#whether you raise an arm or blade to defend yourself you are just as much in violation of The Peace as your attacker

[disastergay]

so thoroughly intrigued by stories that posit nonviolence/pacifism as a weapon of fascism and authoritarianism

[littlefireball]

Can you make a Werewolf Yeosang too?

Yah of course 😎 sub yeosang is here btw 😗

ʏꜱ|ꜱᴇx ꜱʟᴀᴠᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴡᴀʀᴅ (ᴍ)

ʙᴇᴛᴀ ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟꜰ ꜱᴜʙ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴅᴏᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ʟᴏɴɢ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴏʀᴀʟ| ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ,ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇ| ᴜꜱɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴᴇᴅ|ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜱɪɢʜᴛ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.5ᴋ

Masterlist

Had it not been for the poisoning incident, you would have never found yourself caught up in this questionable contest. Now, standing toe to toe with your rival, you pace anxiously, battling the discontent bubbling inside you and the "toxins" wreaking havoc on your system.

A wave of regret washes over you as you think back to your adventurous spirit that led you to sample such strange concoctions—a glass of wine laced with aphrodisiacs. With no known cure for these powerful agents, the only path back to normalcy lies in having sex with others.

A searing heat envelops your body, your heart pounds wildly in your chest, and every breath feels like a struggle. At first, you tried to withstand the agony, but the toll on your body becomes too much to bear, drastically affecting your everyday existence. In a fit of desperation, you find yourself wandering into the grim world of the slave market.

Whether it's the intoxicating haze clouding your mind or amplifying your cravings, the sight of the prized "championship trophy" stirs a fire within you that demands to be unleashed.

Yeosang—renowned as the finest sex slave in the shadowy underbelly of the black market. To be more specific, he is a werewolf slave. How unfortunate for him, as he was forsaken by his own kind. The tale is straightforward. The mate of the wolf pack's leader became infatuated with him, yet he refused to yield to her advances, leading to her slandering him. Naturally, he stood no chance against the alpha; after all, he is merely a beta.

Clad in a sleek black silk suit, he kneels within the confines of a cage, his hands and feet ensnared by heavy chains, reminiscent of a peacock deprived of its liberty. His striking beauty feels utterly misplaced in this grim reality, with his youthful visage starkly contrasting the violent chaos that surrounds him.

Yet, he remains indifferent to the impending clash, for he is merely a "trophy," and the value he offers will remain unchanged, no matter who emerges victorious.

"Oh damn, what's wrong with me…" Your gaze is irresistibly drawn to him. Yeosang bows his head, his eyes fixating on the handcuffs encircling his wrists, a look of sorrow washing over his face as he gently traces the angry red marks left by the bindings. You take in this poignant scene, but soon redirect your attention to the looming battle.

Ho, you must be crazy because of that fucking alcohol. Why do you feel pity when you kill people for a living? Why do you have to compete in person when you can obviously solve the problem with money?

Just fuck it.

You inhale deeply, centering your thoughts back on the game. Both of you stand poised, hearts racing, waiting for your foes to make the first move.

Your eyes lock in a fierce stare, each of you radiating intensity. In your mind, you strategize, plotting the perfect moment to strike and finish the duel with a single, decisive blow.

Yet, the crowd's restlessness grows, their thirst for blood palpable.

"Just fight already! Quit stalling! You two idiots!"

A voice cuts through the tension, a man shouting in frustration at the drawn-out standoff. The knights halt their fidgeting, turning their fierce gazes toward the impatient onlookers.

Seizing the moment while your adversary is momentarily distracted, you launch yourself forward, driving your sword with all your strength!

He attempts to defend himself with crossed arms, but your blow is too powerful, sending him crashing to the ground, his trident skittering away.

You stride over him, looking down at the defeated figure, and raise your gleaming blade.

In a heartbeat, his head tumbles away like a ball kicked across the field, blood erupting like a geyser, splattering your armor and weapon.

Thus, the clash concludes—an outcome devoid of tension or buildup. The audience stands in stunned silence, unable to comprehend how this "epic battle" could be resolved in mere moments.

Even Yeosang stands in shock, having never encountered such raw power in any battle he has witnessed before. A wave of terror washes over him. Panic surges in his chest, gripping his nerves and rendering him motionless. His eyes, wide with fear, lock onto yours, as if he might crumble at any moment.

You step closer to Yeosang, your face devoid of expression, unlock the cage, and reach out your hand to him. "You belong to me now," you deliberately lower your voice, ensuring that your words remain unheard by others. After a tense pause, he finally responds, trembling as he takes hold of your hand.

You draw him out of the cage, your hand resting firmly on the back of his neck, and once more you lower your voice, whispering, "You understand what you need to do, don't you?" "Yes, Sir."

You both step into the room, the door clicking shut behind you. He reaches for your armor, but you halt his hand. Confused, he tilts his head, yet you ignore his puzzled expression and pull him onto the bed.

"Listen, I'm poisoned. I just need your help to detox, and I promise I don't have any strange habits."

"But… how can I assist you?"

"You're amusing. Did you forget your role?" Leaning down, you gently lift his chin with one finger while your other hand rests on his thigh.

"What's your safe word? I don't want to cause you any harm." He blinks in surprise, having never been posed such a question, but quickly gathers himself and replies, "Gr… Green."

"Good," you say with a smile, removing your mask and letting your hair cascade down. It's then he realizes you are a woman.

Taken aback, he stares in disbelief, struggling to grasp the reality. In all the slave competitions he's been part of, it's predominantly men who compete, with only a handful of women.

"You are staring."

"You are stunning"

He can't hold back any longer, his words spilling out in a rush as his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your heart swells with affection at his charming confession, and you can't help but chuckle. You gently cradle his face in your hands, leaning in to press your lips against his.

