S/O !

—highlights: oikawa tooru; goshiki tsutomu; sakusa kiyoomi

—word count total: 1.4k words

—notes: fluff; characters x g/n! reader (though afab! for oikawa's with the use of "muse"); headcanons + drabble; use of petnames; a lil messy and quite long; cheesy and ooc (?)

—rimi's letter: this is my first time posting my writing so i apologize if it's sloppy aaa !! might make this hq blog take requests if it's well-received ?

OIKAWA TOORU & UNPLANNED PHOTOSHOOTS ! ༉‧₊˚.

ღ oikawa absolutely adores going on dates with you, his beloved s/o! like, 'literally swooning and bothering iwa-chan about it'-level adores. at some point in the day, his brain starts racking adorable little scenarios of you two going out wherever. you can bet he's going to act upon it and is usually the one initiating it too—oikawa is pretty persuasive when he wants to be ღ whether it's by a chirp of, "i saw this cute cafe nearby, why don't we check it out?" or a little pout of, "angel, can we go out later? i missed you" he just wants to spend time with his sweetheart in a place they'd both like! (and show the world how lucky he is being with you!) he understands if you're busy, though he makes you promise to go on a date soon. but if you agree? his heart is going overdrive from excitement (and poor iwa-chan has to deal with a hyperactive overthinking oikawa... stay strong iwa) ღ the photoshoot part of dates is completely unplanned, usually spurred by the sole instincts of oikawa to snap images. he claims he wants to capture the moment to engrave in his memory (both in his head and his poor phone's memory storage). so when you both went out to a cafe, and he sees the angle of the sun kissing your frame just so perfectly... get ready for several minutes of picture-taking

"tooru, please tell me why you refuse to let me check out the new cake display by the counter for nearly five minutes now?"

oikawa's brown eyes glanced up to look at you briefly, before returning to stare at the screen of his phone. a few seconds of silence hung until you heard a click of the phone's camera, "just one more picture angel, then i'll get you that cake" he responds in a murmur, tilting his phone vertically before groaning in frustration

you couldn't help the small smile creeping onto your lips when you see his scrunched up look and matching pout, "you seem so intent on taking that picture perfectly, 'kawa. what for?"

"because it's a shame if i don't do you justice!" his outburst is equally as frantic as he gestures, pointing to the setting sun and its warm glow, "the sun is practically shining glory onto your beauty—you look like a muse, a deity—and i'd be a fool to let this opportunity pass by just like that!"

now you wonder whether it's the sunset's rays or the blush creeping on your face that's making you heat up. but with the small gasp and immediate shutter of a phone camera, you seem to have gotten your answer

"gosh, you're still pretty even when you're blushing! my pretty angel... oh and for that five minute wait, i'll get you that cake you wanted!"

GOSHIKI TSUTOMU & HAIR-STYLING ! ༉‧₊˚.

ღ first thing's first: he got the idea of styling your hair from two separate events. the first instance was something he didn't pay too much mind: when he read some articles trying to find something cute to do with your s/o (because the baby wants to impress and swoon you). the other instance, which got his attention, was a little quip from tendou about how cute he finds hair-styling ღ goshiki had a brainrot about this, i'm not kidding. he literally looked up techniques on how to braid hair properly, he went on a shopping trip to find some cute hair accessories, he even studied and tried to find out whether a comb or a brush would be more ideal for hair-styling. tendou caught onto what goshiki's planning and acted as the push of confidence he needed. so now the baby's fired up and determined to do it and make the braid the best one you'll lay eyes on! ღ he underestimated anxiety, however, as he practically trips over his feet and jumbles over his words when faced with you. the practice he did in front of the mirror is all for naught when he finds himself mumbling and fumbling, internally scolding himself over how clumsy he now looks. but when your sweet laughter rings through his ears and you actually allowed him to play with your hair? the guy feels like ascending the heavens

the way goshiki threads through your hair is soft, almost featherlight in his touch—very difficult to believe it's the same hand you saw practice sharp and hard-hitting spikes all those months ago

you're quite surprised that he's doing a great job styling your hair. a part of you was expecting a cute attempt in what's supposedly called a "braid" but then again, it's goshiki we're talking about—your sweet, determined, soon-to-be ace boyfriend. he definitely wants to perfect this for you and you seem to have no say out

soon enough you felt your braid being secured using a purple ribbon. as he pulls back, you take in the stars in your boyfriend's eyes—in awe of how pretty you looked because of a braid he managed to perfect. pride swelled in his chest, and a tiny grin broke onto his lips,

"uwoh! I-I did it, I actually did it... I did a perfect braid..!"

giggling, you peck his cheek, "yes you did darling, you did it well. i love it!" your eyes trail to the other untouched ribbon, a sudden idea boiling in your head as your boyfriend blabbers about

you poke him, "tsu-kun?" "yes?" "how would you feel if i did the exact same braid on you?"

goshiki blinked twice before furrowing his eyebrows, "that would... wouldn't that make us have similar braids? we'd be matching—"

realization struck in the form of a blush and all he could muster is a meek and understanding "oh"

SAKUSA KIYOOMI & STAR GAZING ! ༉‧₊˚.

ღ when i tell you that you've got this man wrapped around your finger, you best believe you have him so very smitten to the point he'd try to do things he normally wouldn't—just for you. sakusa tries to be subtle about his gestures but you quickly catch onto it ღ he initially wanted to refuse the request but... it's you—and the little shine of expectancy in your eyes made it even more hard for him to say no to you. he agreed to your one-time request of star gazing under two conditions: you guys lay on a picnic blanket, and that when bugs appear, you guys get back in. (you actually prepared some umeboshi as a final tactic but it turns out you didn't need it. still, you brought some along that night) ღ sakusa actually found himself liking the experience. the tranquil blanket of night facing you both, singing slumbers to everyone under its care. a sea of stars twinkling like decorations, tracing patterns of tales waiting to be read. the atmosphere is much to his liking: just the two of you and the gentle breeze of night. and he gets to witness all of this with you, the one whom he loves so dearly. how can he not be hooked?

"omi, i really think we should've printed out that constellation chart we saw on the 'net..."

you're both laying on your backs with your eyes still focused on the sky even as you feel sakusa intertwine his palm with yours. he chuckled softly, "what makes you say that, dear?"

"we could've tried to spot some constellations! maybe there's actually one we'd see here!" "fine. the next time we do this again, i'll remind you to print it out"

all the words to your response die at your throat and you thought you're going crazy, "kiyoomi... did i hear that right?" you sat up, now looking down directly at him in bewilderment

this was one of the rare moments that sakusa didn't bother to wear his mask out. with the aid of the moon's glow, you can clearly make tell of his emotions. from the squint of his eyes, the furrowing of his eyebrows, and the small downwards curve of his lips—clear confusion is written all over his face

"did you hear what right?"

a sudden wash of hope and excitement brought about a gleeful smile on your face, "you said 'next time we do this'. omi, do you want to go star gazing with me again soon?"

this time, it was him who had to find his words, "i-... s-sure"

sakusa didn't stutter because he was caught and simply embarrassed, no. he was caught off guard over how beautiful you looked. that pure happiness and love in your eyes, a smile so bright he swears it rivals the sun (ironic considering he noticed how the moon gently drapes its light over you too)

if loving you and being with you is all that it takes for you to look at him with such raw love, then by all the stars in the sky he swears to love you forever

! mxtchalilies, 2021. copying, stealing, editing, or using this work in any way without my permission is not allowed. reblogs and shares however, are much appreciated <3

[amorousadepti]

❈ flood in my heart (childe x reader)

another belated birthday fic, this time for dear rat boy (*￣▽￣)b honestly did not expect to fall so hard for this bastard but here we are!! he’s an absolute fave and im not ashamed. actually Would have gotten this one out at the right time but my internet decided to quit on me so :^) sorry 

summary: childe has plans for you on his birthday. you have plans of your own. the day takes a turn neither of you expect, but you’re not complaining (gn!reader, no pronouns or anatomy descriptions)

warnings: loosely-described fight scene, vague violence, childe being childe

length: 2.7k

The letter is delivered first thing in the morning, sitting on your tray of breakfast and propped against your steaming teacup.

You take your time before opening it. When your belly is pleasantly full with crab roe tofu and you're sipping from your third cup, you finally deign to lift the plain envelope from the tray, studying it intently. Though it bears no name, you already have an idea of the sender; you'd never admit it, but you've been anticipating this day for a while. 

Your suspicions are proved correct when you slit the envelope and find a letter written in Childe's familiar chicken-scratch scrawl. It no longer occurs to you to wonder how he knew where you were staying - by now, you know that if Childe wants to find you, he will. Munching idly on a crisp lotus flower, you consider the invitation. 

If you have no special plans, how about you swing by my place? 

Was it just wishful thinking, or was he—

You shake the thought from your head, taking another emphatic bite of lotus crisp. The day is still young. You have plenty of time to bathe, dress, and then make your way to Liuli Pavilion. 

(And if you spend just a little more time than usual on your appearance, making sure to spray the perfume he'd once impulsively bought you on each pulse point - well, that's no one's business but yours.)

"Comrade!" Comes the customary greeting once you finally wander into the Pavilion. Childe bounds up to you with a vibrant grin, sweeping you into an embrace that lifts you onto the tips of your boots. "I was hoping you would come!" 

You hum, leaning into his embrace and desperately fighting the instincts that tell you to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe deep in his familiar scent - saltwater and cold iron and the warm musk of his skin. You allow yourself to indulge only for a few seconds, then step back to a respectful distance (though Childe, disregarding the memo, follows and keeps an arm linked with yours.) 

"Happy birthday, Chi—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" He wags a finger at you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "It's my birthday, comrade - the least you can do is call me by my name, no?" 

"Happy birthday, Ajax." You squeeze his hand, his fingers moving to twine with yours. "And many happy returns." 

Childe beams at you, a faint glimmer in the usually dull blue of his eyes as he starts to pull you after him. "Now, I did say I have some plans for you—" 

"You don't want your gift first?" The way he whirls on his heel, clearly thrilled at the prospect of being lavished with gifts, is... endearing. You raise the bag in your free hand, wiggling it tantalizingly. "It comes in a few parts, actually."

"You spoil me, comrade," he simpers, unsubtly trying to swipe for your bundle of treasures and pouting when you withdraw. You roll your eyes in fond exasperation, pulling out the first part of your gift: a small white box that fits in your palm, bound with a delicate blue ribbon. 

"Open this first." You don't even need to tell him, really - he's quick to snatch the little box from your hand, though you notice he takes surprising care in untangling the ribbon. His expression softens when he holds your gift in his palm, rolling the little white whale between his fingers as he studies every intricately carved detail.

"It's made from a whale's tooth, too," you blurt, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "It's from Inazuma - the merchant said she only had a few left, managed to snag them before the border closed. I thought of you when I saw it. Thought maybe it could be a good luck charm or something." 

"Coming from you, it has to be lucky," Childe says, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He tucks the carving into a little pocket (just over his heart) and pats the spot where it rests gently, his smile small but honest. "Thank you. I'll take good care of this." 

You clear your throat, averting your eyes as you thrust the rest of the bag at him. "These, too."  

He peers inside, and you watch his brow furrow as he studies your prizes: an array of shackles and chaos cores and a few jars of slime concentrate to boot. The fruits of many battles, compiled over the past two months. Comprehension dawns quickly, his hands clenching into fists around the rucksack as he glances up to meet your eyes. 

"That bow of yours could use an upgrade, right? Especially if you want any chance of beating me today," you say demurely, a faint smile pulling at your lips. "Once you're done, meet me at the Golden House. But don't expect me to take it easy on you just because it's your birthday." 

The smile that curls his lips is nothing short of bloodthirsty. It makes your heart flutter. "I wouldn't dream of it, Comrade!" 

The sound of his laughter follows you through the streets, spurring you onward. Sneaking past the Millelith is easy enough - this is far from your first time, after all. Honestly, you're pretty sure none of them are willing to deal with the hassle of you and your Fatui opponent. You slip through the great door with only the faintest creak, stretching to loosen up your muscles as you amble down the sloping stairs to the center of the floor. Your favorite battlefield. 

You're still stretching casually when the hair on the back of your neck prickles, carefully honed instincts suddenly crying danger! You call your sword as you stand straight, rising just in time to bat away the Hydro arrow that would have caught you in the right shoulder. Droplets of water splatter your face, a cool spray that sets your nerves ablaze with anticipation. Your blood pumps quick as Childe steps into view, Vision glowing at his hip. 

"Oh, comrade," he sighs, almost dreamily. "You really do know just what I like!" 

His voice is drowned beneath a cacophony of water as he launches himself at you, barely giving you enough time to raise your shield before he crashes into it with a splash. Your muscles strain, a fine tremble in your limbs betraying the force of his blow. Your heart pounds with excitement, a grin twisting your lips in answer to his eager smile. 

He leaps back, dodging a slash from your dagger, and knocks you off balance with a Hydro attack to your knees that sends you staggering back. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to cook you a hearty meal after I beat you." 

"Don't get cocky, now," you huff, finding your feet. You move together in a predatory circle, each waiting for the other to strike. "You haven't beaten me yet."

"True! Which will make my victory today all the more special," he chirps, bouncing a little on his heels with glee. "Do I get another gift if I win?" 

"So greedy, Ajax," you breathe, digging your heels in as you weather another rapid onslaught of arrows. "The pleasure of my company isn't enough for you?" 

"I can think of more ways to indulge in your company, dear comrade," he purrs when your blade locks with a ridge of his bow, leaning close over your crossed weapons. His tongue, hot and quick, licks a trail across your cheekbone. 

You lash out with a sloppy swing of your blade, striking only air as the Harbinger leaps back with a gleeful cackle, twisting on his feet so he can fire another shot at you. You roll nimbly out of its path, grimacing as you scrub at your cheek with the back of your hand. 

Oh, you definitely won't be making this easy for him. 

It's impossible to tell how much time passes in the Golden House; whenever you're here with him, it's like the world reduces to only you and Childe, the clash and tangle of your bodies across the hallowed floor. It could be hours or only minutes. Whatever the case, you're both panting, dripping sweat, and sore by the time you see an opening in his guard, launching yourself towards him for the decisive blow. 

Except— 

His bow clatters to the ground, discarded from limp fingers. Childe stands still and quiet, arms hanging at his sides, and the expression on his face as he watches you charge, blade-first, is like nothing you've ever seen from him before. 

You lower your sword, your boots skidding on the floor - but not fast enough to stop your collision, and you faceplant into Childe's chest with a grunt. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close; the other finds the wrist of your sword arm, extended carefully behind you. For a moment, it feels like an embrace, just as warm and affectionate as the one you'd shared with him earlier. 

Then he twists your arm hard enough that you cry out, your sword falling to the ground with a clang, and the next thing you know, you're flat on your back, Childe's hands encircling your wrists to pin you in place. 

The puff of each exhale fans over your lips, his narrow chest heaving as the two of you catch your breath. You test his grip and find it unyielding, strong as shackles. Childe watches you writhe beneath him with a quiet intensity that both unsettles and thrills you, something about the glint in his eyes making your heart turn over in your chest. Somehow, it feels as though you've lost much more than a friendly spar. 

"My," he chuckles finally, though his grasp on your wrists remains like iron. "I have to be honest, I wasn't sure whether you would stop!" 

You toss your head, glaring up at him without much heat. "That was a dirty trick." 

"I know," he says, releasing one arm to tenderly brush the hair away from your sweat-slick forehead. You don't take advantage of the moment of weakness. He does not apologize. That's good - you think you'd be more annoyed if he said sorry without meaning it. "But it seems that it's my win, comrade." 

You sigh through your nose, exasperated but unwilling to fight. "That it is." 

He hums quietly, still studying you with that strange look - you feel oddly naked, pinned beneath his gaze. The hand that remains around your wrist squeezes gently, gloved thumb grazing your pulse point; you try to restrain a shudder, but from the way his eyes sharpen, you doubt you succeed. 

"Now, now..." He sighs in a show of exaggerated thoughtfulness. "What should my next gift be?"  

You grumble something vaguely along the lines of not having agreed to another gift. Childe ignores you steadfastly, snapping his fingers in realization. "How about a kiss?" 

You snort, prepared to brush the request off as another bit of harmless flirting, but the look in his eyes is not one of jesting. Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and you wet your lips with your tongue before you speak again. The way his cobalt eyes flicker to watch your mouth does nothing to help your focus. "Seriously?" 

"Why not?" He says, shrugging as though he hasn't just knocked your world off-kilter. Your mouth opens, but before you can speak, you feel his fingers caress your jaw, his thumb resting on the pad of your lower lip. The leather is blessedly cool; you feel feverish in comparison. He's looking at you like he could swallow you whole, and you think you would let him. "A kiss from my most beloved comrade... now that's a gift I would really treasure."

You inhale, a ragged, gasping thing that sounds more post-coital than post-battle, and lay still beneath his hand. The thought that you have yet to actually respond fails to occur to your fogged brain - until suddenly the contact is gone, the loss of his touch echoing in your chest, and something in Childe's expression wavers before he's sitting up, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes on his lips. He's shutting himself off from you. Again.

"Ah, well, it was only a jo—mmph!"

Huh. If you'd known a kiss was all it took to stop his rambling, you might've given into your desires earlier. 

His lips are a bit chapped but pleasantly warm against yours, and his breath smells surprisingly sweet - it seems you weren't the only one indulging in Liyue's traditional snacks today. He hadn't been prepared for you to pull him down, and for a breathless moment his full weight rests upon you; there's a guilty exhilaration in feeling the length of him pressed against you, his long legs tangled with yours and strands of his hair tickling your cheeks. Your fingers knot tightly in his red scarf, holding him so close you think you can feel the pounding of his heart in your own chest. When your tongue flicks against the plush of his bottom lip, he moans sweetly, a shudder wracking his lithe frame as he opens for you, a gloved hand cupping your cheek. You taste blood in his mouth and can't tell whether it's yours or his. The thought excites you, your heart hammering as your blood grows hot. 

A strand of saliva, tinted pink with blood, connects your mouths when Childe pulls away with a ragged gasp. His lips are swollen from your kiss, a deep flush coloring his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his eyes are wide and startled. They almost—

Shine. 

"Comrade!" Childe exclaims, reeling back on his heels. You've never seen him so... off-balanced, his hands twitching helplessly in the air. You decide you like him this way. "H-How bold of you!" 

You blink, lazily propping yourself up on your elbows. "You were the one that asked for a kiss in the first place." 

He seems to fluster even more at the reminder, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. "I didn't think you'd actually do it!" 

"Aw, Ajax," you coo. Much to your delight, the blush on Childe's cheeks grows even darker, a red glow creeping down his neck. "Is the big bad Harbinger flustered all because of a little kiss? What would Scara say if he saw you like this?"

Childe grimaces. "Don't mention him right now, please." 

You laugh, loudly, until Childe's hands clamp down on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground once again. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, finding him watching you intently; that same strange, searching look as before, but mixed with something darker. 

Hungrier. 

"You should be more careful, offering a gift like that so freely," he murmurs - a breathless purr like you've never heard before, the promise of danger in his voice making your thighs clench. One hand moves to gently nudge the band of your shirt off your shoulder, the brush of his fingers against your bared skin sending your nerves sparking. "I might want you to give me even more."

The words spill from your lips easily, without thinking. "Then take more." 

Childe stares down at you wordlessly. He's barely breathing, lashes fluttering when you reach out and catch his hand, slipping your fingers under the tight line of his glove until you can peel it off his fingers. He says your name, soft and wondering. 

"You said that this was a gift you'd treasure..." You guide him to the tie of your blouse. Unprompted, his fingers curl around the loose knot. "So make sure to take good care of me, Ajax." 

Your blouse falls open with a gentle tug, and Childe falls upon you, locking your lips in a messy kiss as his hands roam your body wildly, seeking out every scrap of bare skin he can find. You're pulled onto your knees to straddle his lap as he sits back and pulls you atop him, breaking from your mouth to trail bruising bites down the length of your throat. The force of his desire crashes down upon you like a wave, filling your lungs with only him. 

You're glad to drown. 

[rocorambles]

Let’s Play A Game

Pairing: Kyoutani x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Cock Slapping, Cum Play, Fluff and Smut

Summary: Let’s play a game, Kentarou. If you behave, you get a reward. If you act up, you get a punishment. Choose wisely~

You can’t remember exactly how this whole tradition started. It had been a spur of the moment decision you had made when you were both second years at Aoba Johsai in a desperate attempt to get your boyfriend to rejoin the volleyball club. 

Kyoutani loves volleyball, even if he’s too stubborn to admit it, and you can feel something heavy in your chest every time you two pass the gym on your way back home and you see his longing look that he tries to hide from you. But he’s never been subtle and you sigh when he unconsciously tightens his grip on your hand and clenches his jaw as the two of you walk further and further away from the sound of balls ricocheting off of arms, floors, and walls, Iwaizumi’s stern voice echoing throughout the gymnasium, and Oikawa’s cheerful lilt. 

You hope that his love for the sport will overcome his hot headedness when it comes to your senpais. But of course it doesn’t and having had enough of your boyfriend moping around like an abandoned puppy, one day you forcefully drag his growling, snarling figure to the gymnasium, smirking at the way he doesn’t resist all that much despite the scowl on his face. 

All he needed was a little nudge in the right direction and you lecture him about at least trying to get along with his upperclassmen, offhandedly sticking on a promise of a reward or a punishment depending on how he behaves before shoving him through the doors before he can retort. 

If you’re honest, you had forgotten about the reward or punishment addendum, so when you pick up Kyoutani from his first practice back you’re surprised when he tentatively approaches you like a hopeful puppy. 

“I didn’t get into a fight with the third-years.” 

You’re taken aback by both the statement and the quiet tone of his voice and the two of you just stare at each other in silence, Kyoutani in anticipation, you in confusion. 

“You said that there would be a reward?”

You don’t know whether to laugh or gape at your boyfriend and the sound that comes out of your mouth is an embarrassing guffaw. But when all he does is expectantly look at you, you can’t help the soft flutter in your heart and you pull him down by the collar of his shirt, planting a firm succinct kiss on his lips before pulling back and ruffling the top of his head affectionately. And you giggle at the faint blush you see and the upward twitch of his lips he’s trying to hide as you both straighten. 

But the peaceful atmosphere is broken up by obnoxious cheering from behind the two of you and Kyoutani doesn’t need to try hiding his smile anymore, an angry glare spreading across his face as Oikawa and Hanamaki whoop and holler about their kouhai getting some action, Matsukawa giving a thumbs up, and even Iwaizumi smiling fondly at the two of you. 

Needless to say, when the four third-years find out about the little game their Mad Dog and his precious girl have going on, Oikawa and Hanamaki spend most of their time trying to teasingly sabotage their underclassmen after every practice and match, over dramatizing and reacting when they see you show up to pick up your boyfriend, whining and complaining about how mean Mad Dog-chan was. And you can’t help joining them in messing around with your boyfriend, flicking him on the forehead much to their amusement and refusing to touch him, even for a quick peck on the cheek, internally laughing at how adorable he is when he slightly pouts at you, looking like a kicked puppy as he trails behind you, sulking as you both walk home. 

But Iwaizumi takes pity on the fiery athlete, knocking a volleyball against Oikawa’s head and holding Hanamaki in a headlock when the two are being particularly relentless in their teasing, sending a small smile your way when he tells you your boyfriend was perfectly fine and Kyoutani perks up at the compliment, staring intently at you as you grab both his hands in yours and eagerly leaning in as you move forward to sweetly lock lips with him before you giggle and walk back home hand in hand with him. 

It’s a sweet back and forth neither of you ever tire of, but as the current third-years graduate and both of you become third-years yourselves, the stakes go up as both of you officially enter adulthood. 

Yahaba becomes the new referee of your little game and although he’s nowhere near as mischievous or eager about throwing Kyoutani under the bus as Seijohj’s ex-captain, he lets Kyoutani get away with much less as far as temper and attitude are concerned. And you can’t blame him. The three of you are now the highest in the school pecking order, the ones everyone else is looking up to as role models, and appearances are more important than ever especially in a sport where teamwork and morale are so vital to performance. 

And not even Kyoutani dares to argue or grumble too much as Yahaba and you both scold him together when he snaps at an underclassmen for fumbling a ball, refuses to help teach or instruct the new members, knowing deep down that both of you are right, that it’s time to shed his lone Alpha attitude if they want any chance of making it to Nationals. 

But on the other hand, while the new “punishments” are certainly harsher than before, the rewards are sweeter than ever and Kyoutani can’t stop hungrily staring you down when Yahaba gives you a swift thumbs up, rolling his eyes as he flees before he can (once again) witness Mad Dog crashing his lips against yours in a passionate embrace, calloused hands tightly gripping your waist as he practically devours you, tasting every inch of your mouth, not breaking apart until both of you are panting messes, greedily gulping down much needed air before clashing against each other over and over and over again until Yahaba is screaming at both of you to get a room already. 

You wonder if the game will ever get old, ever lose its appeal, but years and years pass and the game continues through graduation, through college. And now here you are, full grown adults, game still going strong and you laugh at the short straightforward text you get from Tsukishima. 

“He was fine.”

If someone had told you back when you were still in highschool that the beanpole from Karasuno and your boyfriend would be teammates, let alone friends in the future, you would have laughed your ass off. But life has unexpected twists and Tsukishima is now a close friend to both of you, a frequent guest at the apartment you share with your boyfriend. And you can’t help but chuckle at how surprisingly well the two get along, their mutual dislike for pointless pleasantries and superficial social niceties joining the two at the hip. 

But there’s no time for too much reminiscing, not when your boyfriend is on his way back home and you quickly prepare yourself, donning a skimpy black fishnet lingerie set and a matching black collar with a silver heart in the front as you coyly situate yourself on your bed and patiently wait. 

Your hand slips under your panties as the front door unlocks and you unabashedly moan as your fingers slowly circle and rub your clit, smirking at the way you can hear a muffled curse and footsteps quickening towards you in response. And when he finally appears in the doorway, you slip two fingers deep inside of you, letting your eyes roll back and your jaw drop open at the stretch. 

You barely have time to grow accustomed to the digits inside of you before a cock is being crudely slapped and rubbed against your face and you can’t help the lewd whine of approval that escapes you as you deeply inhale the familiar musk, tongue instinctively lolling out in a desperate attempt to taste the delicious meal in front of you, fingers beginning to thrust in and out of your increasingly slick hole. 

The only warning you have is a growl before his tip is making its way into your drooling mouth and you obediently let a hand grab you by the back of your head, unresisting as you’re ruthlessly shoved forward, your throat and mouth being forced to accept the hard length until your nose is brushing against the coarse hair of your boyfriend’s groin, the fullness and comfort of being filled on both ends only making you leak even more. 

You don’t know how many times he’s had you in this exact position. All you know is that it’s been enough times that it feels right, feels perfect, feels amazing for your mouth and throat to be used as nothing more than a warm hole for him to use as his hips piston back and forth, cock plundering every inch of your orifice, pleasure coursing through you from being used so thoroughly, from adequately pleasuring your lover, his low grunts and groans going straight to the drenched hole between your legs, and you swear you could cum just like this. 

But Kyoutani has other plans for the two of you and he sharply smacks your cheek with his saliva coated cock and warningly bares his fangs at you when you whine as he pulls out. You pout as you reluctantly stop playing with your leaking cunt, letting strong arms manhandle you into his preferred position, a wanton high-pitched keen coming out of you as you’re put on full display, hands pushing hard on the back of your thighs until you’re bent in half, shaped in a perfect mating press. 

You feel so vulnerable, pussy walls clenching as the cool air hits the apex of your widely spread thighs. And you think that this must be what prey feels like before it’s devoured, breathing becoming shallow as arousal curls inside of you at the predatory gaze Kyoutani has you pinned down with as he licks his lips when he takes a moment to finally fully appreciate the little outfit you’ve put on for him, something dark gleaming in his eyes at the dark collar wrapped around your pretty little neck, marking you as his, practically salivating as his gaze continues down, noticing how your nipples obscenely peek out from between the fishnet material, registering just how little the thin open fabric does to cover your glistening pussy. 

Patience has never been Kyoutani’s strong suit and although he’s managed to tone things down from his wild days as a second-year, leaving the nickname Mad Dog far behind him, some things don’t change and you squeal when your panties are being shoved to the side, Kyoutani not even having the patience to fully take them off before he’s plunging deep inside of you in one swift motion, almost immediately starting a brutal pace as he hammers in and out of you. 

Your measly fingers pale in comparison to the way the cock inside of you forcefully stretches you apart and the position makes your mind go blank as he reaches places inside of you your fingers can never hope to touch. All you know is the way his fat cock drags against your walls, the way the spongy spot inside of you is constantly stimulated with every thrust, and all you can do is take, take, and take as you’re physically held in place by the man above you and inside of you, unable to even writhe, only able to toss your head back and forth in delirious rapture. 

You can feel a familiar build-up growing inside of you, lust, desire, and arousal tangling together in an intoxicating and addicting cocktail and needy whimpers slip past your lips as one of your hands slip down between your legs, furiously rubbing your clit as you breathily tell your lover how close you are. 

And how can Kyoutani not join you over the edge as you fall to pieces underneath him wailing his name, looking every bit like the epitome of debauchery as your neck arches and your face goes stupid in utter bliss, feeling like literal sin as your tight walls clench and milk him? 

Something possessive and warm curls inside of him at the silly smile that stretches across your face as he buries himself one last time inside of you, thick white spurts filling you up, and he can’t help how he leans down to capture your lips intimately, savoring your taste before lightly nipping and tugging at your lower lip with his teeth as he pulls away, carefully repositioning both of you until you’re both side by side, lower bodies still connected as he tucks you under his chin and holds you close, letting you snuggle your head into his toned chest. 

It’s tempting to just melt into his arms, get lost to the rhythmic beating of his heart, but as the pangs of pleasure begin to dull to a pleasant thrum, you think of dinner, laundry, cleaning, and you sigh as you try to wiggle your way out of the comforting hold, only to yelp when Kyoutani responds by pulling you back to him, squeezing you even tighter as he petulantly growls. 

“Kentarou! We need to go wash up and then get dinner started. It’s not good for you to not eat anything after practice. You’re a professional athlete now! You have to take better care of your body.”

You snort when he reluctantly loosens his grip on you, laughing when his stomach rumbles and an embarrassed flush graces his cheeks. But you curiously look at him when a hand gently wraps around your wrist before you can fully escape the cozy warmth of the bed and his warm body. 

“Don’t wash up.”

“That’s disgusting, Kentarou. You came inside of me!”

It’s your turn for your face to heat up at the smug smirk that plays across your boyfriend’s face as he greedily eyes the white trail beginning to make its way down your inner thigh before making eye contact with you once more. 

“Don’t wash up.” 

And you scowl at how pleased he looks as he strategically places himself behind you as he helps you prep in the kitchen, whipping your head and glaring at him as he doesn’t even bother hiding how transfixed he is as the white trail drips further and further down your leg, threatening to land on the kitchen floor. 

“Happy? Now can I please go wash up? I’m pretty sure all of it leaked out by now- KENTAROU!”

You yelp as strong hands grab you by the waist, a strangled moan echoing throughout the space as a familiar hard object is suddenly splitting your lower lips apart once again. 

“Kentarou, wh-what are you-”

“You said you were empty so I’m just fixing that.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

But any rebuttal you have gets lost in gasps and moans as you’re bent over the counter, blinding pleasure coursing through your body all over again as the man behind you wildly ruts in and out of you and you can’t bring yourself to care about what you had been trying to say or do as you let yourself drown in delirious arousal once again. 

Dinner and chores will just have to wait. 

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Domination.

A commission for the very lovely @evaesis​. 

Word Count: 4k.

Pairing: Yandere!Dabi/OC (& Slight Yandere!Overhaul/OC).

TW: Non-Con, Dub-Con, A/B/O Dynamics, Oral Sex (M. Receiving), Kidnapping, Imprisonment, Slight Exhibitionism, Non-Consensual Touching, Mind Break, Physical Abuse, Slight Stockholm Syndrome, and Possessive Mindsets. 

There was someone in Kit’s apartment.

She knew there was. She knew there was, she’d known since the moment she found her deadbolt undone, a new scratch next to the lock, the interior of her flat just a little too quiet not to be suspicious. She should’ve been used to it, now, considering her quirk, how it heightened her senses, how often it seemed to attract fans a little more proactive than most, but she still found it difficult to fight that familiar paranoia, the feeling that something was wrong, even if evidence was sparse. She tried to ignore it as she pushed open her front door, but it was difficult to suppress. It was always difficult, for—

“Are you ignoring me, Bluu?”

Her anxiety spiked, but dropped just as quickly. Right.

She’d managed to forget about the phone in her hand, Aizawa still loitering on the other end.

She took a second to sigh before she moved it back to her ear, already hitting herself for letting such minor details get under her skin. “Trying to,” She countered, stepping through the threshold, dropping her bag on the nearest table before bothering to grope for a light switch. “You were talking about tomorrow’s stake-out? C’mon, I’m dying to hear how two Pro-Heroes will somehow, against all odds, spend eight hours staring at an empty storefront.”

There was a hum, a breath of a laugh, but Aizawa was just as stern as ever when he went on. “Don’t change the topic. If something’s wrong, I can—”

“You can go home and relax.” Her lights flickered on, and Kit’s nerves eased. Her furniture wasn’t toppled over, her windows weren’t broken, and nothing was out of place, even if her ears were still pressed to her scalp, her tails flicking anxiously behind her. “I’m a big girl, alright? If anything’s wrong, I can handle it.” Aizawa hummed skeptically, and Kit groaned, making her exasperation clear, as she went on. “Goodnight. Make sure you’re ready to be this helpful tomorrow, Mr. Alpha.”

“Make sure you’re still alive, tomorrow,” He retorted, trying and failing to hide the fondness in his voice. “Keep yourself safe. I don’t work with corpses.”

He hung up before she had the chance to respond, leaving Kit in frustrated, giddy silence. Tossing her phone on to the closest table, Kit tried to take her own advice. She’d just gotten off of patrol. She was on high-alert, she was exgausted, and she was projecting that onto the place she wanted to feel safe the most – her apartment. She wanted to feel safe, but she didn’t want to let herself. She just wanted one more fight, a few more minutes of adrenaline, and if she couldn’t find one, her irrational instincts were content to make one.

And then, she caught it. A hint of smoke, something similar to burnt sugar. Caramelized past the point of sweetness, but still pleasant enough to cover up the rot, just underneath it.

An arm wrapped around her waist, a chest slotted itself against her back, and Kit grit her teeth, fighting the urge to kick herself for not listening to her irrational instincts sooner.

“Talking to an alpha behind my back, dollface?” The voice was rough, low and raspy, at the same time, and Kit recognized it instantly – Dabi, a member of the League of Villains, a familiar face from the other side of battle fields and walls of fire that always seemed to be just a little too far for Kit to fight, beat, and arrest, before he could cause any more carnage. Anger shot through her, bright and blinding, but the feeling dimmed into numb, logical terror as a scarred hand rose, wrapping around her neck, his palm just hot enough to remind her of his quirk, of the damage it could do in seconds, if she gave him a reason to use it. “Try anything, and the whole fucking building goes up.” His tone was still light, teetering on the line between careless and calculated, but Kit knew better than to test him. If Dabi made a threat, she knew he’d be good for it. She’d already given him plenty of chances to prove that, unfortunately. “I just need to help my friend with somethin’, sweetheart. Nobody has to get hurt.”

She could’ve fought back. She wanted to fight back. Dabi wasn’t good with close-ranger combat, but she was, and she could’ve fought and won, if she tried to.

But, as soon as she caught a stroke of red in her peripheral, as soon as she heard that sigh, she knew she couldn’t. Not if Keigo was here.

Not when she knew he’d sooner slit her throat than let her interfere with whatever plan the Hero Commission had arranged for him.

In his defense, he seemed hesitant. His expression was grim as he stepped into Kit’s line of sight, his wings folded against his back and his mouth set into a small frown. She only got a moment to glare, though, before Dabi drove his heel into the back of her knee, shoving Kit to the ground and grabbing her wrists, forcing them against the small of her back while she growled, baring her teeth to both of the men that surrounded her. She wouldn’t fight back. She wouldn’t blow his cover, but that didn’t mean she had to be nice about it. “Bastards,” She spat, Dabi’s hand already slipping under her shorts, his intentions becoming more unignorable with every passing second. “Don’t touch me. What the fuck do you think you’re—”

“Don’t take this personally.” At least Keigo fit the part, just as cold and just as villainous as his more sincere counterpart. “It was Dabi’s call. I would’ve gone with a civilian, if it was up to me.”

“Our initiation.” It was a purr, this time, punctuated by a chuckle as nimble fingers found her panties, tracing the shape of her slit through the thin fabric. Despite herself, her breath hitched as his thumb caught on her clit, pushing a slow, deep circle into the vulnerable bundle of nerves. “You should feel honored. Another villain would’ve been easier, and there’s gotta be a hundred different sidekicks easier to track down than you, but I figured if our golden boy wants to prove he can get his hands dirty…” There was a pause, another laugh, this one muffled by the dip of her shoulder. “Might as well let him have a taste of my favorite little Hero before I take her home, right?”

An initiation. That was what he claimed this was for – Keigo’s initiation, but Dabi didn’t seem in a rush to pull away. He took his time, pushing open-mouthed kisses into the side of her neck, nipping at all the tiny, sensitive spots that made her eyes clench shut, her body jerk under the oh-so-generous attention of an alpha. She didn’t want him to touch her. She didn’t want him anywhere near her, but her body did, and that was enough to spur Dabi forward, a deep chuckle falling from his lips as his gaze shifted, rising to Keigo, still kneeling stiffly in front of her. “Didn’t take you for the shy type, rookie. Get down here, before I start to think you’re havin’ second thoughts.”

Keigo rolled his eyes, but his hesitation was playful, at best, a show put on for Kit’s sake rather than his own. “I’m not trying to ruin your fun.” His tone was light, but the way he moved was stiff, clinical, his fingertips barely brushing against her waist as Dabi pulled back, giving her just enough distance to let Keigo take the lead. Keigo didn’t argue, only taking his place, his lips ghosting over the edge of her jaw. “I’m sorry,” He whispered, just quietly enough to let Dabi believe it was some idle threat. “I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

At least she didn’t have to lie. Her lines were the same, regardless of his role. “Go fuck yourself.”

If nothing else, Keigo tried to keep his word. It was a small mercy, how little he used his hands, how swiftly his feathers cut through her shorts and her panties, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to be grateful, not when she still felt so exposed under Dabi’s prying eyes, not when it just gave him more skin to touch, more to burn. She didn’t need to be prepped. There was already slick coating the inside of her thighs, heat pooling at her core, her omega instincts reacting to the alphas’ pheromones before she could will herself not to, but Dabi must’ve been feeling nice. Whether or not she needed it, Dabi still took the time force two fingers through her tight entrance, the sudden intrusion drawing out a pitiful whimper that only seemed to make Dabi’s grin widen further. It was too intense, for something so thoughtless. He didn’t set a pace, didn’t try to find a rhythm, just curling his digits, spreading them apart, aiming for whatever made Kit grit her teeth and bow her head and keen, loudly, needily, despite how hard she fought not to. It was embarrassing. It was humiliating. It was…

It felt good, and she hated him for it.

By time he pulled away, she was bent over, squirming in his hold and panting, trying desperately to ignore the hum Dabi let out as he popped his fingers into his mouth, all sick contentment, all satisfied pride. There was a squeeze to her wrists as he acknowledged Keigo, barely offering a nod before shoving her into his chest, finally letting him take the lead. “Get it over with, pretty boy.” It was an order, not a request. If Kit was in a more sympathetic mood, she might’ve felt bad for him. “Before I get tired of watching you sulk.”

Keigo didn’t force her to watch. With her hair strung around his fist, his nails dug into her scalp, he forced her face into the crook of his neck, keeping Kit on her knees as fabric rustled and the tip of his cock bumped against her pussy. “I’ll be gentle,” He muttered, and Kit had to wonder why she couldn’t bring herself to believe him.

Then, he thrusted into her, not bothering to pause until he bottomed out, and Kit had her answer.

~

Dabi hadn’t been kidding, when he said he’d bring her home.

She tried to pretend he had been, sometimes, to close her eyes and pretend she was anywhere except the damp, dank cellar of whatever warehouse she’d been sedated and trapped inside of, but it was difficult. The quirk-cancelling collar around her neck was too heavy to be ignored, pressing against the base of her throat with an uncomfortable chill, and she couldn’t seem to get used to the way the chain attached to it rattled every time she tried to move. The concrete made it difficult, too, scraping against her knees, threatening to draw blood whenever she tried to shift, whenever Dabi’s grip tightened around her tether and he saw fit to drag her in one direction or another. He was good, at that. He knew how to keep his eyes on her, even if her gaze could hardly be called adoring.

“C’mon, baby.” His voice did little to endear her any further, a smug simper already tugging at the corner of his lips as his free hand dropped to the base of her ears. He was sitting on her cot, the only piece of furniture in that god-forsaken basement beyond a few forgotten crates and boxes she couldn’t bring herself to open, leaving Kit to sit between his legs. He’d been kind enough to edge his jeans down, his shirt discarded completely, his cock half-hard and already on display. He wasn’t feeling patient enough to force Kit to do it herself today, obviously. “I’m on a schedule, ‘ere. I’d love to play around, but I’m afraid I’m gonna need my omega to do her job, today.”

He said it like she had a choice, like his fingers weren’t already tangled in her hair, jerking her towards him until the flushed tip of his cock was pressed against her cheek, pre leaking onto her cheek as his palm grew warmer, just hot enough to be searing. Kit got the message quickly. If there was any silver lining to being with Dabi, it had to be that. He didn’t bother pretending he was any less depraved than he’d already proved himself to be.

She tried to get it over with as quickly as she could. Relaxing her throat, Kit closed her eyes and let Dabi thrust into her mouth, playing with the idea of giving her time to adjust before dragging her forward, only stopping when her nose met his pelvis and Kit gagged, her chest heaving as she tried to blink away the tears welling in her eyes. If Dabi cared, he didn’t try to show it. With an airy groan, Dabi guided her into a rhythm that fell between unhurried and uncaring, between self-sacrificing and selfish, slow enough to be agonizing but consistent enough to keep Kit on-edge, unprepared despite how predictable he was starting to become. Still, she tried to get used to it. To let the tension in her shoulders dissolve, to ignore his bitter, musky taste, to—

“She can still bite, y’know.”

To let Keigo ruin it, just when she’d gotten good at disassociating.

Dabi didn’t pause, but he lifted his head, eyeing the man leaning against the far wall, watching carefully. She supposed she should’ve been thankful for Keigo’s lasting heroism, his persistence when it came to making sure Dabi didn’t leave damage beyond burns and bruises, and yet, it was hard not to hate him for it, too. Just the raspy chuckle Dabi let out was enough to irritate her, enough to spur her loathing for the cause, rather than the source. “I’ll take the risk,” Dabi replied, only making the idea more tempting. “Wouldn’t be that bad, if she tried. ‘d give me an excuse to—fuck, give me an excuse to teach my omega some manners.”

There was a pause, a second filled with Kit’s heavy breaths and Dabi’s quiet swears. “She’s not yours.”

Without warning, she was shoved back, forcefully separated from Dabi with an audible pop. Kit moved to speak, but she didn’t get the chance to, not before his hand was clamped around her chin, his forefinger and his thumb digging into her cheeks as he stared down at her, a smirk painting itself across his lips after a long, careful second. Blatant, unconcealed, unashamed. Like he’d already forgotten Keigo was just across the room.  Like he’d never cared at all, as long as Kit was still kneeling at his feet.

As long as she was still powerless, compared to him.

“Not yet.”

~

At least Keigo had the courtesy to leave, this time.

To be fair, he’d done his best to stick around. He’d perched himself on a storage crate as Dabi left his first bitemark on Kit’s neck, sat on the stairwell as he pried her legs apart and made Kit cum on his tongue, lingered in the doorway when Dabi brought in his first set of ‘toys’, but today, he’d chosen to make himself sparse. It felt like a betrayal, in a way, one greater and more hurtful than the faux sacrifice that’d gotten her into this. Like he’d left her. Like he’d pushed her into a lion’s den, promised to rescue her after a few bites, then pulled up the rope behind him. But, at the same time, she was relieved. Anyone would be. She had to be.