This kiss is unlike any he has known; it's soft and tender, wrapping him in a blissful haze. There's no urgency, no nibbles—just the delicate dance of your lips, occasionally brushing against each other in sweet little pecks. You soon break the kiss, tracing your finger over his lips and softly ask, "Wanna feel good?" Confused, he nods his head.

"Words." you remind him. "Yes, sir… master." You stand up and remove your armor, leaving only your bra and underwear, then kneel in front of him.

Your hands caress his thighs as you kiss his sensuous lips again. With a hint of aggression, your tongue slides into his mouth while dancing with his and taking control. He can't help but moan shyly. The vibrations from each moan he releases gradually pushes you over the edge that makes you desire more.

"Oh fuck, your voice is so beautiful." You say between the kisses. The heat within your body burns like a flame, urging you to have sex with him. "Damn it…"

Your lips part once more as you settle onto his lap, rhythmically swaying your body back and forth, intentionally pressing against his member. The friction between your thighs sends shivers through you both, igniting a warmth that spreads rapidly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, drawing nearer, occasionally brushing against his growing arousal.

Even through the fabric, the friction sends waves of excitement coursing through Yeosang. He can feel himself growing harder as the tip of his cock brushes against your lower core. A rush of heat envelops him, concentrating on his manhood, while the pre-cum seeps out, dampening his underwear, leaving him with a chill from the wetness.

With a firm grip, you pin him down, and he submits willingly to the bed, your lips locked together, creating an embarrassingly wet sound with each kiss. Breaking away from his lips, you begin to suck and lick at his neck, expertly targeting his sensitive spots. Your playful teasing elicits deep, satisfied moans from him.

"I have never used the word beautiful to describe a man." You whisper in his ears before planting a kiss on his lips. "Oh… gosh…" Yeosang has never experienced such pleasure before. For him, sex is always about service rather than enjoyment.

"Sounds good" Smiling, your hand trails down to the hem of his panties, pulling down enough to free his cock. You hold his member, feeling his hardness beneath your palm. Moving up and down slowly, you make sure he feels every move of your fingers. "Goodness…" The itchy feeling sends shivers down his spine, especially your finger rubs against his tip while giving it a hard press.

He never thought he could be so eager to have sex with anyone. Even you can say, he hates it. But you are different. Each of your movements sends a thrill through him, his desire rising like a tide of ecstasy. He craves you deeply, yearning to feel your warmth wrap around him, guiding him to the ultimate climax.

"Hmmm… I wanna enter you. Please." His beg makes you let out a low chuckle. "You're more impatient than me. Are you the one who was poisoned?" You release his handcuffs and pull him towards the headboard, where he clasps his hands onto it. Taking off all his clothes, his semi-hardened cock is revealed with precum covered on it.

"So horny, aren't you?" "Yes, yes. Please let me have you, master." You are hesitant from his words, wondering if it is education in the black market. He is supposed to be strong, brave, but not beg from others. 'What they did for him.' You think, an inexplicable anger ignites in your heart.

You will kill for him after this encounter ends. You promise.

"Be patient, little wolf." You kneel down before sinking down your face between his thighs. "Let me have a taste first." Gripping his cock, you guide it to your mouth and lick it from the bottom to the top. "Oh god." He arches his back as the numbness and the pleasure crush within his body, a long-throaty moan leaving his lips as you continue to please him with your tongue.

"Open your legs wide or I will stop," you command. "Yes, master. I am sorry." His legs wide open again as you prop against his thigh as support, moving up and down quickly while teasing his ball. Your tongue circled the head of his shaft, sucking hard, leaving a reddish mark. He rolls his hip to thrust deeper; his cock twitches each time the tip reaches your throat, and you know he is about to reach his peak. But you pull out before he comes undone in your mouth.

"Why…master…I want to cum." He cries out, tears dripping down because of delightful. "Only a good boy can cum. Will you promise? Little wolf." "Yes! I will! I promise." His begging satisfies your ego and makes it grow. Maybe the beast called desire inside you is finally breaking out of its cage.

"Then help me." Removing your panties, you throw it away before aiming at his erection, sinking down slowly. You can feel every vein of his cock as your wall tightens around it, making you carve for more. "Master, it feels so good!" "Yah, fuck!" His sperm keeps flowing out, wetting your velvet wall.

"Tell me if you can't bear it." He remains in disbelief at the words that reached his ears. You actually care for him? Is that true? What could possibly motivate that? Even if he's merely a means for your own cleansing, there's no obligation for you to feel anything for him. Yet, before he can delve deeper into his thoughts, you begin to bounce, rhythmically rising and falling after adjusting his size and the sensation of being enveloped.

Your hands press firmly on his shoulders, your nails piercing his skin just a touch too deeply, drawing blood and inflicting a sting. But he feels excited instead of painful. Your breasts bounce up and down from your movements, making him lost in this alluring sight. God, he can just watch how you bounce on him for an hour.

"Ahhh…master…gosh!!" Each time you descend, his tip brushes against your tender skin, eliciting a symphony of moans from both of you. Your rhythm accelerates, and the power behind your thrusts grows stronger. It feels as though you've drained every ounce of energy, leaving a hollow sensation in your lower body that is increasingly uncomfortable.

He yearns to explore your body, to savor every curve and contour of your skin. However, he remains immobilized, his hands bound at the head of the bed. The relentless tugging creates faint red lines on his wrists, while his palms grow slick with sweat from the tension of his clenched fists, leaving crescent-shaped marks.

Your right hand finds its way to his throat, applying pressure that steals his breath and brings dark spots to his vision. He attempts to lift his head for a gasp of air, but you have no intention of granting him a moment's relief. Your rapid up-and-down movements force him to hold his breath. The overwhelming stimulation leaves him dizzy and pushes him to the limit.