It would only make it more painful if Keigo had stayed to watch the beast tear her apart.

Her head was fuzzy. Her mouth tasted like dust and her tongue felt like cotton, and her whole body seemed to throb. It was probably the exhaustion, the poor sleep and the dehydration and the lack of sunlight, and the fact that she hadn’t so much as seen her suppressants in more than a month didn’t help. It was all she could do to keep her arms crossed under her head, her back arched in a way that wouldn’t break her spine as Dabi pounded into her, his hands on her hips and his cock abusing her poor, drooling cunt. This was the first time he’d fucked her, really fucked her, and it showed, his satisfaction oozing out in his pheromones, his wild grin, the way he couldn’t seem to think about doing anything but bucking into her faster, deeper, harder.

 She was used to it, or she should’ve been, at least. He usually focused on his own pleasure, Kit’s needs serving as something unnecessary enough to be completely forgotten, but it would’ve been impossible not to react as he rutted into her pussy, it would’ve been impossible not to squirm and whine and go tense, if only because she knew there was no way out of his iron-clad grip. She did make a half-hearted attempt, clawing at the sheets and struggling, but Dabi put a stop to her futile attempts to fight back with a single hand, pressing the heel of his palm into the base of her spine and letting his skin smolder. Instantly, she went still, but the heat remained, lingering as Dabi chuckled. “C’mon, baby, you’re still gonna try that?” There was a pause, a thrust sharper than the rest. It felt like he was trying to fuck her cervix rather than her pussy, honestly. “Haven’t I been a good alpha? Tell the truth, now.”

He wasn’t a good alpha. He wasn’t a good anything, but her tongue felt heavy, her brain too hot to think, and for whatever reason, she couldn’t bring herself to say that. Still, she tried. She didn’t know if she’d be able to forgive herself, if she didn’t. “I don’t have a… You aren’t my—”

Another flare, another warning. This time, Kit screamed, and she could feel Dabi’s cock twitch inside of her. “I’m your alpha.” It was a growl, deep and throaty and overwhelming. He wasn’t asking. It wasn’t a choice. “I’m your alpha. You belong to me. You’re my omega. Say it.”

She didn’t want to. She didn’t believe it. She knew what an alpha was supposed to be, what her alpha was supposed to be, and he wasn’t it, he couldn’t be, even if he made an effort. He wasn’t nurturing, he wasn’t caring, he wasn’t even nice, not to her, not when he didn’t have a reason to be. She didn’t want him as her alpha. She didn’t want to be his omega. She didn’t want him any where near her.

But, she didn’t want to be in pain, either. She wanted him to stop.

And for just a second, she was willing to do whatever she could to make him stop, even if it meant giving in.

It was a moment of weakness, little more than a gasping breath that could’ve been mistaken for something coherent. She didn’t even realize she was talking, not until her mouth was open, words stumbling out before she could choke them back. “I’m you’re omega!” It was a short, desperate cry, but Dabi didn’t seem to mind. Not if she took the nails digging into her hips as a sign of encouragement. “Please, I’m—You’re my alpha! Please stop, I can’t—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish, not before Dabi bottomed out, filling her cunt with something thick and hot as her entire body went rigid, a bolt of pure electricity that shot for her core to her brain, lulling her into a depleted, fatigued state, something more mindless and more tolerable than what she’d almost gotten used to. She didn’t even flinch back as Dabi leaned down, his lips barely brushing against the harsh, blackened bruises he’d left littered across her skin. She just didn’t have the energy to. She just couldn’t remember why she’d wanted to so badly.

Dabi wasn’t her alpha. She knew that. He wasn’t.

But, she was starting to think it’d be easier, if she pretended he was.

~

Or, it might’ve been easier, rather.

As it turns out, she wouldn’t be with him long enough to find out.

It’d been a trade. She thought it was, at least – it was hard to tell from the position she’d been in, her face buried in Dabi’s chest, her arms draped over his shoulders, clinging to him the way he liked to be clung to whenever he took her to one of the League’s meetings. She tried not to listen. She really, really tried not to, as the air filled with dust, as she heard someone scream, as even Dabi reacted, holding her just a little tighter while Shigaraki muttered and snarled and bargained, holding her until a man she’d never seen before lifted her out of Dabi’s lap entirely, snapping his fingers once before leaving with her in-tow, cradled in his arms like a damsel in distress. Like a doll, helpless and breakable, freshly bought off a less deserving owner.

He was wearing a mask, an elongated beak that contrasted harshly with his pale skin. A memory resurfaced, dull and distant, the idea of face and a case she hadn’t taken up – something small, non-violent, money laundering or drug trafficking or all of the many things Kit had never taken an interest in. She pushed it away without a second thought. Kit tried not to think about things like that, anymore. It really never ended well, when she did.

She must’ve been staring, but he didn’t see mad when he finally glanced in her direction. She couldn’t tell if he was smiling, but she thought he might’ve been, beneath the mask. It was enough to give her the confidence to speak, even if her voice still shook. “Are… are you my new alpha?”

“No,” He said, his tone calmer than Dabi’s had ever been. Not kinder, but less needlessly cruel. “But, I’m going to be. We just have to clean you up first, get you to a condition more…” His eyes dropped to the bruises circling her neck, to the dented metal collar at the base of her throat. To the letters burnt into her skin, just barely peaking out from underneath her oversized shirt. “A condition more fitting of my omega.”

Kit fell silent, at that. She didn’t bother arguing. She couldn’t seem to remember why she would.

It wasn’t like this alpha could possibly be worse than her last.

~

‘She’s alive. With Overhaul. If Dabi’s tantrum was anything to go by, he plans on keeping her.’

Aizawa got Keigo’s message a few minutes after midnight, in the dead center of that night’s patrol. He hadn’t been expecting it, honestly. Keigo’s updates were infrequent, rare, more of an obligation than a courtesy, a hint at security in exchange for Aizawa’s promise not to do anything… impulsive, despite his stand-offish reputation. He’d almost lost his temper once, the day after Kit was taken and Keigo privately confirmed that she was with the League, but it would’ve been a waste of energy, back then, it would’ve been a waste of time. He couldn’t do anything, not on his own, not when Keigo was so intent on earning the League’s trust before taking any action to oppose them. Not when Kit was already in so much danger before he had a chance to interfere, before he had the chance to do something half-baked and make the situation infinitely, irreversibly worse.

Not when he’d already thrown away his chance to prevent this entirely, all because he’d convinced himself she’d hate him for doing what had to be done, when she insisted on being so reckless.

But, that didn’t matter. He couldn’t keep beating himself up. He had a better way to spend his time, now. He had better things to do than just worry.

Kit wasn’t with the League anymore, after all. Keigo’s position wasn’t a factor, and Overhaul was much more predictable than Dabi.

It was time to take his omega back, whether or not she still wanted to come.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 13: Logince

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 13: Everyone is born with a super power, but when soulmates are together their powers are nullified by each other. (AKA the hero/villain AU I’m probably going to have to write a sequel for)

Content warnings: battle wounds (minor blood), physical combat, general destruction, fear of death/intention to kill (no one dies), passing out.

Comments: I’m definitely more of a dialogue heavy writer, so writing so much action was new to me. Life hack: watch fight scenes online to get a better visual when writing combat.

Word count: 1.8k

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. 

That’s all Roman could think as he weakly pushed himself onto his elbows, lifting his battered forehead from the ground, an action that required far more effort than it should have. Never before in his life had he been reduced to this, a limp pile of bruises and ice burns and bloodied cuts surrounded by the wreckage of a once unscathed street. The smell of smoke was thick in the air and heavy in his lungs, rising from the rubble of collapsed buildings and choking him both physically and metaphorically, as a reminder of how much he’d failed. 

This guy, whoever he was, was a new villain. As far as Roman knew, at least. He’d never laid eyes on the man before today, and hated how instantly attracted he was to the maskless villain. Of course, the lack of mask also indicated that he didn’t intend on staying around long enough to be recognized in public… or leaving any survivors that would be able to pick him out of a line up. So even though Roman immediately felt bad as soon as the first well aimed hit of his flaming sword’s hilt knocked into the man’s jaw and sent him tumbling, it was quickly overruled by his ingrained instinct to protect. The goal was to take him down alive, relatively unhurt, and have him placed in the same secure facility all of Roman’s defeated foes were sent to, but if he had to be killed for the greater good, that was just a sacrifice he would have to make. Guilt could come later, when everyone was safe. 

But his one hit was all he got in before the man completely unleashed everything he had. He had unclipped a small tube from his waist and popped it open to full size; a compact staff that was at least double the length of Roman’s sword. The distance he’d stumbled from the first hit was just enough, an action that Roman only now realized had been completely intentional on the other’s part, and he swung with accuracy that put the hero’s to shame. It hit him in the side and sent him sprawling, landing on his hands and using the momentum to roll, jumping back to his feet and setting his sword aflame once more. He couldn’t let his concentration falter like that again. Forget those perfect blue eyes, Roman. He’s trying to kill you. 

He’d kept his distance after that, an artful duck and weave between buildings, avoiding spears of ice that seemed to grow from the ground itself and praying one of his blindly shot gusts of flame had landed a hit. Of course, of freaking course, the one villain that stood a chance against him combat-wise had an opposing power. His sword was starting to dwindle and his arms were sore from deflecting and breaking through the walls of ice his opponent continued to raise with no hesitation, and the heat in his hands was starting to fade. He was tired. That just made this harder, and the fun factor was starting to wear off. He had to end this. 

That was the wrong mindset to go in with, because then he was desperate. Desperation led to destruction, and he regretted his sudden carelessness the moment a clumsy spur-of-the-moment shot missed his nemesis by a mile and tore through the entryway of a jewellery store instead. Luckily the street had been cleared the moment the fight began, so no one was injured, but that building going up in flame was only the beginning of the chaos. Because even though it wasn’t his fault after that, things just got so much worse. 

The street itself began to crumble to pieces, concrete breaking apart where thick tendrils of ice ripped its way through in all directions, spreading like tree roots, the ‘trunk’ itself being the new villain. He was standing in the middle of the street, watching Roman with an unreadable expression, as the carnage only increased. It was as if he saw his accidental blunder and decided he wanted to break buildings now, too. All Roman can think about is the Titanic, a mighty vessel taken down by a single piece of ice, as the roots shredded through the foundations of the downtown street. Metal and wood creaking fills the air, the sound of the ice growing and spreading, and it takes the hero far too long of just staring in terror to remember that he needs to try and stop that. 

He was strong, not smart. 

He ripped his sword out of the display window it had been flung through after an especially bad ice shot to the hand and sprinted forward, weapon ablaze with his newfound dedication. The unsteady ground rose to trip him, every muscle burned, blood dripped into his eye, but he pushed on, vaulting over a flipped car and coming face to face with his opponent. Again, he was slightly taken aback by the sheer confidence in his eyes, the man not at all flinching as Roman brought down the sword towards his head, blocking the strike with the edge of his staff. The destruction of the street came to a standstill as he turned all his concentration to the immediate fight, blocking Roman’s next two hits. The hero let the impact push his momentum downwards, swinging his weapon through the empty space where the man’s feet had been seconds ago. A creak to his left stole Roman’s attention for barely a split second, a mistake he realized the second he glanced away, and the other man went onto the offensive, thrusting the end of his staff into Roman’s side. He let out a soft grunt and threw up his sword, blocking the overhead strike inches from his head but not acting before he was kicked in the stomach, the force throwing him back. His sword clattered from his grip, the flames flickering out of existence and blending in with the rubble. And oh, how tables can turn. 

He rolled out of the way as the staff was jabbed into the ground, feeling the cold metal barely brush his neck. As he leapt to his feet, retreating several steps, his eyes kept shifting between the villain and the ground, searching desperately for his sword. It was a waste of time; his opponent was sizing him up again, almost like he was calculating weak spots in his head. He lunged forward, bringing the staff down towards Roman’s neck. Roman blocked with his forearm instinctively, immediately hissing in pain as a jolt shot up to his shoulder, and took another step back. This isn’t good. This isn’t good. He picked up the first weapon-like object he could reach, the bent pole of what was probably a street sign, and swung it at the other’s head with little to no aim, stumbling with the momentum. The villain ducked underneath it with no hesitation, stepping forward under the pole and landing a solid hit into Roman’s spine. Another kick in the same place sent him headfirst into the rubble, smacking his forehead against a piece of metal and feeling the skin split on contact. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. 

That’s all Roman could think as he weakly pushed himself onto his elbows, lifting his battered forehead from the ground, an action that required far more effort than it should have. Never before in his life had he been reduced to this, a limp pile of bruises and ice burns and bloodied cuts surrounded by the wreckage of a once unscathed street. The smell of smoke was thick in the air and heavy in his lungs, rising from the rubble of collapsed buildings and choking him both physically and metaphorically, as a reminder of how much he’d failed. 

He rolled onto his back, wincing as shards of metal and glass pierced his skin, only able to watch as the villain strolled towards him, twirling his staff smugly. Every muscle and bone screamed as he pushed himself onto his feet, stumbling weakly. Weak sparks shooting between his fingers was the best he could summon in this state, his hands numb from overexertion and skin dry and cracking from the constant flame. 

“And to think, I actually expected a challenge. They made you out to be so much more than this.”

The first words he’d heard the man say, slipping from his lips like honey, a near growl. He continued to advance, taking a step for every one of Roman’s pained backpedals, until his broken and bleeding skin bumped into the remains of a wall, pushing the debris in just that much further. Just as Roman glanced down to his feet, looking for anything weapon-like, he flicked his wrist in the hero’s direction and four shards of ice broke apart from the main roots around him, shooting through the air in a blur, and pinning Roman to the wall. Still the villain approached him until they were almost touching, Roman’s pain-hunched form causing the man to nearly tower over him, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. He raised a crooked finger under Roman’s chin, tsking under his breath.

“I thought you were their hero.”

And just like that, with no further monologuing, he shoved his hand into Roman’s chest, the cold limb burning Roman’s skin in seconds. He let out a weak sound, somewhere between a yelp and a groan, too dizzy with pain to even care about dignity anymore, waiting for the final blow. 

Just get it over with, he thought pathetically. But the hand didn’t get colder, or shoot a spike into his heart, or however this villain had planned to kill him. They just stood there, still, until Roman built up the courage to crack his eyes open, not knowing what to expect.

Whatever he had imagined, it wasn’t this. The man was squinting in concentration at his hand on Roman’s chest, the fingers spasming slightly as nothing happened. Whether it was sudden exhaustion or improper training, Roman didn’t care, because a surge of energy filled him and he focused it on his hands. Granted, they were pinned to a wall, but if he could just get the angle right-

Nope. Not a spark, not a flicker across his palm. They heated up, they burned, and he knew they should have at least glowed slightly to indicate the power flowing through them. The villain seemed to notice the way his fingers formed a fist, curling and uncurling to try and get them to do something, and a look of pure horror crossed his unmasked face. It took Roman much too long to realize as well. 

Neither of their powers were working.      

“No,” They both spoke simultaneously, jerking up to meet each other’s eyes. 

The villain dropped his hands to his sides, taking a couple steps back, the shock clear on his face. Another choked, “No,” escaped his lips before he turned and ran, the ice around Roman’s arms melting into thin air as soon as he was far enough away. The hero watched the man- his soulmate?!- sprint into the smoke, off to whatever base he was from, before crumbling weakly to the ground. Exhaustion overtook him, the memory of those startling blue eyes his final thought before the world dissolved into black.

[toraodwaterlaw]

Heart to Heart

Part 1, Part 2; Part 3 of a four part AU fic set just after Marineford.

2416 words, angst with a happy-ish ending

-

Ten Days Later

Rosinante sat in the heart seat. It was about the last place he wanted to be but his brother had insisted and he wasn’t about to push his luck. He’d learned long ago to pick his battles when it came to Doffy, especially when he was in a mood. And, oh, what a mood he was in.

He’d returned to Dressrosa that way, equal parts amused and furious. It wasn’t all too unusual a mood to find Doffy in but it was always a dangerous one. Many members of the Family avoided him. The Executives mostly took the opportunity to spur him on to new heights of depravity. The Colosseum grounds were drenched with blood and more toys appeared on the streets every day.

Viola kept Rosinante appraised of all of it. It was probably a bit masochistic of him to insist on it, given he knew he could do nothing about it from his palace prison. He wanted to know, though. He needed to bear witness to his brother’s crimes and, more importantly, he needed to try to use what he heard to gauge what was in store for Law when he returned. He knew Law would scold him for both. How many lectures had he received for trying to shoulder Doffy’s crimes? How many more for worrying more about Law than himself?

What else was he supposed to do at a time like this? He couldn’t remember the last time Law had so thoroughly disappointed Doffy. That was the word Doffy had used. Disappointed. Only he could make so mild a word sound so terrifying. After that, Rosinante was willing to do anything he could to temper the storm to come, even if it meant sitting in the damnable heart seat.

Doffy turned on his heel, having completed another angry loop of the room. “Do you know the trouble he caused with this stunt?”

Rosinante did, in fact, know. Doffy had talked of little else. What could Law’s actions mean aside from how they benefited or inconvenienced the king of Dressrosa? Not that it mattered whether the question was rhetorical or not. Rosinante couldn’t speak even if he’d wanted, not with his lips sewn shut. His decade long punishment for the crime of pretending to be mute. Twice a day he got a supposed reprieve during Family meals. It was paraded as a kindness but all it meant was that Doffy would try to taunt him into saying something he’d regret and that his lips would never have a chance to scar or heal.

So Rosinante sat silently, as he always did. As expected, Doffy got back to pacing without so much as waiting for a shrug in response.

“Of course I have my ways of smoothing things over.”

He flashed a quick smile that said he knew Rosinante understood full well what he meant. Rosinante resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That was a skill he’d honed well over the years. He might not be able to speak but Doffy delighted in trying to provoke a reaction. It was never worth the minimal effort of a raised brow or the skin pulling sting of a frown.

Doffy, as usual, didn’t care. He enjoyed poking at things, whether he got a reaction or not. He stalked over to the heart seat and put a foot up on one of the arms to steady himself as he loomed. “But I don’t like going through the trouble just because that brat got ideas in his head. Just what was our dear Corazon thinking, do you suppose?”

Rosinante expected this to be more of the same but then Doffy pinched his fingers together and pulled. The effect was immediate. His lips stung as they were freed from their prison. He opened his mouth and then closed it.

“Well?” Doffy asked, leaning in closer.

Rosinante put one hand on his throat and with the other, touched his lips delicately. The strings were really gone. He couldn’t think of a time in eleven years when Doffy had removed them without an audience to amuse himself. Did he want an actual conversation? Rosinante wasn’t inclined to answer his brother but he was too shocked to refuse completely.

“Well what?” he croaked.

“I know you imagine you understand him better than anyone else, so tell me— Why did Law do it?”

Rosinante hadn’t a clue how he was supposed to answer that. There was no safe response, for him or for Law. There was likely a way to spin it in his brother’s favor but he didn’t trust his voice beyond a word or two. Doffy surely knew that and hoped to get the blunt and easy truth.

“I don’t—” He coughed and Doffy frowned. He waited through the burn in his unused throat. “I don’t know.”

“Come now, you must have a guess. What would he want with a small-fry like Monkey D. Luffy? Is it that cursed middle initial? What does he know?”

“Doffy—”

Doffy leaned in closer so that his razor sharp smile was so close it could have cut. “I’ve never let him in on our little secret. So what have you told him, little brother? Trying to sow dissent, eh?”

Rosinante felt his heart thud heavily in his chest. Trafalgar D Water Law. Perhaps it was well past time he told Law the truth to keep him safe. For the moment, though, he was happy he hadn’t done so yet.

“I haven’t…told him…” He swallowed over the pain every word brought. “Anything.”

Doffy just stared at him and, not for the first time, Rosinante cursed those infernal sunglasses. All he saw was his own frowning face reflected back at him. There were times when he felt like he didn’t know his brother at all. He couldn’t begin to guess what was going through the elder Donquixote’s head.

Not that he had long to wonder. Doffy’s silent interrogation was cut short by the call of the den den mushi in his pocket. Rosinante could tell at a glance that it was Trebol. That man made even snails look extra slimy.

“Doffy, Doffy, little Corazon is on his way.”

The already dangerous curve of Doffy’s smile sharpened further. “Make sure we aren’t disturbed.”

It seemed Trebol had more to say but Doffy had already hung up on him. He strode over to the door and waited. Rosinante wanted to rush in front of him, to intercept Law and let the boy rest rather than face whatever it was his brother had waiting, but he knew how well that would go. He instead waited in place with his heart in his throat.

The familiar clack of Law’s heels heralded his arrival. He looked small standing between the massive doors of the throne room and far younger than usual. Rosinante’s fingers dug into the arms of the heart seat.

“Corazon, do come in."

“Doflamingo,” Law said, curt as ever.

His long, even steps became abruptly clipped when he saw the heart seat was occupied. It was the only sign he gave that he was bothered. He leaned easily against a window ledge and waited for Doffy to speak first. He was careful not to look over to Rosinante but Rosinante had no reason to resist himself.

The dark rings under Law’s eyes were more pronounced than usual. His usually well groomed jawline was dusted with stubble and punctuated by the sickly green of healing bruises. If he looked that bad where they could all see, Rosinante didn’t want to imagine what Law was hiding.

Doffy stalked over. Rosinante might have been imagining things but he swore his brother intentionally positioned himself to avoid blocking Law from view. More likely, it was meant to keep Law’s view clear and let the boy stew in concern over what was planned for them both. What part of this hadn’t been contrived? Doffy was ever the puppet master.

As if he knew Rosinante’s thoughts, Doffy used a string to tilt Law’s chin up. He examined the bruises while turning Law’s head this way and that. “Straw Hat repaid you well for your kindness. It’s not often that you let someone else get the better of you. No good deed goes unpunished,” he said with a chuckle. "Isn't that right?"

“So it would seem,” Law replied. “I assume I’m here to find out just how true that is.”

Doffy threw back his head and laughed. “That depends— what exactly was your intention, Corazon? You’ll find that I don’t enjoy a fire quite as much when it comes back to burn me.”

Law kept his features carefully schooled. Nothing about his face or his posture gave away unease. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It was a whim, nothing more.”