"Ahh! Ahh!! Green!!" The moment he speaks the safe word, you instantly cease all movement, loosening your hold on his throat. "Are you alright? Is there any pain?" you inquire gently, a trace of worry lacing your tone. He hesitates, words escaping him as he simply gazes into your caring eyes. You tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, your fingers gliding over his delicate skin until they rest on the vivid red birthmark.

Throughout his life as a slave, comfort has been a foreign concept, with no one ever caring for his well-being. In stark contrast to your indifference towards life in the heat of battle, you show genuine concern for him, striving to bring him joy. How could he possibly resist falling for you? Perhaps he's been ensnared by a different kind of poison, one known as "love at first sight." You lean closer, brushing your lips against his, captivated by the magic in his eyes.

"I can stop if you want." You remark. "No, please. I want you, master. I want my cock deep inside you again. I want to touch you. And has your poison been cured?"

Responding to his beg, you pull out from his body and free him from his bindings. Your gaze falls upon the bruises encircling his wrists, and you gently stroke them with your thumb.

"It appears my poison still lingers. Come and help me."

In an instant, he straightens up, his hands finding their way to your shoulders as he leans over you, pinning you down. Shock flickers in your eyes at his abrupt action, but you swiftly gather your calmness and align yourself with his intentions.

"Let me serve you, my lord." His face falls into your neck, sucking and biting your skin to leave a crystal clear red mark. He is really skilled at turning others on harder;the wet muscle trails down to your breast, licking your left nipple while squeezing another with his hand. His thumb circles it along the curve, giving a hard press to make you moan and throw your head at the back.

Guiding his cock to rub against your clit, he thrusts your cunt once again, hitting your sweet dead on. "Here, right?" He smirks with a sense of pride. "Ye..yah!" Not waiting for you to finish your words, his tip hits the same place once again. The waves of numbness make you squirm, and your screams are not as high-pitched as before, but with a shy feeling.

"I love your moaning, master." You let out an exasperated sigh, feeling a surge of warmth envelop you completely. Yeosang leans in, planting soft kisses along your neck while maintaining a steady rhythm. His shaft glides against your slick walls, creating a sound reminiscent of flowing water. With each thrust, he quickens his pace, closing the gaps between each tantalizing connection to your G-spot.

Your breath becomes shallow, and your heart pounds wildly as he maps out every curve of your body with his lips and hands, as if he were intimately familiar with every secret you hold. You wrap your arms around him, your nails digging into his back, leaving a trail of marks on his skin.

Yeosang buries his head in your chest, groaning against it. You are so perfect for him, from head to toes. Just everything. Although he doesn't even know your name, your personality, he ensures you are the one he is looking for. Someone who cares about him, someone with whom he can enjoy sex.

He loathes the idea of sex, viewing it as a repugnant transaction. He has grown weary of the way others have treated him, often rough and unkind. Each encounter left him battered to some extent, reduced to nothing more than a plaything. Yet, when he sees you, everything changes. You bring him joy and tenderness, showering him with genuine care.

It may seem almost humorous, but deep down, he realizes that you are the only one he desires, and his body confirms the truth of his feelings.

He places your leg on his shoulder and thrusts as fast as possible. "Ah!Fuck!" "Please say my name, my lord. I want to hear you say it." "Oh…yeosang ar…" Shit! He is unable to control himself anymore. He withdraws a bit and pushes into your cunt in a powerful motion over and over again.

"I'm cumming, master." He feels his cock twitches as you keep sucking him in. "Cum…cum inside me." Yeosang's thrusts become rushed and lose his rhythm; you grab his shoulders, making an "O" shape with your mouth, panting as if you are about to run out of oxygen.

"Oh! Oh! God!" After a few more thrusts, you both reach climax; your hot juices cover his cock and his sperm creams your wall. He thrusts forward twice before pulling out, lying down beside you. After a short rest, the hot feeling in your body has finally dissipated, you get up and put your clothes back on, ready to leave.

"My body is already healed, thanks." You say without noticing his sadness.

"Aren't you staying?" Yeosang asks with confusion.

"Staying? Why? Didn't I tell you that I'm just here to detoxify? Also, I have work." Yes, you have to 'deal with' those people who treated Yeosang badly.

"Will you come back then?"

"Nope." You observe him bow his head, gently stroking his wrist before hesitantly reaching to the nape of his neck. Even in his silence, you can sense the thoughts swirling in his mind. "No worries. I'm gonna kill those people who treated you badly and you can be free."

"What? No…I…"

"Isn't this what you wanted? To leave the cage and no longer be bound by anyone."

"But I don't know where to go or what to do…I'm just a reward…"

"Then go find out, go explore what you want to do."

He lowers his head in silence, deep in thought. Suddenly, he tightens his embrace around you.

He bows his head, enveloped in his thoughts, and then suddenly tightens his hold around you, as if fearing you might slip away.

"Will you stay…? That's all I want. Please… don't leave me alone. You're the only one who cares for me. I'm yours, and I'd do anything for you. Just don't go."

You can't help but giggle at his endearing gesture, stroking his hair softly as you respond, "Are you really sure? I'm a knight, and my profession is to take lives."

"Yah!I'm yours! Just let me stay with you. I'll even give you a written promise, if that's what you want!""

Maybe he sees you as a lifeline. Although you have never thought about buying a slave, it seems that if you reject him, he may feel sad. Also, you don't want him to serve anyone else.

"Umm…fine."

"Really?" A radiant smile spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. You give a nod in response.

"Can I cuddle you?" It's the first time he's asked this as a servant, and he can hardly believe he's free to follow his heart's desire. You nod again, and he gently pulls you down onto the bed, nestling his face against your chest.

"Just like a little puppy."

"Perhaps I know your name? My lord."

"Y/N."

"It sounds like a name for a genuinely good person."