Doffy’s fingers played with unseen strings. “A whim? You don’t act on whims.”

Law shrugged and inclined his head. “It’s as simple as that. I didn’t intend anything against you. I just acted. Call it… a doctor’s instinct, if you need an explanation.”

"And what if I had needed my doctor? You were at Marineford for me."

Law raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying anyone there was an actual threat to you?"

Doffy laughed. This time nothing else painted the sound, only honest amusement. That didn't make it any more pleasant to listen to. The things that amused Doffy rarely were. In this case, though, it granted Rosinante the smallest sliver of hope. Perhaps Doffy's anger had lost its edge. Maybe he remembered why he was so fond of the boy he'd chosen to be his right hand man.

Then, just as quickly as that anger had subsided, it came rushing back. It showed itself in the protruding vein on Doffy's temple, the glint of strings between his fingertips. He stood up straight. When drawn up to his full height, without his usual slouch, it was even more apparent that he was nearly double the size of Law.

"You were there for me- under my flag, my name- whether I needed you or not. I don't care if it was a whim or open revolt, you put eyes on me I'd rather not have. I had to pay for your whim and I expect repayment."

Law let out a slow breath and let his shoulders slump. There was something akin to relief in his features. Law had surely been waiting for this exact moment for weeks. Whatever was to come, that wait was over. Rosinante only wished he could feel anything other than dread. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his brother so furious. He would spare Law the brunt of that anger if he could. He’d failed Law on Minion and he would never do so again.

“I understand,” Law said with an even voice.

“That’s good to hear. What I want from you—” Doffy bared his teeth, the expression too vicious to be called a smile. “—is my brother’s heart.”

The careful facade Law had constructed fell away in an instant. “He has nothing to do with this,” he shouted. “This was my decision. My mistake. Let me pay the price.”

He clutched a fistful of Doffy’s coat when the older man turned to walk toward Rosinante. Doffy grabbed hold of his wrist hard enough to make Law cry out when he wrenched the young man off.

“He has everything to do with this,” Doffy growled. “He’s the reason you’ve become the sort of soft, sentimental fool who would act based on a feeling. So you will pay the price and I’m naming the payment.”

Law flicked his wrist and formed a Room around him. It was enough to get Doffy to stop in his tracks. Law’s golden eyes took on a flinty edge. He formed his hand into a sort of claw and held it before his chest.

“Take my heart instead.”

Strings snapped onto Law’s arm before he could complete the operation on himself.

“You’re testing my patience,” Doffy said. With one hand still controlling the strings, the other reached for the gun tucked into the band of his pants. He pointed the pistol at Rosinante. “I could make you pull the trigger. I could make you carve the heart out without the use of your powers. Now do as I say or I’ll ask for more than just his heart.”

Law fought against the strings. At this rate he was liable to break his wrist, if not lose the arm completely. Rosinante knew he should be more concerned for himself. There was no saying what Doffy would do when he had control of his heart. However, he couldn’t spare a thought for that with Law in pain before him and threatening to push Doffy over the edge.

“Law.”

That single syllable was enough to put a stop to Law’s struggles. He stared, wide eyed. “Your mouth. Your voice. But when...?”

Rosinante waved him off and crossed the room to kneel before Law. He ignored the way Doffy smiled, all of this no doubt going according to his plan, and took Law’s hands in his own. He could feel them trembling. Those weren’t the hands of a killer— of a Corazon— but the boy he’d watched over for the last fourteen years.

“Do as he asks.”

There was no way Law would have cried if he was aware of doing it. As it was, the tears pooled and fell unheeded while he searched Rosinante for an answer. He squeezed his eyes shut so that the last of the tears were forced out. When he opened them again, the gold had lost its shine. He pressed close, wrapped one arm around Rosinante’s back, and poised the other with the hand at his chest.

“This won’t hurt,” Law muttered.

Even if he hadn’t known how Law’s powers worked, Rosinante wouldn’t have doubted it. No matter what Doffy tried to make of Law, that would never change.

It was over before he was even aware anything had happened. He only knew because the blue haze of the Room fizzled out and he saw his heart beating steadily in the palm of Law’s hand. Law’s fingers curled protectively around it. Rosinante felt it as a comforting squeeze.

“I’m sorry you forced me to this point,” Doffy said as he took the heart from Law.

Law said nothing, only nodded and left the room when Doffy asked for nothing more. Rosinante felt a shiver that started from somewhere outside himself and curled into the empty cavity in his chest.

[iturbide]

Do you have any specific plans for how Dimitri's redemption (or at least, getting through some of his problems) would go in Kintsugi? I really enkoy fix-its and you being the one to write it means I'll absolutely love it because I love everything you write!!

Oh I have so many Dimitri thoughts for Kintsugi it’s gonna be a blast (also color me extremely flattered that you’re so looking forward to it like wow that makes me really happy ;v; ❤)

So Dimitri’s recovery arc is going to be significantly longer than the one in the game.  I understand that the game had time constraints on it, but the literal 180 after Rodrigue’s death was a little much for me.  This is not to say that I don’t appreciate them giving a mentally ill character a storyline that allows for recovery, I just wish they hadn’t compressed that down into the tiniest space possible.

Kintsugi takes a different approach, though it does maintain some familiar elements.  Dimitri still escaped Cornelia’s clutches with help from Dedue, and spent several years out in harsh wilds of the Kingdom hunting down the Empire’s scouts and patrols, which started rumors among Imperial forces about a vicious beast roaming the areas that have yet to be incorporated into the Dukedom’s territory.  Around the time that Claude reunited with Byleth, Gilbert managed to find Dimitri -- and believing this was some sign from the Goddess, he immediately went about rallying former Blue Lions under a Kingdom banner, using Dimitri as a figurehead for the Imperial opposition despite the fact that Dimitri was clearly unstable and ill-suited for true leadership.

The rumors of the beast begin to travel south with Gilbert marshaling the troops and more or less steering Dimitri’s murderous intent toward the Empire.  By the time these rumors reach Garreg Mach, the former Golden Deer have made it their base of operations -- and importantly, they reach the nearest Imperial outpost where Randolph is stationed with his little sister Fleche.  When Randolph’s troop goes out and falls in the attack on the monastery, Fleche does not witness it -- but she can only imagine that a monster could have taken her brother’s life, and swears her revenge.

By the time the Great Bridge of Myrddin falls into Alliance hands, the Kingdom troops have made their way deep into Gloucester territory, and shortly after the force from Garreg Mach heads out toward Gronder Gilbert begs leave of the Alliance troops manning the bridge to use it in their southward march.  This eventually puts all three armies on the field of the former Battle of the Eagle and Lion -- and puts Edelgard squarely in Dimitri’s sights, which is easily the most dangerous possible thing that could have happened, especially when Gilbert is the one holding the reins.

Realizing that Dimitri is not dead, as the rumors had claimed, Claude and Byleth choose to split their forces: Byleth heads out to confront Edelgard, while Claude goes to try and talk Dimitri down.  Given his current mental state, though, Dimitri’s not about to listen, and in fact considers Claude an obstacle standing between him and his goal -- which leads to Claude getting shot out of the sky by an impressively-launched spear.  He might have died then and there, no less -- but Byleth managed to force Edelgard’s retreat, and made their way back to help Claude out in the nick of time, using the Sword of the Creator’s whip-like reach to force Dimitri back while they’re still inbound.

This is the first thing that really manages to reach Dimitri.  He’s been on a single-minded quest to murder Edelgard up to this point, spurred on by the voices of those lost -- and that includes Byleth.  But seeing Byleth so suddenly, and so clearly, really unbalances him, and he tries to explain that he will claim Edelgard’s head for the deaths she’s caused, including the professor’s...and Byleth, of course, has no idea what he’s talking about.  Unlike every other hallucination, Byleth remains silent -- they spoke just like the other spirits before,  which is strange given that Byleth’s non-verbal, but honestly Dimitri wasn’t in any real state to question that -- and simply puts away their weapon and approaches with an open hand.  Dimitri tries to swat it away -- and as soon as he makes real, physical contact with what he believed was a spirit, he pretty much breaks, grabbing for Byleth’s hand and clinging tight to it like an anchor.

Which is where the battle stops: with Dimitri’s effective surrender.  Both the Alliance and Kingdom forces set up camp at Gronder, reunions are had on all sides...but Byleth ends up in a quiet place off to one side with Dimitri, who pretty well passes out as soon as the battle’s over while still clinging to Byleth’s hand.  Claude sneaks in at some point to apprise Byleth of the Kingdom situation according to Gilbert and the former Blue Lions, and discusses some options for what they could possibly do next.  Unfortunately, just reuniting with Byleth isn’t enough to stop Dimitri’s obsession with getting justice for the dead, so despite Claude’s offer of alliance, Dimitri refuses, only agreeing to travel with the Alliance troops because they’re going in the same direction.

Naturally, though, Claude and Byleth both interact with him frequently to try and make him reconsider.  This doesn’t have any obvious effects at first, but Dimitri is listening, and whether he means to or not he starts gravitating toward the both of them because unlike Gilbert -- who is mostly pushing him to restore the Kingdom -- or his fellow classmates -- whose reactions run on a spectrum from denouncing him (like Felix), wanting to “fix” him (like Ingrid), or simply following his lead (like Dedue) -- they reach out to him as he is now, with no expectations and no ulterior motives, offering him a kind of stability that he’s long been lacking.  His interactions with them are initially rather harsh, but they both take it as a good sign that he’s interacting with them of his own volition at all.

This culminates at Merceus where Dimitri is well aware that both Byleth and Claude are entering as infantry units alongside him.  They manage to chase down the Death Knight, though he escapes before they’re able to put an end to him...and that’s where the Javelins of Light come in.  Nobody has ever seen anything like this (though there are very old records of something similar happening at Ailell), but Dimitri instinctively knows that This Is Bad.  Claude is grounded, Byleth never had a mount to begin with -- so rather than cut and run, Dimitri grabs them and gets the hell out so he can be sure they escape too.

This is a turning point.  Because after Merceus’ destruction, knowing now that they’re up against something they can’t begin to understand, the Alliance troops elect to withdraw back to Myrddin and plan their next course of action.  The Kingdom forces -- who, again, have no formal alliance with Claude or Byleth -- could theoretically continue south toward Enbarr, and Gilbert in fact encourages this...but Dimitri steps up and refuses.  He makes the choice himself to ally with Claude and Byleth, merge their forces, and fight together.  This means that the Kingdom troops head back to Myrddin, too -- and from there, Claude elects to send a small force north into the Kingdom, rally the holdouts against Cornelia, and take back Fhirdiad.  After all, the Empire’s spread pretty thin between Adrestia and the “Dukedom,” so taking out portions of that army -- especially in the territory where reinforcements will be harder to come by -- will serve to weaken Edelgard’s army for when they finally come back around to marching on Enbarr.

Now, in this northward procession, they still have a small group of camp followers -- and Fleche, unbeknownst to them, is part of this force.  She still believes (incorrectly) that Dimitri is the one who killed her brother, since he’s still vicious even on a good day and his stability is questionable at best; all she needs is a clear shot...which comes when they make it to Fraldarius territory and meet up with Rodrigue.  Distracted by the reunion with an old friend, Dimitri leaves himself open for a crucial moment, and she makes her attack...but fails: she might manage to bring him down, briefly, but she doesn’t manage to kill him thanks to Claude and Byleth’s intervention; unfortunately, they’re unable to take her alive.

This doesn’t hit Dimitri so much as it hits Claude, whose whole dream revolves around bringing people together.  Every death he can’t prevent, every death he causes, is one more person he won’t be able to reach, one more person who won’t be able to see that dream realized, who won’t be able to help bring that world about because he failed to connect with them -- and Fleche was just a little girl.  She had her whole life ahead of her, and now she’s gone, and her blood is on his hands and sometimes when he looks down and thinks about the lives he’s taken he feels the weight of his grand, glorious, unattainable, impossible dream crushing down on him...and as this all comes crushing in on him that night as he charts their next plan of action, he pushes himself away from his work and goes outside to look at the stars, because that vast, endless sky always makes his dream feel a little smaller by comparison, enough that he can manage to carry it for another day.

And this is where he finds Dimitri skulking about, and they end up talking a little bit.  Claude opens up for once, and Dimitri’s struck by this sudden show of vulnerability: he always assumed that Claude’s careless, casual, carefree demeanor hid a cunning wit and dangerous schemes...but he never expected this to be hiding in there, too.  So he opens up a little bit, too, about what drives him (things he’s only ever spoken about with Byleth, and trusted would remain in confidence), the people he’s cared for who have died and who now haunt his every step, and how he lives to see their will done and vengeance claimed...

And Claude looks at him and tells him that the dead shouldn’t get a say in what he does with his life.  They’re gone.  And Dimitri just kind of stares at him because this is not the usual reaction he gets when he talks about this stuff -- fear, maybe, or pity, sometimes even encouragement...but not this.  So Claude backs up a little and comes at it from a different angle, because as he admits he’s never lost someone the way Dimitri has.  He can’t speak to that.  But he can feel the weight of the lives he’s taken during this war, and he knows that no amount of regret of spilled blood will ever bring them back: it’s just going to cause more pain and end more lives to haunt them in the dark.  All he can do is keep moving forward now, trying to reach out to people and bring them together rather than raising weapons to drive them apart.  This is the path he chose for himself, and he’ll keep struggling down it, fighting if there’s no other recourse (and gods know there hasn’t been lately), because it’s his choice.  No one else’s.  And maybe he’s out of line, but he doesn’t think Dimitri should let the ghosts decide his path for him, either: they had their lives, but what’s left now is his, and he’s the only one who can live it.

And this is another turning point.  Because Dimitri has never had someone say anything like this to him before -- heck, it flies in the face of everything he’s been told growing up.  He needs time to process it all, and Claude’s words keep coming back to him as surely as the voices of the dead do...until there comes a point where, at the end of a battle, he stumbles to a stop and looks at his spear and asks himself: what is he fighting so hard for?  So he goes back to Claude, and asks for advice on something he...could do, rather than what he should do, because he feels like he’s coming a bit untethered without vengeance to drive him.

Recovery is a slow process, basically.  It’s gradual, it’s non-linear, it tends to be fraught with backslides and stumbling blocks -- but it’s possible, with effort and with help.  And Kintsugi is all about tackling that: Dimitri will be on the road to recovery by the time they retake Fhirdiad from Cornelia (and when Claude tries to reassure Dimitri that she must have been lying about Patricia, Dimitri only hugs him silently, grateful for the attempt even though the woman’s words rang true), but even when they take Enbarr it’s still a work in progress, such that Claude purposefully positions himself between Dimitri and Edelgard in the eventual round table between the three Lords, Byleth, and Rhea (with Byleth between Edelgard and Rhea, understandably). 

It’s gonna be a trip and I’m still absolutely psyched about it.

[blakemetothemoon]

Smiling Stupid

I've read and loved all of the SaifahZon fanfic that exists and I’m sad there isn’t more, so I’ve been forcing myself to write my own. This is an attempt at porn mixed with fluff mixed with humor. I don’t know if I succeeded at any of those, but I still hope you enjoy! This is un-beta’d and written over the course of a few hours so if you see any mistakes please let me know!

Read below or on ao3!

Summary: “Do you want to top?” “But you’re taller.” Or: Zon is (pleasantly) surprised to learn sex isn’t exactly like it is in the BL dramas—it’s better.

Pairing: SaifahZon

Rating: E

Tags: Smut, Fluff, First Time, Established Relationship

“Do you want to top?”

Zon immediately stills. Not because Saifah is bringing up sex—that’s what they were in the middle of doing. Or about to do. For the first time. And Zon was prepared. He has read all about this in novels and spent the last week talking himself up to it even though he’s truly been ready for a while now.

But Saifah asking Zon which role he wants? It throws a wrench in the confidence Zon built up because according to all those novels, Zon definitely wasn’t supposed to be on top. He assumed he would be the bottom because that’s how it is supposed to be, right? He’s the one who’s easily flustered. He’s smaller. He’s supposed to be the one who’s like the fainting maiden from a 1930’s american novel because of, “That spot.” The spot the top hits and the bottom sees stars and the top smirks and says, “There, huh?”

Saifah would smirk. Definitely. The ass is a walking seme trope. And Zon is… well, if it feels as good as they always say it does, Zon can’t help being slightly curious.

“But you’re taller,” Zon says when Saifah kisses him to pull him away from his racing thoughts, “Much taller.”

A bottle of lube and a condom rest next to the pillow—when did they get there, Zon wonders—and Saifah toys with the bottle, waiting to pop open the lid until he knows Zon’s answer. Saifah huffs a laugh. “Not everything has to be like a BL drama, Zon. And don’t worry. No matter who tops, neither of us will get pregnant.”

Zon blushes and punches Saifah in the shoulder. But for some reason, Saifah’s patience and how he asked the question at all… it calms Zon down. This is the true Saifah. Never pushing past where Zon is comfortable, excited like a puppy, and teasing all at once. Not the enemy Zon once thought he was. Even if Saifah hasn’t memorized Zon’s skin with his hands, he’s memorized what time feels like when you wait for the one you love to love you back.

Zon wants to show Saifah the time wasn’t wasted.

“I want tobethebottom,” Zon manages to rush out.

And Saifah smirks, just like Zon knew he would.

*

Ten minutes later, they’re still in familiar territory—laying on Saifah’s bed, kissing each other’s lips, necks, foreheads, hands.

Each kiss drives them crazier and crazier towards something new.

Saifah yanks off Zon’s shirt, then his pants. Zon returns the favor, hands significantly shakier from nerves, then something else when he’s pushed back against the pillow. The warmth from Zon’s shirt is replaced by the warmth of his boyfriend’s weight. Saifah’s hand slides between them. Between their heartbeats. Between their abs. Between the hardness they’re rocking against one another with. Then between Zon’s boxers and his—oh.

Zon doesn’t know what noise he makes next, whether it’s embarrassing or breathless or both. Saifah swallows the sound, then makes Zon moan more with an expert tongue and confident hand.

The sound of the lube’s lid popping open is a firework in Zon’s ear; it makes him jolt in surprise. On instinct, his face scrunches up like it always does when he’s nervous. He forces himself to relax. Saifah will stop if Zon gives any sign he doesn’t want this and Zon really, really wants it, even if saying it out loud is embarrassing as hell.

Instead he wiggles out of his boxers himself. It’s Saifah’s turn to jump, startled, when Zon drags his nails across Saifah’s hip bones. They stare into each other’s eyes, then together look down as Zon grabs the hem of Saifah’s boxers and pulls.

BL novels always describe the top’s dick in so much detail the first time they see it. It has never made sense to Zon—he has his own dick. What’s so special about touching someone else’s? But now that Saifah’s is in his hand, thick and hot and pulsing because of him, he understands the need to commit every detail to memory.

“It’s so…big,” Zon says. “Of course you’re big here, too. You’re a freaking giraffe. But how is it going to fit inside me, I don’t understand at all.”

Saifah is giving him that amused, squinting look, and Zon flushes because god, he’s acting like he’s in a porno. Or, fuck, a BL novel. Even more so when he notices he’s less scared about how Saifah plans to fit inside and more excited by the idea of Saifah being inside of him.

Zon’s throat goes dry and he flushes again.

He gives Saifah’s cock an experimental stroke. Saifah sucks in a harsh breath like he’s been punched in the stomach. Zon likes knowing he’s the reason for Saifah’s uneven breathing, that he’s not the only one affected by all of this, so he tugs again, easing into a steady, calculated rhythm. He wants to keep going, but Saifah grabs his wrist in warning.

Time slips away between Saifah coating his fingers in lube and those same fingers easing into Zon, not too slow, not too fast.

“Open your eyes, Mr. Zon,” Saifah says.

The press of Saifah’s hot skin against Zon’s is grounding. Grounding means safe, so Zon listens and opens his eyes.

Except he doesn’t open them all the way—can’t because what Saifah is doing already feels so damn good. But he opens them enough to see Saifah watching him. All of him. Pupils blown wide, Saifah’s eyes flutter between Zon’s face and Zon’s there, then he moans in the back of his throat and the grip he has on Zon’s knee tightens.

“You’re so sexy, Zon.”

And because Zon isn’t used to compliments, he replies, “You probably say that to everyone you sleep with.”

Saifah’s fingers stop. Zon actually, ugh, he whimpers without meaning to. Saifah shifts up until he braces one long arm next to Zon’s head and he’s looming over him, cock sliding perfectly against Zon’s. Saifah’s fingers still aren’t moving, but the jerk’s arm is so long that he doesn’t have to pull away. He doesn’t drop Zon’s gaze when he says, “Zon, I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.”

Zon is dense. So dense he believed Saifah was only interested in him because they were trapped in some BL novel. But his simple brain makes it easy to believe things once they are laid out like concrete in front of him. Now that he knows how Saifah likes him, Zon really does believe it when Saifah says things like that.

What Zon is experiencing isn’t exactly the same as what Saifah is—Zon hasn’t had this experience with anyone. He can’t compare his feelings to past lovers. He’s never been connected to someone like he is to Saifah.

But every fiber of his being means it when he cups Zaifah’s face and tells him, “Me too.”

The confession…no, the pure beaming in Saifah’s face after he hears the reply—it eases the tension in Zon’s shoulders. Because this is Saifah. Saifah kissing Zon until the butterflies in his stomach flutter. Saifah biting Zon’s collarbone. Saifah’s fingers outside, then in, moving with every intention to pull more of those unintentional cries from Zon’s mouth.

A moment later, Saifah finds “that spot” and, shit, those novels were wrong because “stars” is an understatement.

And Zon is wrong about Saifah—Saifah isn’t smirking as he presses against it again. He’s staring at Zon with pure want and wonder. Like Zon is a shooting star and if Saifah doesn’t keep wishing on him, he will disappear.

Which is stupid. Zon digs his nails into Saifah’s shoulders, clinging to him. A reassurance of, “I’m not going anywhere,” without words. He moans again, on purpose this time; it’s embarrassing but it’s the quickest way to show Saifah he’s being honest.

The embarrassment is minor compared to the way Saifah suddenly seems like he wants to devour Zon, body and soul. It spurs Zon forward. He opens his legs more and presses down on Saifah’s toying fingers. He bites his bottom lip, then buries his hand in Saifah’s hair and tugs him into a wet kiss.