"You're being overly dramatic." You chuckle softly, allowing him to wrap his arms around you as you both drift into a peaceful slumber.

Well, maybe this aphrodisiac isn't so terrible after all. And of course, you make your promise ─ kill others for him, only.

[lazycats-stuff]

LIL BABY BAT N HIS LIL BABY KNIVES OOOH😭

the cutest thing omg im obsessed

can i request jason teaching lil blade baby how to use his knives? maybe jus smthn small like how to hold them properly, or just cleaning or storing them (at least what he teaches while bruce is around lol)

I can actually see Jason be like, so this is how you gut a mafia lieutenant and then Bruce walking by and Jason saying like, okay, this is how you hold it properly so you don't cut yourself.

Here are the rest of the parts: PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

Summary: Jason is teaching (Y/N) about blades, even things that Bruce doesn't like. Bruce has no evidence.

Ever since Bruce and family reached a compromise with the dulled down blades, Jason has become a main teacher and mentor for (Y/N). And Bruce had to admit, Jason was a good teacher. He made sure to really show (Y/N) what the blades can do. When they are not taken care of, he showed it to (Y/N).

(Y/N) was horrified when he saw the uncared blades.

Also, he showed to (Y/N) what happens when you don't hold the blade properly, you can cut yourself. And Jason intentionally cut himself once to show (Y/N). Bruce wasn't sure whether to be impressed or not. And Jason made sure to teach (Y/N) to never use them on people. Ever.

But he had to agree, Jason was a good teacher. He was patient with (Y/N), explaining everything multiple times if necessary. And he made sure that (Y/N) wasn't hurt. That was one of the things that Bruce had said to Jason.

But he didn't say nor specified what not to teach him.

So, Jason had a free reign of what to teach (Y/N). It was always a fun when Jason had to switch from being a cool brother to a serious brother who followed the rules. It was honestly a very good thing that Bruce didn't catch on.

But Bruce did think that something was going on. Unfortunately, he couldn't specify what.

He was trying to walk in or just walk by, but every time he walked by the room where they practiced or just cared for the blades together. But every time he tried to do that, just quietly walked by, everything seemed fine, but Bruce knew something was off.

Maybe he could find out once. Did he really have to hatch a plan to catch one kid and one adult in his own house? Well, one adult who can be classified as a menace and a kid who is a magnet for trouble.

One day, Bruce was just walking down the hall. He heard Jason and (Y/N), spending time together. He smiled at the sound, but the words that Jason was saying were... Concerning.

" Okay, so, hold the handle. Now, I'm going to show you how to use it from behind. "

Bruce frowned at that. What the hell is Jason saying? He moved closer to the door.

" Okay, watch me. Just do this. And that's how you get somebody from behind. "

Bruce has heard enough to just enter. (Y/N) jumped, but Jason remained calm. As if he heard Bruce coming.

" (Y/N), can you go find Dick? I think he is the garden. " Bruce said to the young boy.

" Am I in trouble? " (Y/N) asked, probably sensing that Bruce's was angry.

" You're not in trouble. I just need to talk to Jason. Adult talk. "

" Is he in trouble? " (Y/N) asked, looking at Jason.

" No he isn't. " Bruce assured his son. (Y/N) gave both Bruce and Jason hugs before leaving to find Dick.

Once Bruce knew that (Y/N) was out of earshot, he turned to Jason.

" Why are you teaching him how to use a blade from behind? " Bruce asked, crossing his arms.

" Well, if he is ever in that situation, he needs to know that. " Jason defended himself.

" Jason, he's eight! " Bruce said, raising his voice a little.

" And your son! He has your last name! That's an automatic target on your back! " Jason said, defending himself with much more fervor.

Bruce sighed, knowing that there is some truth in there.

" Fair enough, but I don't need you to teach him how to kill. Teach him some self defense without a weapon then. " Bruce asked Jason.

" Okay, I understand that. But the man is the more interested in the blades rather than martial arts. " Jason said, crossing his arms.

" I know, but you can put some sort of bug in his ear. You can try. "

Jason sighed. " If you want me to try, but that kid is smart. He can sense shit. " Jason said.

" I am just asking you to try. "

" I will try to. "

Bruce thanked him and went to see what was happening with his son. His son doesn't need to know how to use those blades. Maybe when he is older, but most definitely not now.

[silyabeeodess]

TWST Glorious Masquerade: Weapons in a Fiery Garden

Even if the fiery blossoms couldn’t touch you, even if you were safe, it didn’t keep you from panicking.

Everything was in chaos. The streets once packed with cheerful crowds of festival goers were now filled with those same people running for their lives. Mages of all sorts were swarmed by the parasitic plants and their non-magic wielding friends and family were left to watch on, desperately trying to pull them free. All the while, the flowers themselves consumed everything, climbing over buildings in order to bathe the entire city in an orange glow.    

Although Professor Trein had insisted that your group could help protect the townsfolk—or at least lure the flowers away from them—it was easier said than done.  Counting him, Grim, and yourself, you were just three people. There was no way you could slow-down the city-wide infestation. Moreover, the teacher’s injuries were getting any better anytime soon.

Well, the odds could’ve been better, but the rest of your schoolmates unanimously choose to leave you behind on their quest to get to the Bell of Salvation! You: The one safe bet in this disaster! And for what? For your own safety?! To look after Trein?! Like you could really do much to defend him in this situation, when the entire town was one big hazard!   

“A little help here—!”

Grim weaved between tents, a trail of blossoms chasing after him. So far, just running around and pulling apart fistfuls of flowers was going nowhere fast.  They just kept springing up faster than you could manage them.

You looked around frantically, at last spotting something useful. There was garden shop not far from you with a row of old-fashioned tools on display in the front.  Among them was a long, wooden scythe.

You quickly darted forward and snatched it. Not to say that you had ever used one before, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Holding it low and adjusting your grip, you scampered after Grim. You cut off the flowers’ path, raised the blade, and—!

Swish!

The air roared as the weapon cut through wind and stem. Petals went flying, still glimmering like flames in their last moments. It wasn’t as sure to stop them as attacking their roots, but it certainty got the job done quick! In one movement, a whole hoard of the blooms could be cut down.

You flinched as a firm grip touched your shoulder.  It was Professor Trein.  He leaned against you for support, but his eyes burned with determination, “I have an idea! Come with me!”

You followed him as he marched up a tall flight of steps to the festival’s main stage. Raising his pen skyward, he fired a bolt of magic that erupted much like the fireworks everyone had launched earlier that day. As sparks rained back down to the earth, a wave of flowers began to rush toward you. He was calling them!

Your fingers laced tighter around the hilt of the scythe. You were ready for them… Like before, you swung madly through the fiery parade of blooms.  Emotions rising, you kept up the assault.

This was stupid!

Swish!

Leaving you behind when you were the only one not affected by the flowers was stupid!

Thwack!

Why did they have to keep pushing you to the side like you couldn’t do anything?! Mage or not, how many times had you already been forced to step in whenever any of your schoolmates landed in trouble? Not having magic didn’t mean you couldn’t fight back at all!

Chop! Slash!

The whole situation was so frustrating, you didn’t know whether you wanted to cry, scream, or both. You were mad that a perfectly good trip to relax and try to find a way home had been ruined. Mad at the flowers for hurting everyone. Mad at Rollo for bringing them back from extinction and sicking them on the city.  Mad at your friends for forcing you to stay back when nowhere was safe anyway. And mad at yourself for allowing them to think so little of you in the first place.

Your arms began to burn. Eventually, you got used to using the scythe enough not to overcompensate each swing; however, the prolonged battle gradually drained your stamina just as bad as the flowers themselves might’ve if you did have magic.  

There was simply no end to them… Over time, your mind went blank as if you were possessed. Only the need to keep your teacher and friend out of harm’s way kept you going.

Again, Grim screamed your name, “Save your boss!”

These stubborn flowers!  I want to, but—!  You grit your teeth, giving another swing.  Everything hurt, your hands, your hips…  How long had it been since you split up with the others? It felt like hours ago…

What if they didn’t make it?

Beside you, Professor Trein nearly collapsed. Grim hoped on top of him, barking at him to do something against the growing hoard.  The air was fogged over by crimson pollen, taking flight like billows of smoke and embers. By now, the flowers blanketed everything, twisting your way from every angle.  Limbs crying from overexertion, you braced yourself to cut them down once more—!

DONG, DONG, DONG…

You froze. All of you did, even the flowers.  The bell…!

Almost instantaneously, the mass of deranged flora began to wither away right before your eyes. Their petals curled and turned brown, their fiery light extinguishing. The clouds of pollen that washed over the city were blown away by a clean breeze. The nightmare ended as abruptly as it had begun.

They did it…

 You felt shaky. With a deep, relieved breath, you dropped to your knees. For a moment, it was hard to feel any certain way. You were sore and stiff, adrenaline still coursing through you as if danger might reappear at any second.

Soon enough, your phone buzzed to life—a text from Deuce, asking where you, Grim, and Trein were and confirming most of the other’s safety. You quickly messaged back just as Trein’s own phone blared, with him reporting much the same to whoever was on the other end of the line.

Just as exhausted, Grim rolled away from the professor and fell, stretched out, into your lap. With the threat now passed, his own body seemed to give up on him as well.

This was no place to sleep, but you had to follow his example—using the hilt of the scythe to keep yourself propped up in a sitting position.

….................................................

A surprised shout behind you would pull you out of your doze sometime later. You looked over your shoulder.  Azul, Idia, Malleus… everyone had re-grouped and managed to find their way here in one piece. As tired as you were, all of the anger you felt toward them had burnt out.  None of them looked much better—Deuce even had a limp—but they were otherwise ok.    

Everyone was really ok…

And staring at you, all of them mute and some mildly horrified.

You glanced down at yourself. Idia might’ve been the one wearing a skeletal reaper’s mask, but you were the one who looked like a true incarnation of Death. The dark outfit you’d been given for the masquerade was now tattered and torn. The scythe was still held tight in your hands, leaning against your shoulder. Bright, crimson pollen coated its blade, along with your clothes and face.

Epel asked you hesitantly, “Are you alright…?”

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, it took a moment to reply. “Yeah…” you swallowed dryly, but nodded, “What happened with Rollo?  Where is he?”

There was a pause, as if they were unsure whether or not to answer. Then, Silver took the first step toward you, reaching up hesitantly, “First… Give me the scythe. You might hurt yourself.”

“Who’s going to get hurt…?!” Someone whispered, but you weren’t sure which of your schoolmates aid it.

Sebek rushed forward with the other Diasomnia student as you met them at the edge of the stage, almost tearing the weapon from your grasp before you even had the chance to refuse. Left empty-handed, Silver settled instead for helping you off the platform. You felt Grim leap onto your shoulder before your feet left wooden planks to touchdown on cobblestone.

The pair would’ve helped Professor Trein down as well, but the elder soundly waved them away. As much as a hobbled from the platform’s steps, he clearly wanted to maintain some dignity.     

“Silver is right,” Sebek hounded, his brows arching intensely, “Unlike us, no one’s trained you to handle a weapon. What were you thinking?!”

For a moment, he examined the blade, then looked back your way.

“All things considered, however, if you ever want to learn how to use a sword—”

Idia stammered, “Should you really be encouraging this?! Who even uses a sword irl?!”

“It’s an integral skill for anyone!”

 “For the soldiers of Briar Valley, maybe. Not civilians,” Jamil spoke up next, “But I think that still skips over the main issue...”