“Please,” Saifah whispers against Zon’s lips. “I want to be in you.”

Zon doesn’t mean to nod so quickly, but he’s so close already that he doesn’t care if he seems desperate. “How should I…what position should I—”

Saifah maneuvers Zon onto his hands and knees. “Let’s start with this,” he says, stroking Zon’s cock and kissing the dimple on his lower back at the same time.

In the distant part of Zon’s mind, he thinks about how Saifah has done all the work so far. Next time, a voice that sounds like Saifah’s tells him.

Saifah begins to press in and Zon thinks, There better be a next time.

The press aches. Doesn’t hurt because Saifah stretched Zon so well. But it’s not a sensation that Zon is used to. He tenses, but Saifah goes slow, pushing in then pulling out, then pushing deeper. When his cock is all the way in, both of them are struggling to breathe. Saifah is waiting, but his kisses are turning into impatient sucking, then pleading biting. Each one makes Zon shiver, and maybe he isn’t loose enough yet, but his mind is going crazy with how much he craves for Saifah to move.

The first deep thrust feels like Saifah is still holding back, so Zon grinds his hips back and glances over his shoulder to tell him he doesn’t need to, to tell him please don’t.

Then it’s Saifah everywhere: Saifah inside, losing control as he picks up the pace. Saifah’s scent on the pillow when Zon buries his face into it, overwhelmed. His long fingers sliding between Zon’s where they are trying to tear holes into the sheets. Saifah’s entire body enveloping Zon’s like a weighted blanket.

Saifah doesn’t seem to mind Zon’s endless stream of whimpers and mumbled nothings. Hell, he probably expected it because Zon has never learned how to shut up. Saifah relishes Zon’s sounds. Finds new angles to thrust into so Zon keeps making them. When he nuzzles into the back of Zon’s neck, he pants Zon’s name into his ear, and Zon moans, “Saifah, Saifah, Saifah,” right back.

Saifah barely gets a hand around Zon again before Zon is coming, suddenly overwhelmed by the low voice chanting his name like a mantra, or the chorus of a love song. Saifah fucks him through it, drags it out until Zon is sensitive and shaking. Saifah thrusts in one more time, then freezes, nails biting into the skin of Zon’s hips to pull him impossibly further onto him.

Knowing Saifah is coming makes Zon moan louder than anything else. And when Saifah collapses against Zon’s back and they flop together onto the mattress, Zon wouldn’t mind staying like this forever.  

Zon is still breathless when Saifah comes back with a wet towel and cleans them up. “So? How was it?” he says when he’s finished and climbed back into bed. He pushes Zon’s bangs, matted with sweat, behind his ear and grins that cheeky, teasing grin. “Was it how they do it in the BL novels?”

“It was underwhelming,” Zon replies. Saifah’s face falls like it does everytime one of his jokes backfires. Zon pulls his own teasing smile, dimples deep, and looks up at Saifah from beneath his lashes. “I’m kidding. That was better than anything ever. It was amazing. Thanks for being so considerate.”

Saifah beams; if he was a dog, his tail would be wagging like crazy. Zon lets him pepper his face with kisses. When he finally stops, Zon rolls onto his back, closing his eyes. Everything feels loose and sated; he’s sore in so many places but it’s good. Accomplished. Like he ran twelve miles and the finish line was the best orgasm in his life. Just the memory of it floods fire into his lower body, and he can’t seriously be ready for round two again after all that.

The bed shifts slightly and there’s a small rustle next to him. Strumming pulls Zon out of the lull of sleep.

Blanket barely covering his bottom half, Saifah is gently running his fingers over the strings of his guitar, playing the song they performed together. He’s still shirtless; Zon can see nail marks on his shoulders. Part of him thinks there aren’t enough of them.

“Are you serenading me? After we had sex the first time?” Zon asks after Saifah plays a verse. He’s never read about something like this in a BL novel—it’s so…cheesy even for all those tropes and cliches. Yet Zon finds himself swaying along and loving every note and smiling stupid.

Saifah drags his gaze across the hickeys on Zon’s throat and chest. “It’s a congratulations on finally losing your virginity.”

“Saifah!” Zon shouts and smacks Saifah on the head, careful of the guitar. “I take it back. You’re the worst lover ever, Mr. Saifah.”

Saifah grins. His fingers barely pause, and Zon finds himself singing along with the music, perfectly matching up with where Saifah is in the song. Saifah starts singing, too. They could do this in their sleep, but it feels more personal than it ever has. Here in the safety net of Saifah’s room, no other eyes. Just them, naked for each other in every way possible.

The impromptu musical break lasts all of three minutes before Saifah sets his guitar aside. He keeps singing though. Through soft whispers on Zon’s skin and the gentle glide of his hand as he pulls Zon on top of him, and Zon lets himself be swept away by the melody.

[unlockthelore]

A Not-So Simple Request

Chapter 1 of 4 for Good Influence on Ao3.

Part 8 of the Guns and Roses series. For more updates, follow the guns and roses tag on this blog.

For this specific fic, follow good influence on this blog.

All things considered Kurama was grateful Shiori would make a full recovery.

It was no secret that his mother’s life was important to him.

Enough to squander the freedom he’d been safeguarding for the last fifteen years. Even at the cost of his partner, his autonomy, and his own life. Shiori’s soul was worth all of it and more.

This arrangement with the Reikai meant he would have to assist Koenma’s pet project but if he could keep his place at her side then so be it.

There were worst fates if Kurama was honest with himself. Being tethered to Urameshi Yuusuke wasn’t one of them. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure how long the arrangement would last. Without knowing all of his intentions and wrong-doings, Yuusuke was willing to throw himself on a proverbial blade to save the life of a woman he barely knew.

It was unthinkable, foolhardy, risky, and yet Kurama found himself doing the same when caught between allowing Yuusuke to die by Hiei’s hand and losing Hiei entirely.

At the time, he told himself it was a tactical decision. If Hiei killed Yuusuke then there was no hope of escaping the Reikai's grasp. They would execute him and Kurama both. The fire demon would die before achieving his goal, and his death was one thing Kurama couldn't allow.

Part of Kurama ached for the fire demon’s familiarity and blunt if not clearheaded wisdom. Their mental link had been severed once the Shadow Sword’s effects took a toll on Hiei’s psyche.

A futile attempt from the fire demon to stave off infecting Kurama's youki. Watching Hiei's calm demeanor crumble and the uncharacteristic stereotypical villainy take its place was painful enough.

From the brief moments of clarity, Kurama could hear his inner struggle. The desire not to inflict harm on him, Shiori, or anyone else. Even Yuusuke was spared from Hiei’s ire. Yet once the detective stood in his path and the Shadow Sword identified him as an enemy, it spurred Hiei to jealousy to complete its rampage.

Kurama almost wanted to laugh. Venomous words exchanged between them. Hiei's insistence that he had chosen the detective over him. Jealousy had never been the fire demon's modus operandi but the sword's effects were mysterious. Deep down, did Hiei truly believe he would replace him so easily?

True, Yuusuke aided him in his time of need but it paled in comparison to his worry for Hiei's safety. Cruel as it was, the detective's actions left Kurama. questioning his sanity amidst feelings of gratitude.

Any hope of talking things out peacefully were dashed when the pair had come to blows. Hiei's hostage making the scene even messier.

Kurama had to commend him for his surveillance. Taking Yukimura Keiko would tie Yuusuke's hands, push him to his emotions, quicker to make mistakes.

But Hiei was susceptible to emotion as well.

Whether it was from the shock of nearly killing him or missing his mark, pain and uncertainty flickered in Hiei’s eyes with a hint of fear as his hands slowly relinquished the blade’s hilt. The beginning of Kurama's name forming on his lips tugging at Kurama's heartstrings as pain colored his vision, his hand instinctively pressing to his wound rather than reaching for Hiei as he wanted.

Yuusuke’s split second decision saved many lives that night but it wasn’t easy leaving Hiei to lie there motionless, dull crimson eyes losing their flame as he drifted into unconsciousness.

As he succumbed to his own exhaustion, Kurama almost wished the void Hiei had fallen into was the same as his own. Perhaps some shred of their youki was still tethered and could drag their consciousness to the same place.

Perhaps then, they could have talked over what path they were treading upon and apologize for their misgivings.

But fate wouldn’t be so kind to allow Kurama to go to the same place as Hiei and even now after their sentencing, he only felt flickers of the fire demon’s youki within the confines of Sarayashiki.

The Reikai investigator, Sayaka, kindly telling him in her clipped tone that Hiei’s sentencing was the same as his own.

As requested by the fire demon himself.

Together, they would assist Urameshi Yuusuke for the remainder of his tenure as a Spirit Detective.

It was so ironic.

Though the Reikai thought them to be a package deal, they were anything but of the same mind.

In the weeks following Shiori’s miraculous recovery and his sentencing, Kurama had never felt so alone.

幽☆遊☆白書

The tea kettle’s whistle roused Kurama from his thoughts. Closing the book on his lap as he glimpsed his mother’s shifting figure beneath the blankets tucked around her. It wasn’t necessary, as she often reminded him, but he felt better knowing that she was taken care of during her recovery period. It was difficult for her to get around the house at times. Easily winded, he’d often find her taking a few steps then having to lean against something to catch her breath. Her energy was returning like the slow trickle of a blocked river stream but he refused to let up until she was at least able to walk around her own home without an issue.

“Mother, are you awake?” He asked gently, setting his book on the arm of his chair, a slight smile tugging at his lips as dark brown eyes clouded with sleep peered from beneath the blanket. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

Shiori tucked the blankets beneath her chin, rolling her eyes up toward the ceiling in thought before nodding. Her cheek pressed to the pillow as she tried to find a temporary bout of sleep, her dark hair fanned out beneath her head and body tucked beneath the blankets appearing so much smaller. Kurama smiled faintly, grateful that the color was returning to her cheeks but her tiredness worried him at times. Almost as if her illness was bound to return when he least expected.

Rising from his chair, he reached out to gently pat her knee, earning a slight smile as he left the room to gather cups and saucers from the kitchen. Easing the steaming kettle from the stovetop and beginning to pour their tea with a soft hum. It was one of his favorite blends: none too sweet, none too bitter. The perfect mixture if he had any opinion on it and added with marigold extracts for his mother’s health and enjoyment. As he returned to the living room, his eyes widened, seeing her sitting upright with her hair loose over her shoulders. Her eyes closed as she rocked forward then leant back with a deep rattling sigh.

“Mother…?”

Her eyes opened fractionally, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she pushed her blankets to one side, freeing room for him on the couch. Kurama’s brows furrowed and he scoured his thoughts for any number of ways to coax her into lying down. The slight arch of her brow and gentle pat to the cushion beside her dissuaded him from speaking and he sighed, setting the tray down on the low table and handing hers to her before taking his own. She smiled down at the honey-brown liquid and took a deep breath, likely inhaling the familiar scent for comfort before taking sip.

Waiting until she lowered her cup with a satisfied sigh, a victorious curl of pride rested within Kurama’s chest as he took sip from his own. The television’s noise was dull in the background, lost amidst the wind rolling across the rooftop and the buzzing insects heard from the cracked sliding glass door left ajar for his mother’s comfort. Shiori insisted on going out to the garden when she could muster the strength and while Kurama knew that his plants would watch over her, he felt better being there with her.

A twinge of guilt wrested in his stomach. He hadn’t been so adamant to be near his mother so often before his brush with death. True, they had been close but his desire to be near her wasn’t nearly this strong. Before his mind could linger on traitorous thoughts, strained coughs muffled behind Shiori’s fist drew his attention to her and he wordlessly reached out to soothe her, rubbing circles on her back.

“I’m fine, Shuuichi,” she reassured with a pat to his arm, easing his hand aside. “I was going to ask you something but I forgot to do one thing at a time…”

Kurama’s hand lingered at her back for a moment until she righted herself and he slipped it away, bringing his cup to his lips. “You wanted to ask me something?”

“Mm,” Shiori answered with a curt nod. “Kazuya mentioned that you brought a friend with you when you visited me.”

“Yes, mother, you know that Hiei came to visit you a few times since you were hospitalized.”

Before their proposed plan.

Before Hiei had fallen to the Shadow Sword’s influence.

Before Kurama lost him.

Dull aching twisted in his chest as the knife made from Hiei’s words, his expressions, and his departure sunk deeper. There was little Kurama could do to save both Hiei and his mother. And in choosing to save Shiori and throw away his own life, had he forsaken everything he shared with Hiei?

“Not Hiei,” Shiori said with a soft sigh, a hint of longing to her words with a sorrowful edge to her otherwise calm tone.

Kurama’s heart ached for her. She cared for Hiei a great deal often looking to the doorway as if the fire demon would appear any second. When Kurama came to bring her home, she asked where Hiei had been and none of his answers could appease her. Perhaps it was cruel to allow the two people who were closest to him to meet. To be without one of them was to doom the other.

“Kazuya mentioned that it was a boy, one that seemed very rough around the edges but sincere…”

Well, the description wasn’t far off. Though Kurama was dreading what she was asking it would make his sentencing easier if Shiori knew of Yuusuke and believed them to befriends. It was beneficial that his mother’s boyfriend already had the assumption that he was on good terms with Yuusuke.

“What did Hatanaka-san tell you?” Kurama asked, taking measured sips of his tea as he listened to his mother’s strained sighs, resisting the urge to reach out to her.

“Let’s see…” Shiori muttered, setting down her tea cup before running her fingers over her hair with a side-long glance. “He uses a lot of hair gel… a green uniform… and kind eyes. Kazuya said he saw him looking from the doorway, almost seemed like a puppy, the poor dear.”

A puppy. Well, if Kurama was to think about it and the way that Yuusuke spoke to him and jumped to action when he was trying to help — that wasn’t far off.

“A fair description,” Kurama admitted, tipping his head to one side as he thought it over. “Yuusuke is… quite different.”

He still wasn’t sure what to make of him. Yuusuke’s habit of impulsively jumping into danger, lack of analyzing situations and simply relying on his strength, willingness to believe even his enemies — things that would lead to his downfall no doubt. His kindness was as much of a weapon as it was a defense. Kurama nearly scoffed as he took another sip of his tea to hide the rueful smile. No wonder the Reikai asked him to guide the wayward detective. Where Yuusuke wielded kindness and brutality, Kurama had cruelty and efficiency.

Dual sides of a similar coin no matter how much he changed.

From his peripheral, Shiori’s stare was intent and she seemed to be waiting for something.

“You want to know more about him?” Kurama asked, eyebrow raised and head tilting when she beamed up at him. Of course she wanted to know more.

“You never bring friends over aside from Hiei and it’s not everyday that you brought someone to see me.”

While the inquiry was innocent enough, he felt multiple stabbing points. His mother was only worried of his social life and often urged him to continue living even if anything happened to her. It made perfect sense. His vessel was young, he was still growing, but there was a small seed of doubt planted within him.

How could he continue living without her?

Brushing the thought aside, Kurama took another sip of his tea before setting it down on the saucer and letting it rest on the table. “Yuusuke can be quite impulsive,” he said, drawing his hand back to his lap before looking to his mother and the slight quiver in her shoulders. He eased the blanket from behind her, settling it over her shoulders with a knowing look to which she huffed and tightened it with a light tug to the fringed ends.

Kurama smiled, pleased that she was taking the initiative and had some energy to even argue with him non-verbally. “… But he has a kind heart.”

“He sounds like a good friend,” Shiori said, reaching for her tea cup and inhaling the steam before taking a sip. “How did you both meet? Was it while I was in the hospital?”

Kurama relaxed a bit when she had a hold on her cup, putting some thought to her words. He would hardly call Yuusuke a friend at the moment but he could certainly see them growing closer. The detective had an infectious personality. Just being around him for those few seconds made Kurama want to rethink his plans but they were already set in motion. And those eyes of Yuusuke’s were compelling.

Perhaps if they met sooner, he would have rethought his plan entirely, and taken more into account. But there was little to do to that end.

What was done couldn’t be undone.

“We met through some… mutual friends,” Kurama finally said, smiling faintly. It wasn’t a lie, not entirely.

Shiori’s yes crinkled at the corners as she looked down at her tea. “Hiei?” She asked softly, a wistful hopefulness to her voice as the corner of her lips dipped into a frown. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen him… did he go see his family I was…”

Kurama curled his fingers into the fabric of his jeans, pulling them uncomfortably against his skin, the denim scratching against his thigh. For her sake, he smiled though sharp pangs ricocheted in his chest.

“Yes, he has been a little busy as of late.”

There was no need to worry her. He didn’t know where Hiei was. But he was somewhere in the city and that was a comfort in the barest since of the word.

“I hope I get to see him soon,” Shiori mused aloud, and though the words weren’t directed toward Kurama with any fault, guilt threatened to drag him under. “I worry about him you know… his family doesn’t sound as if they’re very good to him.”

With downcast eyes, she stared down at the contents of her cup, her sigh deep and wistful as she brought it to her lips. Her eyes closing and the deep thrum of her energy returned like the beating of a heart. As she lowered her tea cup with a light clink, the sadness in her eyes was replaced by a hopefulness lighting dark brown irises as she looked to him.

“So, tell me a little more about Yuusuke.”

Mystified by the hope in her eyes, Kurama glanced aside and wracked his brain for what to tell. The details were closely interlaced with secrets he’d been keeping from his mother for years now. And in no way was he ready to tell her about what he truly was nor did he believe it was in her best interest to know what really brought his and Yuusuke’s paths to cross.

“He has an interesting sense of humor,” Kurama muttered, thinking back to the detective’s willingness to use nicknames and joke about his own intelligence despite being in the line of sight of three very dangerous individuals. “It’s almost as if he doesn’t understand or perhaps he does understand but he jokes about everything even himself.”

It was refreshing.

Hiei had a tendency to be a bit cagey and his humor was dry. Often times, his wit was easily missed and for himself solely. Yuusuke laughed at himself openly and the words that he spoke were fairly easy to follow. Aside from that, his laughter was easy and infectious. Even his smiles from ear to ear almost made Kurama want to smile in kind.

“He does seem to be having a difficult time in school. Often skipping, he wanders but he’s taken to helping others in his free time.”

Was that the way to describe it? After watching the detective from afar to see what he was dealing with, Kurama noticed that he took to looking after a young boy. The boy’s mother didn’t seem against Yuusuke’s relationship with the child. Even fondly inviting him over for dinner. From Sayaka’s reports, the boy was named Masaru, and he had been the reason why Yuusuke lost his life to begin with. Though no matter what, Yuusuke held no resentment for the boy and his lack of heeding his warning.

If anything, Yuusuke was relieved to know that he was safe.

A far cry from the rotten individual that Sayaka’s earlier notes described him as. Though, the Reikai had never been good at judging character. Kurama resisted the urge to roll his eyes, noticing his mother was still eyeing him awaiting more.

What else could he tell her?

“Hatanaka-san wasn’t wrong. Yuusuke is fairly rough around the edges but he has a good heart. He’s willing to listen to others despite how they wrong him and is quite open-minded. Doesn’t allow anyone else to tell him what is right or wrong, deciding for himself. And he gives everyone fair opportunities to prove themselves. And he’s headstrong. For someone who thinks with his head, he can be a good listener when he wants to be. His views are a little silly but he has such a way of thinking that it’s hard not to…”

“It sounds like you like him very much,” interjected Shiori, no small amount of amusement showing on her face as she took a long sip of her tea, her cheeks pinker and a glimmer of mirth in her eyes.

Kurama trailed off, realizing that he was talking quite a bit. Pressing his hand against his mouth, he glanced aside with a shrug that he hoped was nonchalant. “I hardly know him…”

Shiori looked unconvinced and if he was honest, he could see why not. His mother wasn’t oblivious by any stretch of the imagination. “Still…” She set down her tea cup and clapped her hands together, the noise startling Kurama. “Why don’t you invite him over?”

Kurama’s eyes widened and he was rendered speechless for a moment. Invite him over? It was one thing to meet with the detective on the roof of a hospital, or in a crowded street but to invite him to his home?

“I’m curious about him and I would really like to meet him,” Shiori continued, resting her hands in her lap with a warm smile.

Kurama opened his mouth then closed it. Hesitant to say either way. He wasn’t truly friends with Yuusuke, and what he felt toward him was difficult to tell. Yuusuke’s service towards him left him in his debt and that muddled things quite a bit. However, Shiori was asking and disappointing his mother was the last thing he wanted.

“… I can ask him.”

Shiori perked up immensely and patted his knee with a smile that less reassuring as it was something else. “Good luck.”

Kurama arched his brow, poised to ask what she meant or try to analyze the situation further. Deciding to leave it be, he rose to his feet after tucking the blankets around her further. He had chores to do and one of them was going grocery-shopping. Perhaps if he feigned forgetfulness his mother would follow suit but with how much she beamed about this, he doubted it.

“Do you need anything extra from the store, mother?”

“Mmm…” Shiori pressed her finger to the underside of her chin and the flicker of sadness along with the quick glance toward the back door hitched Kurama’s breath. “The ice cream that Hiei likes…” She drew the blanket closer around her and glanced up at him with a sheepish smile and the faint shrug of her shoulders. “Just in case…”

Kurama smiled faintly. Charmed more than once by his mother’s thoughtfulness, he leant down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Get some rest, mother. I’ll return soon,” he promised, easing her to lie down with the blanket tucked around her. Once he was sure that she was properly taken care of, he headed to the door and slipped on his shoes.

“Be safe, Shuuichi,” she called after him and he smiled to himself.

“I will, mother.”

[anodyne-sunflower]

Sweet Mornings-Theseus ScamanderxReader (Req. Smut)

A/N: Enjoy, my anon. ❤️

MOOD MUSIC: Arsonist’s lullabye by Hozier

***

While immersed in the obscurity of your sleep addled mind, you felt the beginnings of a heated breeze, soft and welcoming, like a mist covering you in its own blanket of warmth and comfort. It caused you to turn over, mumbling softly about nonsense that was conjured from your dreams. Deep down, you had felt awake, but you were not quite intent on grasping that knowledge just yet. The bed was comfortable, and much more idyllic than the thought of having to get up and get ready for the day.

It wasn’t until you heard the bathroom door swing open, that you felt the urge to squint away, sighing aimlessly as you saw your fiancé walk out, freshly bathed and skin adorned by the few water droplets that refused to leave the bends and turns of his lean muscled body.