Ruggie pulled his arms back behind his head in a long stretch, “Yeah, don’t go and corrupt the only normal person here.” His next words are pointed at you directly, “You heard him talk about his and Silver’s training before, right? Don’t take his offer.”

Sebek continued to argue as you joined at everyone’s side. How they even had the energy to bicker was beyond you, but enough time had passed among them that you couldn’t expect anything less.

Stepping next to you, Malleus cleared his throat, “To answer your original question, Rollo is busy repenting for his actions at the moment. He shouldn’t cause any more trouble.” Giving you a teasing look, he continued, “So, do show a little mercy when you see him. We’ll be keeping the scythe though, in case you’re tempted.”

NOTE: Not my best work, but I wanted to do something with this idea. Would've drawn it, because I think the TWST boys' reactions to best-buddy-comfort-to-all Yuu wielding a scythe would've been great, but got lazy.

[tothemeadow]

Can I request a uzui x shy reader where reader is his fourth wife but she feels left out a lot so she distance and avoid Tengen and her co-wives. When reader comes home one day she surprised to find uzui home by himself because he was meant to be out with the others and she was going to try avoid him again but as he wants an answer to why shes acting the way she is and turns into a smut in the end? :>

Did I get carried away with this? Maybe. Could I have written more? Absolutely. But I have to practice self-control.

‘i want to be part of your constellation’ / Uzui T. x Reader

warnings: NSFW, cunnilingus, Tengen’s fat tiddies

words: 2,492

-

Sometimes, being a Pillar’s wife is hard. They’re constantly away, fighting battles and saving lives; there’s always that lingering chance that they may never come back. It’s a dangerous life, but a respectful one nonetheless.

This is what drew you to Tengen in the first place – despite his brash, asshole attitude, he’s selfless. It was during an attack at your parents’ farm when you first met him; appearing like a night in shining armor, he rescued you from a bloodhungry demon, his movements powerful yet graceful all at once. As a thank you, your parents offered your hand in marriage to the handsome stranger. Surprisingly, Tengen agreed, but it wasn’t like you were going to deny marrying someone of his status and exquisite looks.

However, you didn’t know about the other women in Tengen’s life. As you quickly found out, he had three other wives, all of who he met while in the shinobi forces. Of course, you weren’t a fighter like them, nor did you have that close relationship from sharing the same background. No, you were the docile one of the group, the one meant to take care of the home while the others went to fight demons and the like.

Even two years later, things haven’t changed. You love Tengen, and the other girls are basically your best friends, but the chasm separating you from them couldn’t be more evident. Sure, you’re part of the “family,” but it doesn’t necessarily feel like it. You’re the quiet one, the one that keeps to themselves, the one who’s in charge of a happy homelife. And so you distance yourself from everyone else, stick to the sidelines while they’re out saving the world.

Granted, you’re used to this lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. If only you’d been a shinobi or a slayer, things would be different. You’d know what the life is like, the feel of a blade as it passes through a demon’s neck. But no, you’re always stuck with carrying a pouch of wisteria on your body to keep yourself safe. At this point, you don’t whether Tengen makes you keep it because he wants you to be safe or because he views it as his obligation.

With a sigh, you turn towards the sky, the endless blue a clear difference to your bitter gray mood. The tote hanging from your shoulder is heavy with fruits and vegetables from the market, but you’re excited with the possibilities of all the tasty meals you could create. Even though you can’t fight to save others, you can feed them; you also know for a fact that you’re the best cook among you co-wives.

When you return home, you slip off your setta and pause, listening to the familiar silence. Like usual, the others are away, most likely fighting off some lowly criminal or preparing for a battle against a demon. Either way, it seems like you’re going to be spending the majority of the day by yourself. It’s sad that this is what life has come to; when you first married Tengen, you were hoping for more excitement, not lonely thoughts. You don’t want to come off desperate, though, so you continue to remain to yourself. At the end of the day, it’s not that big of a deal – that’s just life.

Wandering towards the kitchen, you become caught up in these thoughts, these negative feelings. You don’t want to make yourself cry – you really don’t – but your heart is saying otherwise. All you want is to belong. You want to mean something to this family, not be the impromptu mother waiting for her rambunctious children to come home. You become so lost in your head that you fail to see him standing in the kitchen, lips wrapped around a ceramic cup.

Coming to sudden stop at the threshold, your attention jumps back to the present. Tengen merely sends you an amused look over the rim of his cup before he knocks his head back and empties its contents. Why is he here? Shouldn’t he be with the others? He said he wasn’t going to home for a while! Did something happen? Are the others okay? Why-?

“You’ve got that dumb look on your face again,” Tengen teases. “Stop thinking so much.”

Huffing, you step into the kitchen, drawing the tote off your shoulder and setting it down. “You surprised me, that’s all. I thought you were busy.”

“What, am I not allowed in my own home? That’s kind of cruel, don’t you think?” The smirk he flashes you sends a pleasant shiver up your spine.

“I never said that,” you hastily respond. Your eyes scan over his Corps uniform. You’re quickly finding yourself feel bad for taking up his time when he’s bound to be busy; Pillars have the toughest jobs of them all, and every single moment is precious. “You’re usually never this home early,” you mutter. A sigh slips through your lips. “…I should… uh, I need to do laundry.” You despise how pathetic you sound, but the knowing look in Tengen’s eyes is making your nerves go haywire.

Stepping away, you prepare yourself to leave, but Tengen moves way too fast for your eye to catch. Before you’re out the door, his hand is around your wrist, spinning your around and tugging him towards his chest. You yelp as you collide with solid muscle; wrapping his meaty arms around you, Tengen holds you close, his nose buried in your hair.

“Don’t act like I haven’t noticed you moping around more than usual,” he mutters. Pressed to him like this, you can hear his heart thumping steadily in his chest. “It’s not flamboyant of me to ignore what’s bothering you.”

“Tengen-“

“Let me finish,” he interrupts, but his voice is soft. “I want you to be honest with me. Are you lonely?”

At that, your heart drops to your stomach. You haven’t been that obvious, have you? Jaw falling agape, you’re desperate for words, to tell him no, you’re fine, but nothing wants to come out. Tengen releases a sorrowful sigh and pulls away just enough so that you two are looking eye-to-eye. He’s always been huge, standing tall and broad; in moments like these, the sheer size of him is more than intimidating. His biceps alone could crack a watermelon.

“Idiot,” he mumbles. Your face scrunches up when he flicks your forehead. “I shouldn’t have to confront you about something like this.”

You pout up at him. “It’s just… I’m not like you guys,” you confess. “I can’t fight, I can’t defend myself… All I’m good at is being a homemaker.” You drop your gaze to his chest. Now that you’re finally getting everything off your chest, all the pent of thoughts and feelings begin to gush out. “I feel like an outsider most of the time. You and the other girls are always running around together and doing amazing things. All I do is sit around and do chores. I can’t…” Biting your lip, you squeeze your eyes shut. Now is not the time to be crying. If you want things to change, you have to remain strong, not burst into tears.

A hand cups your face, then, lifting your head so that you’re forced to look at Tengen. “Be quiet. So what if you’re not a fighter? That doesn’t make you any less flamboyant.” His thumb brushes over your cheek. “You’re the one I can rely on to be here when I need someone. You always get this dumb smile on your face whenever I come home from a mission.” Dropping his head down, he presses his forehead to yours. “I know you’re safe here… Do you have any idea how scared I would be if you were out in the field with us? You’re important to me, baby. When I’m not here, you’re on my mind constantly.”

Your heartbeat quickens. You can’t deny the genuine glint in his dazzling eyes, the slight curl to his lips.

“In fact,” Tengen continues, pulling away entirely. In a swift movement, his large hands are clutching your thighs, raising you up and swinging you around; you let out a surprised squeak as he places you on the table and presses his large body between your legs. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You’ve always been so soft, so sweet…” His warm breath fans over your face, making you swallow thickly. “And you’re so small. I’ve got to keep someone like you under protection, don’t you think?”

Before you really have the chance to say anything, Tengen swoops in, his mouth seeking out yours. He’s always been such a bold kisser, sweeping his tongue into your mouth with no hesitation whatsoever. He tastes like wine, so rich and delectable, and his tongue is so warm, so inviting. Your head is spinning, your breaths leaving in short gasps. His hands are all over you; gripping your hair, trailing down your back, sneaking underneath your yukata-

A groan bursts from your throat as he fondles your breasts, the pads of his fingers rolling the hardened nipples and pulling them. Tengen curses as he breaks the kiss, the lightest of blushes on his face. He bites his plump lower lip as he shamelessly plays with you, his pupils blown wide. His hips press in close, his groin bumping into yours; he’s already hard, deliciously so, and your mind goes entirely blank. You want nothing more than his cock to slide in, to absolutely tear you apart.

“You feel that, baby?” Tengen husks. “Don’t think your unimportant to me. You’re so fucking sexy, so flamboyant…” His tongue darts out, sweeps over his lips. “Let me make it up to you. You won’t feel lonely anymore, got it?”

Furiously nodding your head, you allow Tengen to yank open your yukata, revealing soft skin. Your eyelids flutter as he places his mouth to the exposed flesh, his lips and tongue equally hot. Chest rising frantically beneath his touch, you grip onto him for support as he kisses your breasts, his tongue dragging across your nipples. You keen as he promptly sucks it into his mouth, his teeth sinking down lightly as his hands unceremoniously rip your underwear from your trembling form.

“Oh, gods, Tengen,” you purr. “Please… Don’t stop…”

“Wouldn’t dream about it,” Tengen drawls. Sinking to his knees, his mouth leaves a wet trail down your body; there’s bound to be marks, you’re sure of it, but you don’t care. His mouth feels way too heavenly yet sinful, the pleasured grunts pouring from his lips pure music to your ears. “Give me a taste…”

You cry out when he licks against your slit. In a fit of desperation, your fingers clutch onto the silvery strands of his hair, accidentally loosening it from its ponytail. Tengen groans into your quivering pussy as you yank at his hair, his name leaving your lips in high-pitched whimpers. Any other time, Tengen would play the part of the ultimate tease, but not now. No, he wants to please you, to have you screaming his name and begging for more.

He eats like a man starved, his mouth just ravishing your cunt; the noises coming from in between your legs is nothing short of sinful, leaves your blood boiling. Your velvety walls clench around his protruding tongue, each curl and flick sending delicious shivers up your spine, down to the tips of your fingers and toes. Tengen’s always been a god with his mouth, and it’s no wonder how he has four wives. You try not to think about the other girls too much; it’s quickly turning into a battle that you’re hopelessly losing, but then Tengen moves to suckle on your clit while his fingers replace his tongue.

A sharp cry rips its way out of your chest. It feels so good. “Ah – Tengen – fuck,” you whine. Hearing the pleasured noises from your beautiful lips spurs him on; redoubling his efforts, Tengen grabs onto your hip as his fingers push in even further, finding your soft spot with pin-point precision. You rapidly come undone around his fingers, your walls clenching around him as your slick gushes out. A breathless moan of his name echoes throughout the room.

“Just as sweet as I remember,” Tengen husks. The deep rasp of his voice has you clenching again; with a chuckle, Tengen removes his hand and stands up.

“I want you,” you coo, “please, Tengen. Fuck me.” Reaching out, you hastily undo the top of his uniform, push the articles of clothing down his shoulders under his torso is completely bare. Tengen’s chest practically rumbles with a purr as you drift your hands over the swell of his pecs, the divots of his abs. “So gorgeous,” you murmur. Tengen starts to chuckle again, but it quickly dwindles into pleasured grunts as you squeeze his pectorals and pinch at his pert nipples.