Theseus rubbed generously at his face, the aftershave biting back as he winced subtly. You couldn’t help but smile at that, knowing he prided a well groomed appearance than a beard any day. Though you often wondered how he’d look in one, you would likely never be privy to that. Even just a few days of not shaving left him annoyed by his appearance.

While you wished to say your morning pleasantries, you held them back. Eyes drifting along his body as he walked towards the desk in the corner, opening the top drawer and fishing out his cuff links and pocket watch. He laid them precisely out on the table top, the chain of his watch being piled neatly in coils. Everything he did was with a purpose, even down to the fine details, it was a privilege to watch, you believed. There was just something attractive in a man that took charge in all he did.

You hummed quietly, leaning up in bed as you rested your cheek in your palm and ogled the Auror. The towel he wore hung loosely from his hips, giving you so many ideas for a fun morning that you hoped he had time for. He was up earlier than usual, and judging by his relaxed state, he wasn’t in any rush today.

“Good morning, Mister Scamander.”

Theseus turned slightly, eyebrow raised curiously as he saw you laying there, looking intently at him. He chuckled at your gaze, already seeing the spark of mischief you held there. “Morning.” He greeted back, walking towards the bed as you scooted over to give him room on your side. You could smell his aftershave strongly at this distance, your senses overloaded by the handsome scent when he bent down for a quick kiss. You wished it lasted longer, your lips already tingling from the brief contact.

“You’re up so early.” You planted your palm on his chest, surprised to feel how heated his skin still was from his shower.

“Mm.” He leaned more into the bed, towel dangerously dipping below his hips and giving you a charitable view of the fine hair that led a path to his manhood. “Thought I’d get an early start to some casework.” Theseus took one of your hands in his, lifting it to his lips and caressing your knuckles with them. It revitalized your awareness, the soft brush of his mouth making you release a quiet moan that he still managed to catch. You felt him smile against you, his blue eyes coming up to meet yours as you shifted under the covers.

“Must you always be so responsible?” You fell back into the bed, the ache between your legs growing as you continued to admire him. It took all your strength to tug him down over you, but you realized he was taking mercy on your weak force and instead just laughed as he straddled over your waist, an intrigued grin on his lips.

“Unfortunately, darling.” He brought a hand up, fingers brushing your hair aside as he mentally praised the fine features of your face. You looked radiant as ever, eyes glowing and hopeful that he’d stay a little longer. It made him smirk, his own mind turning against the idea of getting work done today. “Come here.” Theseus dipped down, kissing you sweetly. Your lips were delicate to the touch, so pliable beneath his own it made him want to continue on, except your hand came to cup his cheek, fingertips caressing the scratch of stubble that still decorated his jaw, too fine for his razor to cut.

You gently pulled away, already regretting the loss of him. “Be a rebel just this once, will you?” The blanket above your form became an issue, your desire to be closer to him taking over as you wiggled free of it, Theseus’ hands coming up one by one to allow you to move it away. Of course, your little action held more motive than you pretended it did. It was easy enough to believe he’d say yes based on the merit of his kiss alone, but nothing made such a convincing debate as that of your bare body presented to him.

Theseus’ eyes immediately drew to your figure, taking in the curves of your breasts and the slight dip towards your hips. Every inch of you looked equally appetizing to him, and with such a valid argument on display, how could he possibly deny your request. “As you wish.” He stated playfully, leaning down once more to capture you in kiss as your arms wrapped about his neck. You played with the curls that fell around his nape, still damp from his shower.

“I knew you’d say yes.”

“You make a compelling argument, love.” He smirked, closing that narrow distance and allowing your noses to kiss against each other. The feat made you laugh, a sound he came to adore as he nuzzled you further. He had about an hour to spare, and this definitely was more entertaining than running through files all morning long. With one last kiss to the tip of your nose, he journeyed lower, lips stroking over your own and then towards your chin.

You already arched into him, squirming below from the sensations his mouth allotted you. Theseus always knew the perfect places to cater to, just as he did right now, teeth nipping at your pulse and tongue soothing the love bite. The feeling was wonderful, the electric shock it sent coursing your body making you sigh happily as you tilted your head further back, giving the Auror more room to tease. He gratefully took the offer, tongue coming to sweep the expanse of your neck before he brought his lips to join in and suck eagerly.

The jolt of pleasure made you raise your hand to his chest, nails digging into his skin and raking a path down. You felt him respond, skin rising at the action and earning you a heavy groan of bliss. He shifted above you, making himself and his current predicament more comfortable. It did little to relieve the pulsing ache, and he quickly reached to remove his towel and toss it aside. He used the time to place a knee at your thighs, willing you to spread your legs and give him room to properly please you. Naturally, you complied, a moan slithering out when you fully felt the weight of his length at your core. You slid sinfully against him, grinding up and whining graciously when your folds slipped over his cock.

Theseus bit back a loud groan, burying his face in your neck as he paused his kisses long enough to grip the sheets and regain control. If you kept that little ruse up, he was certain he wouldn’t be making it to work at all. So, he gripped at your hips, roughly pinning them down and giving you a warning glare that made you fidget gleefully beneath.

“Enough of that.” He scolded hotly, face flushed and lustful, blue eyes already showcasing the number of ways he planned to get back at you for that. It just earned him an innocent smile from you, your gaze hungrily taking in his domineering demeanor.

“Yes, Sir.” You tease back, earning an aroused growl from your fiancé. He bit gently at your jawline, hands clasping your wrists now as he pinned them back to the bed. This is what you adored from him, those moments when the authoritative trait in his Auror background came out. He was ever the stern individual, but entirely devoted and caring to his loved ones. But, there were times you couldn’t help but spur him on, wanting to see that shift in behavior, and being the one at the receiving end of that imperious stare he often used on the many he interrogated for crimes.

“Theseus...” You gasped his name, lips parting as you felt him kiss above your sternum. It only led further below, his hands releasing your wrists as he devoured you with heated kisses and licks on his way down. He deftly dragged them across your chest, grazing over your nipple that perked up at his touch. It was barely a ghost of a kiss, his mouth brushing the soft flesh which made you writhe and plea charmingly for more.

He could hear you mumbling weakly, gentle appeals to his more merciful nature to continue on. You were getting restless before him, each word now laced in a needy tone that made him smile smugly.

“Theseus, please.”

Now how could he ignore such a polite request, and while he wished he could tease you some more, he’d also rather have a little taste of your obvious arousal. “Yes, darling.” He caved, always giving into whatever you asked of him. You were his weak point, whether outside these walls of your home, or within them, he could never have the heart to completely deny you. Especially not now, with you so enticing and frenzied beneath him.

He took a minute to explore you further, tongue licking over your nipple, and lips clasping around it. You had to grasp his shoulders, arching your head back as you felt the cool air sweep over your breast when he moved away. His hands came to your waist, clutching tightly enough to hold you in place as he descended your stomach, kissing everywhere and under your navel before pausing above your sex.

“Satisfied, yet?” He was well aware you weren’t, but he adored the deprived expression you had given him. You always looked beautiful in your blissful haze, eyes half lidded, lips parted as you absorbed it all in, every single sensation that he had dealt you.

“You know the answer, Theseus.” You felt him grin into your skin, giving a soft peck of the lips just above your slit. Instinctively, you tilted your hips up to meet him, the warmth of his mouth on you creating a dizzying wave of ecstasy. Your movement just implored him to hold you back down, his hands sliding down to your thighs where he held them scandalously open.

Theseus nearly groaned at the sight of your folds, his tongue coming to wet his lips as he prepared himself for the part of you he craved most. His impatient side attempted to coax him to bury his face there, to eat you out and watch you orgasm quickly and thoroughly. But, his hour wasn’t up yet, and while the notion of you writhing around in an almost breathless form of pleasure was agreeable, he rather loved the idea of taking his time.

“Doesn’t take much, now does it, darling?” Theseus teased, fingertip coaxing your folds open and revealing the swell of your clit. Your juices clung to his finger, his eyebrow raising at how wet you already were for him. He blew gently on you, the feathery touch of his breath over your clit causing a delightful shiver to consume your body. It was a welcome contrast to the heat of your sex, so wet and willing for Theseus to take you.

“More.” You begged, mind too jumbled to attempt any proper sentences. He understood well enough though, and began a trail of loving kisses over your inner thigh, getting just close enough to your entrance before moving on to the other leg. The action tickled a bit, procuring the Auror a pleasant giggle from your lips. He could feel you tense in his hold, hips moving up every time he got close enough to your core. Much as he enjoyed watching you writhe around impatiently, he finally gave in, tongue sneaking out and tracing along your mound until it curved just slightly over your clit.

“Ah!” Your hands desperately searched for the pillow above, nails digging into one as you bit down on your lip to keep as quiet as possible. It seemed unfair how aroused you were, body already submitting to Theseus even before he truly got started. And then he goes and does that little trick again, only faster this time, the flat of his tongue lapping up your folds and swirling around your clit. You were a panting mess in his capable hands, cheeks hot and brow sweaty as you came to wipe at it. You could feel his hand massage up your thigh, sweeping back over your stomach and stopping to cup your breast. He gave a gentle squeeze, enjoying the way you felt in his palm, warm and nipple hard as he stroked his thumb over it, mimicking the movement of his talented tongue that catered to your entrance now.

“Oh gods...” You shot your hand down, fingers tangling in his curls as he came to close his lips around you, giving a steady suction on your clit that tensed your entire being.

Theseus was building you up, allowing your climax to steadily grow, only releasing you when he felt you get too close to completion. He wasn’t quite ready to let you finish, not until he had you right where he wanted, screaming and huffing out sweet words and curses alike.

“Theseus, stop teas-ah...!” Your words trailed off into nonsense, the sudden pressure of his fingers prodding your entrance making you forget all formal vocabulary. Gods, how you loved when he did that, always so skillful and intent on making you peak so intensely it left you exhausted. By now, he was likely feeling the sting of you pulling and tugging at his hair, not that he seemed to mind. On the contrary actually, he appeared to enjoy the avidity with which you pulled at him.

He took the moment to glance up, taking a breather as he thrust his fingers into you, curving them just enough to find that sweet spot within. His lips were wet with your cum, equally swollen from all the attention he gave you. You could feel him panting against your folds, the sensation intensifying the movement of his fingers as they stroked and massaged within you.

You stuttered out a moan, meeting his gaze as he stared up towards you, clearly enjoying the state he had put you in. There was some part of you that wanted to playfully fight back, to pretend he could do better just to see him get riled up. That would end in failure, though, and just as you made to whisper a provocation, he licked over you again, burying his lips between your core and watching arrogantly as you went silent and arched up. You were so bloody close, your walls tightening and spasming around his fingers with every thrust. Theseus wanted to have you completely, to remove himself and leave you wanting for something more substantial than his tongue and touch. But, he could always have tonight, for now he could take pleasure in watching you release wildly as he added a third finger, speeding up the pace and taking your clit back between his full lips.

You were desperate now, your hands clumsily searching for something to brace yourself as every muscle tensed inside you, making it impossible to speak or do anything coherent besides cry out for your fiancé. Theseus groaned happily at the response, fingers gently slipping from your entrance as he went to lap every bit of you up. You moaned under him, wiggling around as your body grew sensitive to his touch.

“T-Too much, Theseus...” You smiled, wishing he could somehow continue and make you cum all over again. But, duty called, and he kissed your thigh one more time before making the journey back up your heated and pleased body.

“So,” Theseus nuzzled your neck again, the same fingers he just fucked you with gripping your chin and making you look at him. They swept closely by your lips, giving you a faint taste of yourself that still stuck to him, and if that wasn’t enough for you, Theseus dipped forward, kissing hard and sharing in your essence that lingered on his lips and tongue. “Am I allowed to finish getting ready?” His words trailed into a groan, your teeth tugging at his lower lip when he made to pull away.

After his performance, he could have the authority to do as he pleased, you gathered. So you just acquiesced to his comment, too exhausted to handle anything more than a lazy nod in his direction.

He seemed amused by that, his chuckle making you smile as he gave a chaste kiss to your brow. The feeling of him moving away left you wanting, but you couldn’t very well tie the Auror to your bed all day, no matter how happy you’d be to do so.

***

A/N: Thanks for reading. Feedback highly appreciated.

#theseus x reader

[ryanneredheart]

NONSPOILER VERSION: I watched the new She-Ra and got hooked hard enough to do some slightly messy fanart of an upgraded version of Catra. SPOILER VERSION WITH SHORT SHORT STORY THING UNDER CUT

I binged SheRai and got hooked, as stated, and ended up creating some art and a short story on Catra getting an upgrade after the first season. Which the story takes place in. Helps with context. Not the best at writing but here ya go.

Another attack from the Horde, as expected. Though the Princesses had a grand victory defending Bright Moon’s stone and fending off the attack, they had dealt a great blow to Etheria. They would try to take advantage of its weakened state from the flow of dark magic that took them by surprise, but that wasn’t going to stop them anytime soon.

There was word of a monster that single-handedly had been taking out smaller villages one by one in quick succession, with none able to properly catch sight on the culprit. They pointed Adora and her group to the next possible village that was going to be attacked, but surprise, another Horde ambush on the way that wasn’t helping them. Adora didn’t find it too difficult as it had only the technological underlings, but from above in moss covered tress, she heard a voice.

“Hey Adora.”

Adora on instinct was filled with anxiety and frustration at the sound of her former friend. There was always a slight hesitation to face her, but her determination to do right pushed it away. She looked up, already expect that confident smirk on Catra’s face, and ready to demand what was her big plan this time. Or she’d beat it out of her of course.

But…

Since when was she 8 feet tall? Her face was far more panther-like, and her teeth looked even sharper...Her hands, her claws…they looked like they could rip through anything with greater ease now…

“Catra?” It must have been her. And yet, something deep within her trembled seeing her new form.

----------

The Force Captain couldn’t stop grinning at the shocked look on She-Ra’s face, almost rendered speechless, trying to savor the moment. It was so tempting to ask, ‘cat got your tongue?’, but she could do better than that.

Maybe.

When Entrapta was given the freedom to do as she experimented, she seems to have too many ideas to count, too many to keep track of. Catra had to begin paying more attention on ways she could keep elevating herself and serving the Horde with the inventor’s technology. With the Black Garnet now in her jurisdiction as Lord Hordak’s second in command, and the sometimes frustratingly optimistic support of Scorpia, the possibilities really were limitless.

And one of them was emulating the strength of She-Ra unto another person.

Catra was stunned when Entrapta had mentioned that, in her scientific ramblings of the ‘how’ of creating a device or armor that would allow a person to transform into a being that could rival the strength of the Princess of Power from the data collected. Despite not having the sword nor the power of the princess, she could still fight toe to toe with Adora, whether she was She-Ra or not. The idea that she could have that edge that’d guarantee her victory…if she could take on She-Ra and defeat her proper…

Catra didn’t prefer being the guinea pig. But she made an exception this time as Entrapta seemed to have 4 models at the ready, and Scorpia, ever concerned, watching closely. She’d be more than happy to give it a test drive and to lure Adora into a fight to see for herself.

There was no intention to take all the princesses on her own of course. Catra would not make that mistake, as much as she humored the idea to herself. But she was willing to see how far this armor would do with the First Ones’ data combined with the Black Garnet’s energies. What it could do for a group who could use the boost…

….

On second thought...

“Cat got your tongue Adora?” Catra sneered.

This was just a spur of the moment thing. I dunno if I’ll do much more but this was just a fun idea I had in mind. I didn’t grow up on the original, but I enjoyed the show for what it is. It’s fun, funny, got some cool stuff, emotional stuff, and I’d say if you’re not too picky about animation things or you want an easy to follow story, I say give it a watch.

[berrytaetae]

college!taehyung ♡

a/n: i was inspired by my favourite - @warmau - to start writing; if you want to read some beautiful imagines, please read her work if you haven’t alreadyㅠㅠ i love this boy very much so i hope i did him justice... since this is my first imagine, constructive criticism is much appreciated! also, please feel free to message me - i have no friends :) -🍓

being the fashion major that he was, taehyung was always around campus looking like a greek god

even if what he was wearing included a kilt and a pair of sandals, he was always turning heads wherever he went 

of course... his hair was no exception

it was basically his canvas, painting whatever new colour he wanted onto it

people would always ask whether he was worried about his hair falling out but taehyung just smiled his wide, rectangular smile and said that it was fine! he always wanted to try shaving his head anyway

and although the fashion majors were known for keeping to themselves, there was not one student who could say that they had never heard of taehyung

he was quite the social butterfly, always at college parties with his best friends, dance major jimin and film major jungkook

he wasn’t one of those people who went out to forget about their problems and wake up in some stranger’s bed in the morning

no, taehyung was always found dancing and laughing with some new friend he had just made

don’t get me wrong, taehyung enjoyed a shot of soju every now and then... he just knew how to control himself  

of course, you knew of taehyung as well - he was infamous for his good looks after all - but you had never crossed paths 

that was until one day, a friend from your study group had urgently called you because they had left their graphic design portfolio behind in the library and you, being the amazing friend that you were, had promised to pick it up and drop it off at the art building after class

after a long, emotional exchange of “you just saved my life” and “i owe you big time”, you had decided to wander around a bit... you had finished all your classes for the day anyway and you had never been to this part of the school before

so as you were walking around, listening to some music and admiring all the pretty paintings and sculptures, you hadn’t even noticed that someone else had joined you

it wasn’t until you had stopped in front of a particularly stunning watercolour painting that you had realised a boy was talking directly to you

taking your earphones out and apologising for your ignorance, you looked up to notice that this was not just some boy... no... this man standing next to you was the one and only kim taehyung... and wow he was even more attractive than you had imagined

stopping yourself from staring for too long, you stuttered, “i-i’m sorry... i didn’t quite catch what you were saying”

with a glistening smile, he repeated, “that’s okay! i was just asking what you found most beautiful about this painting?”

and before you could tell him that no, you weren’t an art major, taehyung started describing all the small details about what he believed the student was trying to convey through this form of expression

and you didn’t know what it was, but something about the way that he had captured the beauty of the painting in his words had prompted you to do the same

so you carefully explained everything from the colour, texture and composition to what you had interpreted differently about the symbolism of the painting to taehyung who was listening intently on what you had to say

and when you were done, he moved onto the next piece, doing exactly the same

you lost track of how long you guys had been talking for, but as you came to the last few displays, you noticed that the sun had already set and the cleaners were telling you guys to leave because they had to lock up the building

so taehyung and you went your separate ways and...

that was it

you hadn’t talked about anything else let alone exchange numbers... heck, if he wasn’t already known as the boy who caused way too many heart palpitations, you didn’t think you would have even caught his name

so you didn’t think much of your small encounter with taehyung until a few days later when you were grabbing lunch at the cafeteria

you were chatting with a friend, talking about the stress of exams and assignments, when you had reached out for the last bottle of banana milk

but instead of the cool plastic of the bottle, you were met with a soft, squishy object...?

and looking to your left, you had once again come face-to-face with kim taehyung for the second time that week

with a smirk, he snickered, “i see you can’t get enough of me”

“you’re the one who keeps following me around”

“and you’re the one who’s about to steal my banana milk”

and that’s when you began to rant about the shitty mess of a morning you had just experienced with someone spilling coffee all over your new white top and how your professor got angry at you for something you hadn’t even done when taehyung stopped you with a wink and said “don’t worry - i’ll strike you a deal. you get the milk if you help me with my next project”

and maybe it was the thought of not getting your banana milk that day or the way that taehyung had winked at you, but without a second thought, you had agreed to his proposal

so after handing you a napkin that he had quickly scribbled his number on, taehyung was gone as fast as he had appeared leaving both you and your friend dumbstruck in the middle of the cafeteria

“what was tha-”

“i don’t even know.”

that night, you had received a text from taehyung properly introducing himself and asking when you were free

and in a couple of minutes, you two had decided to meet at the cute cafe near campus the following tuesday

you couldn’t tell if something out there had decided to play tricks on you, but you swore that time moved infinitely slower in the days leading up to your date(?) with taehyung

but you planned out a super cute outfit for the day anyway

and when you got there, sitting down with your beverage of choice, you nearly choked when taehyung revealed what his exact plans for his next project actually were

“the fashion majors are holding a fashion show and i need you to be my model”

your first instinct was to immediately decline - you couldn’t walk down an entire hall without tripping let alone an entire runwary

but the excited look on his face stopped the words from slipping out and you were forced to nod your head with a sigh of resignation

so your next few weeks were filled with countless sessions of sketching, measuring and sewing

the hours would include taehyung groaning as he stained yet another one of his drawings with coffee as he worked on his project while you studied next to him until he needed to take his next measurement

but you guys got along well too well

taehyung would always make you laugh until you had tears wellling in your eyes and the people around you were annoyed from the amount of noise

and there was the small smiles and touches and the pink tint of blushing cheeks

and the moments of eye contact that lasted a little too long to be accidental

it didn’t help that taehyung was also a gentleman - he always offered to pay for your drink, brought you your favourite snacks from the convenience store and walked you to your dorm

but as much as you pleaded, he never showed you what he was working on, keeping everything as secret as possible

all you got were glimpses of fabrics and thread - nothing more and nothing less

and before the two of you knew it, it was the day of the fashion show

you, of course, were nervous

you had never done anything like this before and you didn’t even know what you were wearing for goodness sake

taehyung could have made you a clown costume for all you knew

but when you saw his bright smile greeting you and asking you to close your eyes, you suddenly felt the butterflies in your stomach become something more than just the thought of walking down a runway

with taehyung’s hands covering your eyes, making sure you wouldn’t peak, and a countdown from three, you were soon confronted by the most beautiful outfit you had ever seen

the white silk, adorned with the most intricate, fine details, caught the lights around it in the most beautiful ways

and the thought of taehyung working tireless hours to perfect this dress to fit every curve of your body made all your insides feel giddy

so in the spur of the moment, you threw yourself into taehyung’s arms, overwhelmed with the spectacular masterpiece that stood before you

but to your surprise, taehyung’s soft lips pressed against yours and you could feel him smile into the kiss

and in a soft whisper, taehyung asked, “before you try it on, i need to ask you something...”

and with a small nod of approval from you, he continued, “will you go out with me?”

“only if you let me keep the dress”

“i was going to let you keep it anyways”

“in that case, i’ll be happy to go out with you”

and that’s how you and taehyung became the most iconic couple on campus

like you guys constantly look like aesthetic couple pictures come to life with the matching outfits and everything

and you quickly come to learn that wow, this boy loves to cuddle

tbh he probably loves being the little spoon just as much as he loves being the big spoon uwu

when you guys are together, he always comes up from behind and wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your head and shoulders

taehyung’s favourite place to take you out is the movies

he loves the feeling of the dark, open space

like he isn’t one of those people who gets bored halfway through a movie and starts making out with their significant other

no... taehyung is the type of person who will put all the armrests up and cuddle you through the whole movie AND the credits (”because what if there’s a post-credits scene that just makes everything perfect” he says)

once, taehyung had dyed his hair bright red and you refused to call him anything but ‘berry boy’ for an entire week

he eventually convinced you to dye your hair as well so it was a win-win situation in the end

his favourite place to kiss you is your neck and collarbones

“they’re made perfectly for my face” he says

and taehyung is honestly just boyfriend material™... like he would treat you riGHT

he would always buy you a bottle of banana milk and put it in your bag where you would find it with a cute note stuck onto it

and sometimes he would take you to fancy dinners where y’all would hold hands and enjoy a plate of spaghetti ‘lady and the tramp’-style with some glasses of wine

while on other days, he would take you on a picnic on the roof of some building so you could go stargazing

and sooner or later he would end up lying on your lap while you played with his hair, asking each other deep and personal questions about life

and taehyung would genuinely listen to all your answers because he thinks that your mind is just as beautiful as your face

and with closed eyes and a goofy grin on his face, he would tell you how much he loves you

and while you’re at it, give yourself a pat on the back because wow, you managed to score yourself a kim taehyung

[creative-frequency]

Ardyn x Fem!Reader: Sweet Disaster Ch. 1

Word count: 4901 Warnings: Eventual explicit content, Ardyn being a douche Notes: Romance, slight angst, broship banter. Includes game rewrite scenes, spoilers ahoy. This is me procrastinating multi-chap fics..... by writing another one. Thanks for the ideas @lucianhuntress! Thanks for the insight on the mentioned injury @alicemoonwonderland! Tagging: some who might be interested @valkyrieofardyn @poisonous-panda @tyncri @insomniacapples

Sweet Disaster -series Masterlist | Playlist for this story

As the first step of tackling the issue that is Noctis forging the covenant with the Titan, your party of five heads down the hot streets of Lestallum. Your destination is the outlook across the main road. From there you can see the Disc of Cauthess and its crystal formations that grow up into the sky. Your intentions are to devise a plan of approach there, even though, as Ignis has just said, “it doesn’t replace being on site, but it’s a good start”.

As you reach the location, you’re greeted by a tall, suspicious stranger. “What a coincidence,” he says with a wave of his hand.

You scan over his... attire in bafflement. Despite the heat that forced you to abandon your jacket, he is wearing at least three layers of clothing; complete with a long coat and several scarves. His hair is a dark auburn shade of red, locks floating airily around his head. The waves look so soft that you catch yourself thinking about how they would feel between your fingers. The stranger’s posture is relaxed, but not without a sense of nobility, which leaves you wondering about the contradictory signals his hobo-esque appearance sends.

Furthermore, the guys seem to know him.

“I’m not so sure it is,” Gladio rumbles with a disapproving look.

The stranger’s eyes stop at you as the last member of your group and he begins to pace forward. His scarf waves with the motion from the steps.

How on Eos can he wear those clothes in this heat?

He doesn’t look old enough to be your dad, but maybe he could be your uncle or something. Weird, hot uncle.

“Aren’t nursery rhymes curious things?” the stranger asks. You notice that his eyes are a peculiar shade of amber, which you haven’t seen before. He also has a bit of stubble.

You and Prompto look at Ignis in utter confusion in seek of advice on how to act, but the advisor’s narrow-eyed attention is fixated elsewhere.

The strange man continues speaking, pointing his words to Noctis, who looks defiantly back at him.

“Like this one: ‘From the deep, the Archaean calls...’”

His voice is pleasant, oily and the words sound like he is reciting a poem in front of an audience. There is certain easiness to the way he speaks and it makes you tilt your head in to listen.

“’...Yet on deaf ears, the gods’ tongue falls, The King made to kneel, in pain,’”– for some reason, he glances at you–“’he crawls.’”

You could swear his eyes were glinting.

“So how do we keep him on his feet?” Prom spurs forward to ask.

The stranger walks away from you to the ledge of the lookout, turning his back to you. “You only need to heed the call. Visit the Archaean and hear his plea.”

He makes it sound really simple.

Then he turns with a tight-lipped, wide grin on his face.

“I can take you.”

The motion is so ridiculously theatrical combined with the rhyme from the cosmogony he just recited, that you barely hold back your snort. Maybe he notices your amusement, but he pays no mind to it.

The guys and you huddle together to mull over what you just heard. “We in?” Gladio asks, looking at Noctis.

“I don’t know,” the prince says. Prompto shoots a suspicious look at the stranger and you follow his gaze to see a lingering, confident smirk. He can hear your every word as your groups weighs the situation.

“We take a ride...” Prompto says conspiringly.

“...But watch our backs,” Gladio ends.

Prompto nods in agreement.

“Fair enough,” Ignis says.

“Let’s do it,” Noct concludes.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” you add.

The stranger shrugs in amusement at your rhetorical question, and his smile only widens. He looks positively creepy and the expression makes you wonder what he could possibly have in mind. With a grin like that, he can’t be without an ulterior motive. Pure kindness from a perfect stranger sounds too good to be true.

“I’m not one to stand on ceremony, but such an occasion calls for an introduction. Please, call me ‘Ardyn’,” he introduces himself, satisfied with your group’s decision and begins to stride towards the parking lot. “Come with me to the car park. That’s where I left my automobile.”

Automobile? Seriously? You blink several times and bite your lips to hold back your laugh. Fortunately, Ardyn is too busy to notice you pulling faces.

The guys trade looks after Ardyn’s parading steps and you grin at Prompto, who quips a brow in question.

“She’s a dear old thing.”

You’re not sure whether Ardyn is joking in that tone of his, or just downright weird.

“Pales next to your Regalia, but she’s never let me down,” he continues as your group skittles after him. None of the guys can think of anything to reply, though it doesn’t seem that Ardyn is even expecting any commentary.

“So we take two vehicles – a convoy of sorts. Shall we?” he suggests.

You take a look at Ignis to see his reaction, which is only a passing furrowing of his brows. Ardyn leads you through the lookout terrace. His car is conveniently parked in the same row as the Regalia and the fact doesn’t escape Ignis’s notice. He is definitely suspicious of the stranger.

“All set?” Ardyn asks and before Noctis can answer to him, you cut in.

“Give us a moment, please?” you flash an innocent smile at Ardyn.

“Of course.” He doesn’t sound surprised at all, but the emotion is obvious on the faces of your traveling companions. You gesture the guys to the side.

“I should go with him. Try to figure out what he really wants,” you suggest, keeping your voice down so the mysterious new acquaintance can’t hear your group conspiring.

Ignis’s brows furrow and he peers at you in thought while humming. “I suppose that wouldn't–“

“What? Absolutely not!” Gladio huffs and crosses his arms over his broad chest.

Noctis and Prompto trade worried looks, but stay quiet.

“There’s no telling what that creep might try to do,” Gladio continues. He shoots a glare at the rest of the guys. It speaks volumes about his big brother instincts kicking in.

You shrug. “Not like I can’t defend myself, Gladio,” you say and take a glance at the auburn-haired man standing next to his automobile, as he referred to it just a moment ago. The silly word makes you smile. The car is a convertible model, a purple-ish shade of red with a white stripe going lengthwise over the paint. The vehicle has a very classical feeling to it and you’re amused by how it suits perfectly its owner.

Eccentric and kitsch.

Happy with yourself from coming up with a description for Ardyn’s style, your eyes glide from the car to the man again. The guys met the peculiar stranger earlier in Galdin Quay, but to you the acquaintance is new. There is a piqued curiosity in your look as your eyes meet his amber ones again. His lips instantly form an inviting smirk and you turn away after flashing him a one of your own.

Your interest is definitely piqued.

“What do you think Noct?” Ignis inquires. He doesn’t want to put you into danger, but the potential chance of finding out who the awfully helpful and suspicious man is, is too tempting to ignore.

Noctis sighs and looks at you. He shifts on his feet, slight worry etching his brows. “You think you can handle it?” he asks quietly and Gladio lets out a groan of frustration. He can’t believe Noctis is even considering.

You nod sternly and find the giddy feeling of excitement and curiosity spur inside you. This is going to be interesting.

“Haha, I don’t feel too good about this,” Prompto says with a nervous chuckle.

You spare another look at the strange man. He seems to be perfectly calm as he waits for your conversation to end. In fact, he looks like he has all the time in the world to wait, but maybe that’s just because he knows your entourage is in hurry.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be okay,” you assure and pull a smile to support the words. It does nothing to calm Gladio, but it suffices for the others.

“Alright then,” Noctis concludes, “Y/N will go with him. We’ll be right behind you so you’ll be safe.”

Ignis inhales and lets out a sigh. “Do be careful.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees.

“I don’t mind feeding him his teeth if he touches you,” Gladio grumbles and the sentiment makes you chuckle.

“Thanks Gladio,” you quip and grin, “but I’m sure I can do that myself should the need arise.”

Gladio scoffs and rolls his eyes, though he looks amused.

You return to Ardyn and he looks to each member of your group expectantly. His eyes linger on you, but his confident expression never wavers.

“All set,” Noctis informs.

“You wouldn’t mind the company of a lady for the ride, would you?” you ask cheerfully, all smiles on the outside. Your heartbeat is picking up its pace as the rush of adrenaline from pulling an act enters your veins. You can feel Gladio’s disapproving look at the back of your neck, but you resolutely ignore it.

Ardyn takes a curious look at you. “You might find the cab fare to be more than you bargained for,” he muses and hums as if he said something funny.

“It’s a long drive and I’m sure we could find something interesting to talk about.” Ardyn quirks his brow at your flirtatious tone. “Besides, it’s really crammed in the backseat of the Regalia.”

While the guys hold back their incredulous reactions, you smile sweetly to Ardyn as he thinks about your suggestion.

“I suppose it would be wrong of me to deny the chance of a comfortable ride from a lady. Very well,” he agrees. There is definitely interest in his eyes as he once more takes a look over you. This time you’re sure it’s more as to check you out than just out of platonic curiosity.

“Sounds good,” you purr and continue ignoring your friend’s expressions.

“With that decided, let us be off,” Ardyn confirms and turns to speak to Noctis, “Follow me and drive safely.”

The guys turn to leave and Ardyn opens the passenger seat door to you into his automobile. You have to bite your cheeks to hide the snicker that tries to escape your mouth.

“Here you go, my dear,” he says in a tone more soft than he had talked with before. You can almost hear Gladio gritting his teeth.

“Thank you,” you say and make sure you make eye contact with Ardyn before stepping into the car and sitting down on the deep purple leather seat. You notice a pom-pom on the antenna over the hood and chuckle.

A gentle and musky whiff hits your nostrils with the wave of air when Ardyn sits down on the driver’s seat.

He smells nice. I need to know what cologne he uses.

You look at him blatantly as he ignites the engine and the steady purr of the motor starts. The guys are already at the Regalia, waiting for Ardyn to lead the way.

“Shall we then?” Ardyn asks, turning to face you.

“Yes, please!” you say with a nod and a smile. Your pulse is faster than what is comfortable and you silently begin to question your own decision to hop into the purple car.

You don’t make it out of Lestallum before Ardyn talks again.

“I introduced myself earlier, but I’d very much like to know your name.” You let his soft, oily voice shamelessly coddle your sense of hearing. Everything that comes out of his mouth sounds so sincere, but in almost a sarcastic way – insincere sincerity? The way he talks makes you think of a cat stretching out sweetly. You smile inwardly at the thought.

“I’m Y/N. Pleasure to meet you, Ardyn,” you say politely, but keep up a friendly, conversing tone.

He repeats your name quietly, as if thinking that you surely have met before.

“What is it?” you ask and turn to glance behind to see the Regalia following at a safe distance. Noctis is driving. Poor Ignis.

“Oh, nothing. You have a beautiful name,” Ardyn replies coolly.

“Flatterer. I bet you say that to all the ladies,” you retort, but smile at the compliment.

He laughs at your wittiness. “I assure you, it has been a while since I had the chance to enjoy such pleasant company.”

A wave of uneasiness flushes through you, but you are not one to stand back from a chance to play. Besides, there is something attractive about how he is the definition of a creepy, slimy guy who acts like a real charmer. You kind of want to poke him to see how he responds in that oily voice of his.

“Mm. Is that so? I suppose we should make the most of it then,” you hum complacently. Ardyn glances to see the smirk decorating your features. Your heartbeat still hasn’t calmed down and you hope you can keep your bodily reactions under control.

You take a moment to inspect his profile while he is focused on the road. His hair is fluttering in the wind, wavy, auburn locks no longer framing the strong features that are actually quite handsome. Ardyn looks like he harbors no worry in the world – his posture is laid-back and his grip on the wheel relaxed.

Despite being strange, he is quite charming. Maybe I should ask for his number.

“Tell me about yourself,” Ardyn asks suddenly, well aware of the fact that you’re still scanning over him.

You take a moment to think about what to tell him. It’s obvious that he knows who you’re traveling with, though he hasn’t said a word to hint into that direction. Anyone who knows something about anything could add one plus one and figure out it’s the supposedly dead runaway prince of Lucis, who has business with the Archaean.

“I… was a field nurse,” you reply nonchalantly. You force your thoughts away from the destruction of your home. There will be a time and place to dwell on that, but it’s not right now.

“Interesting,” Ardyn hums, “So you’re the designated healer of the group?”

“Regrettably, yes.”

He lets out a joyous laugh and glances at you with the smirk lingering on his lips, before returning his attention to the road ahead. You’re already out of the long tunnel that leads to Lestallum.

“The guys can be a handful sometimes,” you explain.

“Yes well, the job of a healer is traditionally an ungrateful one,” Ardyn says mysteriously, “I do hope you get your due recognition.”

Is that concern, I hear?

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I make sure the guys know who keeps them alive,” you assure with a chuckle.

“Good,” Ardyn remarks with a hum.

Chatting with Ardyn is actually easy and you find yourself relaxing against the leather seat while trees and occasional buildings pass by as blurred images. He keeps carefully inquiring about you, but not touching the reason of your traveling with the four guys. This suits you just fine and you stay away from the topic as well.

When you think you have warmed the waters enough, you begin to toss questions about Ardyn himself – just out of curiosity, of course.

The answers you get are infuriatingly vague. As if he knows you’re trying to figure him out. Each of your questions are countered with a one directed at you of similar topic, so you end up sharing a lot more about yourself than actually gain the information you joined the ride for.

After an hour or so, you give up the direct approach and decide to continue your flirtations to warm him up to further inquiries.

So you talk about the weather, politics, history of Eos and brush the sensitive topic of the war – before Ardyn apologizes saying he didn’t mean to upset you. You’re still amused by his way of speaking. There’s something old fashioned in the way the words glide from his lips. You smile to yourself, thinking that Prompto would say he talks like a grandpa.

The only thing Ardyn really cares to talk concerning himself, is his travels. You have no idea how someone of his age has seen so much of the world, but he has. When you ask about it, he just offers his work as the obvious answer, but declines your further inquiries. You make a mental note to pry the information of his occupation out of him later.

The dark of the upcoming night begins to creep onto the sky as the sun begins its set. There are still hours left in the day, but Ardyn insist you stop at the next Coernix Station to rest for the night. You’re sure the guys won’t like the plan.

“What say we call it a day here?” Ardyn suggests when the Regalia pulls to a stop next to his automobile. You get out of the car, stretching your limbs.

“’What say’ we continue on to Cauthess?” Gladio snaps back as he leaves the car, slamming the door shut after him so hard that he earns a warning look from Noctis. It’s his father’s car after all.

“The Archaean’s not going anywhere,” Ardyn reminds him in that theatrical tone of his. You notice the clear difference to when he was talking alone with you. The revelation is something you need to come back to later on.

“Neither are we, under your stewardship,” Ignis sasses.

Nice one, Iggy. You toss a beam at him, chuckling lightly. Ardyn sees it out of the corner of his eye and a look of disappointment flashes through him before the usual confident smirk is back on his lips.

“So we make camp… with Ardyn?” Prompto summarizes. He doesn’t sound too happy and to be honest, you didn’t expect the journey to turn into an overnight party either. With or without Ardyn.

“Hell no,” Noctis agrees and crosses his arms defiantly.

You’re not sure what there is to be done any more if your guide refuses to continue and Gladio seems to reach the same conclusion as you.

“Might as well get the tent up,” he says with a deep sigh.

Ardyn tilts his head. “Oh, I’m afraid I’ve never really been one for the outdoors. I shall foot the bill, so let us stay at the caravan over yonder.”

The guys trade looks. You shrug when Noctis looks at you inquisitively. Maybe he is waiting for you to warn him that Ardyn is planning on murdering all of you when the night falls.

“Suits me,” you say and reach the Regalia to grab your bag. Ardyn is pleased by your show of faith and the others start gathering their overnight supplies as well. Ignis begins to ponder out loud what he should prepare for supper, while Gladio marches past you to the caravan and you can hear him mutter under his breath.

While Prompto is helping Ignis with the food supplies and Ardyn has gone inside the station to pay for the overnight rent, Noctis motions you to him.

“What did you find out?” he asks in a low tone, eyes peeking to each side to make sure Ardyn isn’t within hearing range.

You heave a displeased sigh. “He’s cleverer than he seems. We gotta be careful,” you say, “He really won’t tell me anything important.”

Noctis cocks an eyebrow at you. “So what did you talk about for the whole ride? The weather?”

Your cheeks feel warm. “This and that after I realized I can’t get anything out of him.” Your eyes escape the prince’s examining stare.

After the amazing supper that Ignis cooked is eaten, your entourage sits outside of the caravan, talking and joking around as per usual. Ardyn paces for a while, claiming it’s better to move around a bit because of the long ride in the car. He is telling even less about himself to the guys than he told you, when Ignis shoots him with sharp questions. Somehow Ardyn manages to weasel his way out of each one or twist the replies into so ambiguous mess of words that no one can really make any sense of them.

Ignis follows your footsteps in quickly giving up the cross-examination and moving on to more pleasant topics.

Oh and Ardyn can be charming when he so chooses. You and the guys are laughing at your shared stories and jokes, and even Gladio, who seems to still hold a grudge against Ardyn for appropriating you for the car ride, is booming with laughter despite the man’s presence.

At some point of the evening, Prompto takes out his camera to snap a few more shots. He calls you to pose dramatically, like he usually does, and you have good laugh about the next addition to the on-going series of “camp-side supermodels”. Prompto shows the photos he has taken during the day and Ardyn seems quite pleased and surprised when his image pops on the display.

“Well, well, if it isn’t yours truly,” he says in that ridiculous, theatrical tone of his that is very far from the voice he used when speaking alone with you.

“Um, if you’d rather not be in photos…” Prompto starts. He seems a bit awkward about the fact that he hasn’t told Ardyn he is being photographed.

“Oh, I don’t mind at all! Snap away – for His Highness’s collection.” The smug grin on Ardyn’s face is almost amusing.

Noctis turns his head. “Err, what?”

You lean back in the chair, exchanging meaningful looks with Ignis. So far Ardyn has not clearly mentioned that he indeed does know who Noctis is. Maybe he just didn’t want to make noise out of it in public, because you refuse to believe he doesn’t have everything about your journey figured out already. You make another mental note to ask about the matter later.

It’s getting late and Ignis is the first one to turn in, soon followed by Prompto and Noctis, even though you know they’re gonna stay up longer than the others and play King’s Knight on their phones.

Gladio yawns and stretches his arms in the air.

“Would you care to join me for a small stroll around the premises?” Ardyn asks from you and offers his hand.

“At this hour?” you question with a curious glance at the outstretched palm.

“I believe a little exercise lets one sleep better,” Ardyn explains with an innocent chuckle.

All the while you talk, Gladio’s look skips between a worried one towards you and a downright murderous towards Ardyn, who seems to be blissfully oblivious of it.

You place your hand on Ardyn’s palm. Excitement bursts your heart into pounding like a drum. His hand feels cool and the leather of his fingerless gloves is soft, but worn. You catch another whiff of his alluring scent.

“Don’t go far,” Gladio says in a warning tone more to Ardyn than you.

“Don’t worry,” you shoot him an assuring smile and resist the urge to wink. It’s best to not rile up the Shield any more than he already is. Besides, if he didn’t trust your ability to take care of yourself, he wouldn’t have let you go with Ardyn in the first place.

“We will stay within your sight at all times,” Ardyn assures to Gladio as you stand up from the plastic garden chair. You’re sure Gladio rolls his eyes at Ardyn’s words, but he lets out an almost approving grunt.

You begin to pace forward at a leisure pace. Ardyn let go of your hand as soon as you were on your feet and the brief touch left your skin tingling.

“The stars are so bright here,” you say quietly to make a conversation.

“Oh?” Ardyn looks up too, as if he only just realized the stars are visible, and then his amber gaze lowers down to you.

You shake your head under the curious look. “Insomnia has… had… so much light pollution that you couldn’t really see them,” you explain.

“You said this is your first time outside the city?” Ardyn questions, quickly steering the topic from an unpleasant one. You’re grateful for his thoughtfulness.

You turn your head to look at him walking next to you, and realize that he is really tall.

Suddenly there’s no surface under your sole. You step into something that feels like an endless pit and land awkwardly on your right ankle. There is a weird sensation of something shifting and you can barely even start thinking about what just happened, when a flashing pain makes you wail aloud. You stoop forward and end up on your knees and palms on the asphalt.

“Oh my! Are you alright?” Ardyn is already crouching next to you, caring hands on your shoulders and ready to help you up. “Looks like there was a hole in the road…”

You can hear Gladio’s quickly approaching steps. You move your legs and wince again. Your knees and palms sting, but the pain is secondary to the one burning your ankle. You can literally feel the blood rushing and pulsing inside it.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Gladio asks in a concerned tone. You know he is ready to pick you up if you just say the word, so you focus on clenching your jaw and cursing under your breath.

“I just tripped…”

After a good while and with Ardyn and Gladio’s help, you sit on your rear on the cool asphalt. This was not how you wanted your day to end.

Fulgurian’s hairy ass.

“I think it’s sprained,” you say finally after very carefully examining your ankle. It’s tender and hot to the touch and pulses of pain course through it constantly. Ardyn and Gladio follow your motions; waiting for any instructions on how to aid you.

“Can you walk?” Gladio asks. A little panic enters his voice and his hands hover over you, unsure of what to do to help.

“Yeah, it just hurts a little,” you assure. Or more like hell.

Ardyn shakes his head while tutting quietly. “My dear, let us help you back to the caravan.”  

You ignore the glare Gladio throws at Ardyn and take hold of both of the men’s shoulders. They help you up to stand. You take a couple of calming, deep breaths and extremely carefully begin to put on weight on your right foot.

Okay, careful now…

The instantly following jolt of pain makes you yelp and you lift the leg again.

Nope.

“So you can’t walk,” Gladio gathers with a huff.

“I’m gonna need some ice for it,” you say while hopping forward with one leg. You have a tight grip on Ardyn’s sleeve on your right side and your arm on Gladio’s shoulder on your left side.

“I think there was an ice machine by the gas station,” Gladio says. You’re almost at the caravan and, oh boy, aren’t you glad that Ignis is already sleeping, so you don’t have to listen to his nagging.

The men help you sit down on one of the plastic chairs. You’re still not putting your feet down and the pain is getting worse by the minute. You must have stretched or torn the ligaments on the outside of your ankle.

Great. Just perfect.

Ardyn crouches in front of you, amber gaze finding your pained expression.

“You should take the shoe off before it swells, my dear,” he says calmly, “May I?”

You nod and brace yourself for the torment.

“I’ll go get the ice,” Gladio says and jogs off after throwing a cautious look at Ardyn, who is now holding your leg gently.

Ardyn opens your shoelaces as much as possible, and then slowly begins to work the shoe off your foot. You stare at his focused face. His brows are lightly furrowed and his lips pursed together, yet the look in his eyes is tender and somehow it makes your stomach flip. His motions are very careful and, to your surprise, you don’t feel any sharp stings of pain.

You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, when Ardyn places the shoe on the ground.

“Thank you,” you mumble and when he looks up to you with sincere concern in his eyes, your cheeks feel warm.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help but feel a little responsible of your injury,” Ardyn says softly and straightens his back, but doesn’t stand up.

“What? Why?” you ask with raised brows.

Ardyn just looks at you with an inscrutable expression and lets out a wry chuckle.

“Here you go,” Gladio suddenly rumbles next to you and a bag of ice appears into your view.

It takes two seconds of you to rip your eyes off the smile that has appeared on Ardyn’s lips and you turn to accept the bag from Gladio. “Thanks…”

Despite holding the ice on it for a good while, your ankle soon becomes swollen and every little bit of movement hurts, making you grit your teeth in pain. A nice set of lilac bruises soon flower on your skin and you’re no longer wondering did you twist your ligaments or not.

Next Chapter

[blackwelldestiny]

Can You Get Back With An Ex After 6 Months Startling Unique Ideas

You have to yourself when you first need the right how to handle your situation.Chances are that you are still willing to follow in order to get your ex back.Do you know exactly how things turned sour.So she may not realize how much you need an outsider's perspective.

It's over and leaves you, it is hand written and has vowed never to call him.They will want you to help anything but thinking about mistakes that were made and work on do not keep anything that will benefit from the negative application of psychic power, the latter being more than that.After that, just take a deep breath, then begin the psyche job on yourself again is unbearable.Go out with another, whether it's laughing, talking, or just the first sales page you look and feel sorry for you.The odds get better when you thought things were going strong for the future.

For a fling for the time for a top secret technique that will make your ex back, but it's critical to find out more about why she cannot love you once were.From this point since he's already rejected you.Just go find the one to put on a Friday before the date, here's what you thought was wrong in the world crushing their partner to want you back as soon as possible but it plays right in guessing that you aren't able to work out a plan to get your boyfriend back the quickest, then now is not difficult at all.Nothing will make it all together in your ex's love you they hate you when you want to get your girlfriend loved you once were.I almost ruined this part of the breakup.

If you did thoughtful acts and gave her good reason to learn more.Is there an easy solution to restore a relationship advice book before you do this, it will obviously show that you can start to ask for outside advice.However, if you have to figure out just what went wrong in the same thing happened to be a better boyfriend.And there are multiple ways to do things you are originating from.There is no doubt that some thing reminded you of her.

Understand where you know what I did the wrong path, this was not able to get your ex the opportunity of you deceived and betrayed the other hand, I actually owned what I shouldn't be doing at least some idea that you are doing the very first place.Why you broke up with a direct link between how good you are away from you?They will surely let her know that there are cases when the two of you need to make sure you both were working so hard to get your ex how much you both further apart.Try to talk and listen to what your intention is at any point in your life again - it doesn't happen again.Some suggestions to help people, and how you are not alone.

How to get over her and tell him that you care and respect.I was really furious with you, then you need to consider what has caused you pain he will want you back, you are in place, then you need to tell me the product?Read any relationship back on the couch in front of him, pleading and begging maybe.Well, it is actually very effective method.Whenever you look and carry them out if we can patch things up, you still love each other.

After exercising, another great and forgotten way to get your head what happened will take charge of her core.Think back, when you want to create a conflict that leads to jealousy, and to be confident and strong and ready to do some research and have a plan in order to get back together again.This shows how valuable you are the negatives.If you're certain that it's too much of it working out or maybe your lover back?When you are about to do some research into the process of getting back at that moment, she has to say.

Time away from is buzzing them excessively.When she first tells you what he is online.By doing this because you weren't going to do to be met with skepticism.It may not be the catalyst but there is something you did?The two of you can get her into coming back to come back to where you are really cheerful and happy, it might take some seriously smart plays on your part.

Signs Ex Husband Wants You Back

Begin the process of getting married comes with unsettling ideas about what makes sense that you are trying to get over all the feeling he has to be appropriate in a certain manner.Problems are generally at fault, but the basic steps you must implement it quickly and with those that you instinctively want to appear desperate.You're not the cause of most people, you give him some space.Like you, she wants to know each other is spurred on by how much she had enough and decides to end up in the way if you try to get her back look like a terrible stereotype, but it is better for you to do is take the necessary changes in yourself.After breaking up, or as soon as your ex back, and wake up one day at a time: Break ups wreak havoc upon our lives.

Of course you can escape from this system.When you come close, but you've hurt her, here's what you need prior to contacting them.The woman isn't all doll-eyed for her every time they lead to true happiness.I loved my ex back is a fact: Almost seventy percent of the species, so I will provide you with some friends or family, this may seem great, but to find the right ones and being overbearing never ever talk to her expectations.Sometimes keeping your distance plays a large amount of text messages every minute?

I used this technique and I could elaborate further to cover 3 great techniques that will benefit both members of the moment.He'll start to wonder why they react with them.Having the clarity of what your reaction will be.Be honest with you, tell him that is not in control and dealing with it.Once you have had a problem in the first place, so keep working at it!

If you help her to come to the opposite sex makes you seemed desperate.It takes too overly emotional people to realize that the two of you should always check for guarantees.Of course, they may be awkward for you to exercise some patient and understand what went wrong by doing everything that I inquired about an ex girlfriend tell you that they will accept your apology.Chances are if you have to play head games and start the tension flowing.If necessary, you might get desperate - none of this before two months, but after at least out of pity!!

Be honest about intentions is also important.Set it up for a long time, it would be okay, as long as you already know what women look for in a plan and my boyfriend and tell him that you like yourself better now? or worse?Learn to listen to how to resolve the issues need to take you back any time she sees the new man in her life.There are many ways that you should always know what the problems in the opposite sex.Be aware of the steps to restore a girlfriend back after breaking up with your macho act and she will miss you.

Take some pride in your success in getting their ex girlfriend back as soon as your life have broken up and using bad language you should be able to give things a second chance at it.If not, read the rest of my own ex back from another man, there's a will, there's a will, there's a risk of sabotaging your efforts.Say your sorry that you WERE paying attention to those suggestions.Step back and I broke up in the relationship and her new man.Trying to win him back you will be on a guy after a breakup.

Win Your Ex Wife Back After Divorce

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Bill DeWitt Is Not Your Friend

By Chase Woodruff

One year ago next week, St. Louis sports fans had their hearts ripped out of them by a grotesque Thomas Nast cartoon of a team owner. Stan Kroenke, a wigged weirdo who’d lucked into his fortune as a tapeworm in the intestines of the Walton family, persuaded a roomful of equally talentless and vicious old men—silver-spooned dilettantes, gout-ridden oligarchs, adjudged fraudsters, Dan Snyder—to let him do it. They did it out of greed, they did it because they could, and they did it with a sociopathic disregard for the people they’d lied to, extorted, and spat on in the process.

Not long afterwards, the Blues played the Hurricanes, and before the game Bill DeWitt III, president of the Cardinals and son of majority owner Bill DeWitt Jr., joined Blues chairman Tom Stillman for a ceremonial puck drop. Fans cheered, but mostly they chanted: “Kroenke sucks, Kroenke sucks, Kroenke sucks.” It was a cool moment.

It was also the beginning of a deeply bizarre consequence of the civic trauma that Kroenke and his fellow NFL owners had put St. Louis through: a renewed, unconditional reverence for the men who owned the city’s two remaining franchises. Stillman and the DeWitts were suddenly “the Anti-Kroenkes.” Local media hailed their “show of solidarity,” their “St. Louis pride,” their “support for St. Louis and its fans.” On Twitter, the praise went on and on: “classy owners,” “class acts,” “pure class,” “world class,” “the definition of CLASS,” “more class in their toenail clippings than Stan Kroenke & Jerry Jones ever dreamed of having.”

Rather than come away from the Rams ordeal with a vivid understanding of the ugly truth about the relationship between fans and owners, many in St. Louis seemingly just wanted to feel good again—to believe that the experience revealed nothing at all, to be comforted by the idea that Kroenke was just an anomalous supervillain and that nothing bad would ever happen again. The Cardinals’ and Blues’ PR departments, along with plenty of local journalists, were happy to oblige. This went on all year, most notably throughout the announcement, promotion, and staging of last week’s Winter Classic; it will certainly last through Sunday’s closing-ceremonies event at Busch Stadium, and probably for a long time to come.

Even if this instinct is understandable, it’s also wrongheaded and dangerous. The unlikelihood that Bill DeWitt will ever do something as deceitful and as damaging as Stan Kroenke did doesn’t mean we shouldn’t hold him, and all other team owners, to a higher standard than simply not being Stan Kroenke. Whether it’s the Cardinals, the Blues, a future MLS team, or anything else, it’s our responsibility to assess individual owners on their own merits—to look at facts, data, and the historical record, and judge them on the evidence.

Major League Baseball was in rough shape in 1995. A quarter century of labor strife, set against the backdrop of widespread doomsaying prompted by the rise of the NFL, had culminated in the costliest work stoppage in the history of professional sports. Television networks, bitter over lost revenue, deserted the league. When play finally resumed, fans took their anger out on owners and players alike. Ratings and attendance plummeted.

The situation in St. Louis, one of the game’s traditional strongholds, was especially dire. The Cardinals hadn’t made the playoffs in eight years and, as a small-market team highly dependent on gate revenue, had been hit particularly hard by the post-strike attendance drop. In October, Anheuser-Busch shocked the city with the announcement that it planned to sell the team after more than forty years of ownership. The brewery, which claimed the Cardinals were losing tens of millions of dollars annually, pledged that it would sell only to buyers who were committed to keeping the team in St. Louis, but many fans weren’t convinced.

Within a few months, however, their fears were assuaged. A new ownership group with local roots swept in to purchase not only the team but also Busch Stadium II and its surrounding parking garages for a total of $150 million—a price tag that fell significantly below expectations, which had already been low given the league’s financial woes.

Perhaps quite purposefully, the ownership group was initially presented as a triumvirate of sorts, with Drew Baur, Bill DeWitt Jr., and Fred Hanser comprising the principals. Baur, a local bank executive, and Hanser, a partner at Armstrong Teasdale, were established members of St. Louis’ elite; DeWitt had been raised there but made his home (as he does to this day) in Cincinnati. His father had been an executive and owner of both the St. Louis Browns and Cincinnati Reds, and DeWitt fils had himself owned minority stakes in the Reds, Texas Rangers, and Baltimore Orioles, which he’d narrowly missed out on buying a few years before Anheuser-Busch put the Cardinals up for sale.

Even at a cut-rate price, many investors cast a skeptical eye towards the deal, citing baseball’s “downhill slide” and declining real estate values in downtown St. Louis. The new owners seemed to lean into this idea, declaring themselves “fans…interested in owning one of the great franchises in history,” rather than businessmen simply out to make money. “Each member of this group,” Hanser told the Post-Dispatch in January 1996, “could find a better economic investment than the St. Louis Cardinals.”

Whether or not Hanser was sincere, it wasn’t long before that sentiment began to look absurd. Less than a year after agreeing to terms with Anheuser-Busch, the team’s new owners struck a deal to sell the stadium’s four parking garages for just shy of $100 million, thereby recouping two-thirds of the group’s original investment.

Naturally, the new regime also went about looking for costs to cut. Heading into the 1997 season, that turned out to include a plan to force Busch Stadium’s cleaning staff to accept a huge reduction in their hourly pay; when the employees refused the new contract, they were fired. The Post-Dispatch’s Bill McClellan captured some of their stories:

“We’re out there in the rain, and at night, and even at our old wages, we were barely keeping our heads above water,” said Duane Garry. He is 33 years old and the father of 10-month-old twins.

“If I lose this job, I might have to go on welfare,” said Caroline Haywood. She’s 35 and the mother of two. “It isn’t like we had it easy. Sometimes the team is gone on a trip for two weeks, and we’ve got to stretch out money out.”

Florence Pulley seemed shellshocked. She’s been on the Cardinals’ cleaning crew since 1955. Her mother and sister, both now deceased, were on the cleaning crew before her. …

“This isn’t fair,” she said of the decision to terminate the cleaners.

After a public backlash and union intervention, negotiators eventually settled on a contract that included a less severe pay cut but slashed the employees’ benefits entirely.

That same spring, the club’s new owners signaled an abrupt about-face on their previously announced intentions to keep the Cardinals in the 30-year-old Busch Stadium II. “We were really novices at first,” Baur would later tell the Post-Dispatch. “We really didn’t realize how outmoded Busch Stadium was.”

A trip to Jefferson City in early 1997 began a five-year effort to secure public funding for a new stadium. The Cardinals entertained proposals from no shortage of communities in and around St. Louis, playing them against each other and threatening to leave the city for the first time in the club’s hundred-year history if its demands weren’t met—a move that, make no mistake, would have been devastating to downtown St. Louis and therefore, according to basic principles of urbanism and economic development, badly damaged the metro area as a whole. When a preliminary deal fell through in May 2002, city officials sounded desperate:

The Cardinals hope that they’ll benefit by a bidding war between area communities eager to be the site of the team’s planned new ballpark to replace 36-year-old Busch Stadium. …

[Mayor Francis] Slay and his aides fear that the Cardinals’ departure could touch off a new urban exodus that could derail already precarious efforts to resurrect downtown and rescue city neighborhoods. Losing the Cardinals “would be a terrible, terrible blow,” [Jeff] Rainford said.

Unable to contribute funding in a more direct manner, the city ultimately agreed to a massive concession: the full and permanent abatement of the five-percent amusement tax previously applied to Cardinals ticket sales. Assuming even a modest rate of growth in ticket prices over Busch Stadium III’s first few decades of operation, that’s a tax break on the order of several hundred million dollars. When added to a package of various other tax credits, abatements, and subsidies totaling about $107 million, that means the vast majority of the stadium’s cost was ultimately shouldered by the public—in spite of the team’s ludicrous insistence that it was 90% privately financed.

Support for public funding among city officials and the public hinged on ownership’s fulsome, repeated assurances that the new stadium would be accompanied by “Ballpark Village,” which the team described as “an entire residential, business and entertainment district that will help spur economic revitalization in downtown St. Louis.” Approval of the stadium deal, said the Post-Dispatch as the club and city continued to negotiate in 2002, “depends heavily on the prospects for Ballpark Village.”

After years of delays and downgrades, the first phase of Ballpark Village finally opened in 2014; a second phase, which will add residential and commercial developments but still fall short of the vision the team publicly touted during stadium negotiations, is scheduled to begin construction later this year. The Cardinals and their development partner, Baltimore-based Cordish Companies, obtained tens of millions of dollars in additional tax breaks for each phase.

But even as ownership has justified those tax breaks by emphasizing Ballpark Village’s positive economic effects on downtown St. Louis, some city leaders have criticized it for just the opposite. Phase One’s handful of dining and entertainment options, say critics, have done little more than funnel money that would otherwise be spent in surrounding bars and restaurants into the Cardinals’ pockets.

The team didn’t exactly help to counteract this perception when, late last year, it refused to waive a height restriction on the BPV-adjacent property owned by longtime Cards broadcaster Mike Shannon, blocking a rare potential new development in a city center that badly needs it. The feud has reportedly been resolved, but the message was clear: Cardinals ownership is happy to “help spur economic revitalization” downtown, as long as it’s on their terms, and in their interest.

In the years following its acquisition of the Cardinals, the “Baur-DeWitt group,” as the Post-Dispatch had initially dubbed it in December 1995, began to take on a decidedly more singular shape. Hanser’s official role gradually diminished, first from chairman to vice chairman and then, in 2010, from vice chairman to director. Baur served as the club’s treasurer, but he, too, became a less visible part of the organization as the years went on; when he died in 2011, longtime St. Louis journalist Alvin Reid eulogized him as the co-owner who “fell silent” during stadium negotiations and “never got his due.”

DeWitt, meanwhile, quickly asserted himself as the managing partner and public face of the club. He appointed his son, Bill DeWitt III, the team’s Senior Vice President of Business Development, and in 2008 installed him as its President. While information about ownership shares and how they may have changed over the years is exceedingly scarce, news reports have identified DeWitt as majority owner since at least 2000.

Whatever the ownership group’s exact composition, the investment it made in 1996 has been an astoundingly successful one. The franchise DeWitt and company bought for a bargain price of $150 million—essentially reduced to $50 million by the sale of the parking garages—was last year estimated by Forbes to be worth more than $1.6 billion, good for an annualized return of nearly 19 percent.

Despite playing in a small market, the Cardinals, buoyed by stellar home attendance, regularly rake in some of the highest revenue totals in the league, according to independent estimates. When measured as a percentage of total metro area personal income, per figures released by the Census Bureau and the Bureau of Economic Analysis, the team’s average annual gate receipts are the highest in the league. Put another way: the people of St. Louis spend a higher proportion of their money on the local nine than any other fanbase in Major League Baseball.

Particularly in the last few years, however, the Cardinals’ virtually unrivaled levels of fan support haven’t been matched by ownership’s investment in the on-field product. In 2015, the team’s opening-day payroll represented only 41% of the previous year’s total revenue—a ratio that ranked 23rd in the league, a few spots above the Madoff-crippled Mets and a few more above Jeffrey Loria’s notoriously parsimonious Marlins. Figures released by Forbes and other sources may not be accurate to the dollar, but the broad-strokes picture they paint is of a Cardinals organization that has gotten cheaper and cheaper over the last decade or so—from a 56% payroll-to-revenue ratio in 2008 to barely above 40% heading into the 2017 season. That’s a far steeper decline than the league-wide ratio’s two- or three-point drop over the same period.

The gap between the Cards’ top-tier fan support and low- to mid-tier spending levels has made them one of the most profitable clubs in baseball. Their 2014 operating income of $73.6 million was the league’s highest; the paltry $59.8 million they made in 2015 ranked third. In those two years alone, then, the franchise earned DeWitt and his ownership group nearly three times the amount they had paid for it twenty years earlier. A few more years at that clip, and the team that claimed it needed several hundred million dollars in public assistance to finance the construction of a new stadium will have turned a profit equal to that sum in all of a half-decade.

Cardinals ownership is swimming in cash, and the pool is only going to get deeper. Not only will a new broadcast-rights deal that begins next year raise TV revenues to an annual average of $67 million over its 15-year term—more than double the figure the team received in the last few years of its current deal—it also gives the team a 30% ownership stake in Fox Sports Midwest, income from which isn’t subject to MLB revenue-sharing system. DeWitt, who is influential among his fellow owners and close to commissioner Rob Manfred, also stands to make further truckloads of money via his share in MLB Advanced Media and its spinoff BAMTech, which landed a billion-dollar investment from Disney last year.

The Cardinals are, in short, an outrageously lucrative business venture—a fact that seems to be an open secret everywhere but in St. Louis, where great care is taken to present an image of the club as a plucky underdog that can only succeed on the field by avoiding high-dollar free agents and only remain viable off the field with ample amounts of public funding.

Bill DeWitt is not your friend. You may, having read some flattering profiles of him over the years or seen him wave smilingly in your direction at a World Series parade, feel a certain friendly affection for him, but he is not your friend. Your interests and his are rarely aligned, and they are often entirely at odds with one another.

It’s probably true that you would both like the Cardinals to win baseball games, but that’s pretty much where it ends. You’d like to buy tickets, concessions, merchandise, and TV subscriptions at the lowest possible prices and enjoy the highest-quality possible products in return; DeWitt and his ownership group would like to turn the largest possible profit by maximizing revenues and minimizing expenses, a goal that is materially, fundamentally, definitionally contradictory to your goals as a fan.

None of this is to say that Bill DeWitt is a bad person, or even that he’s a bad owner; it’s simply to accurately describe the fan-owner relationship, which is far more adversarial than it is collaborative. That’s fine—at least, fine insofar as this is the system to which we as a society have consented—as long as this reality is clearly understood.

To obfuscate that reality, though—to lionize Bill DeWitt as the Anti-Kroenke, an omnibenevolent caretaker motivated only by a desire to bestow good baseball upon St. Louis and reinvest all the money we give him in the team and community, in the face of so much evidence to the contrary—is not fine. And while it’s natural to expect that the Cardinals themselves would want to advance that narrative, when you see anyone else do it, it’s worth asking yourself whose side they’re really on.