“Shit,” Tengen hisses. His hips buck forward, the hard outline of his cock brushing against your sopping cunt. In quick, fumbling movements, he undoes his belt and drops his hakama low enough so that his cock pops out. You practically drool at the sight; he’s been going around commando all day, and fuck you wish you knew that earlier.

His bulbous head pushes inside, his cock slowly filling you up. The stretch is delicious; you feel so fucking full, your velvety walls eagerly sucking him in. Clutching onto his shoulders, your fingernails dig into the thick cording of muscle, your eyes basically rolling back in your head as Tengen snaps his hips forward, his cock sliding in to the hilt. He pauses for a second, allows you to adjust to his massive size. Once you give him the go ahead, all caution is thrown to the wind.

Your husband in no longer a man, but rather a savage beast. He fucks into you thoroughly, his cock dragging against all your sensitive spots as his cockhead pounds into your cervix. He’s hitting you so deep, stretching you so wide, you’re seeing stars. His lips find your neck while his hands hold you by the ass, keeping you place. You have no choice but to cry out his name, moaning until your throat goes hoarse.

Hiking your thighs onto his hips, he urges you to lie flat on your back. Like this, he presses his palms against the surface of the table and completely concentrates and fucking you into oblivion. It’s working, rightfully so, for your drooling and babbling his name, your nails scratching down his back and leaving angry red trails.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby,” he purrs. “Show you that you’re really mine. I love you, got it? Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Tears flood your vision – whether they’re from pleasure or the new onslaught of emotion, you don’t know. Either way, you cling onto him tighter. You’re not going anywhere, and Tengen makes sure of it.

[seokiloquy]

Swordplay - Kageyama Tobio

AU: Fantasy/Medieval (Medieval Fantasy?) 

Requested

Tags/ Warnings: GN! Reader, OOC of Kageyama?? Maybe?, some violent descriptions, I don’t know much about fighting so please take what I wrote about it with a grain of salt   

Word Count: 14k +

Prologue

The tip of your father’s sword was cold against the under of your chin as he tilted your head up. 

You glared at him from your spot on the ground, wishing for nothing more than to be the one holding a blade to his neck. 

To do that you needed to do better. You wanted to be better. 

“One day, you’re going to need to know how to fight,” he said, slightly flicking his wrist, adding pressure to the point of the dulled blade. You gritted your teeth as you felt a small drop of blood drip down your neck and onto your chest. “This is not something you can learn from one of your books. Get up.” 

You shoved his blade aside and scrambled to your feet. You didn’t need to be on the ground for your father to look down at you—it was his natural state. Being the heir to an entire kingdom had its perks, but it also had its responsibilities and pressures, maybe even too much sometimes.  And for your father, one of those responsibilities was learning how to defend yourself. 

Deep inside, you knew that he was doing this in your best interest. You just wished that he had a different way of showing it. A scowl of disappointment marked his face as he picked up a rag and wiped off the sweat from his forehead, a look was consistently aimed at you; whether you did something to be proud of or failed miserably, there it was, staring at you. 

His friendly, cuddly side was reserved for the public and the people who worked in the palace. Often you wondered if you made up the smile you saw him wear when other people were around. 

Calmly, you walked over to where your sword had fallen. You bent down and grasped it tightly by the hilt. The longsword weighed heavily in your ten-year-old hands, but you took a deep breath, took a ready stance, and raised it. 

“Are you just going to stand there?”

You swore that The King smiled in return.

You opened your front door, peaking your head out to look down either side of the hallway. 

“He’s not here yet.” 

You stood upright at the sound of the voice and stepped fully out of your room. You feigned a naive, dreamy expression. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Sawamura.”  

The knight snorted, moving his hand to rest on the pommel of his sword. He pulled the door closed behind you and took his place near the right side of it. “Sure you don’t, Your Highness.” 

You scrunched up your nose and leaned against the wall on the other side of the hallway. You crossed your arms over your chest. “Is this really necessary,” you mumbled. 

“To your father, it is.” 

You averted your gaze from Sawamura and focused down at your shoes. You’ve heard the speech a thousand times, but when was your father going to listen to you and believe you when you said that you could handle yourself? You weren’t a ten-year-old anymore. You weren’t going around picking flowers and giving them to palace guards who you thought had pretty eyes.

You were capable, both as the next heir and in protecting yourself. The King must have known that.  

Sawamura sighed and went to stand by your side. Though you wanted to ignore him, you could hear the clinking of his armour from a mile away. 

“The King is just doing this as an extra precaution. He’s worried, (Y/N).”

You balled your hand into a fist. “All of you keep telling me that, but you don’t actually tell me what’s going on.” 

Sawamura didn’t say anything. 

“I mean,” you pushed off the wall, turning to face him, “I could make some educated guesses, but nothing beats actually knowing.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, “but I can’t tell you. I would if I could.” 

You quirked a brow. “Even if it was an order?” 

Sawamura paused. “Your order wouldn’t be as high as the King’s, (Y/N).”

“I know.”

Sawamura nudged you with his elbow. “At least you’re about to have some better company than me.” 

The familiar steps echoed in your ears as an unconscious smile made its way to your lips. “You’re not horrible company,” you said, keeping your eyes trained on the blue-haired knight making his way down the hall.

“Why thank you, Your Highness.” 

“And I haven’t seen him in a while. I think he might be avoiding me,” you added, watching Kageyama come closer to the both of you. You met his eyes for a moment and smiled. A small hesitation in his step made you furrow your eyebrows, but he continued naturally after a second and you were sure that if you hadn’t been looking, you would’ve missed it. 

Sawamura clicked his tongue. “I’m sure he isn’t.” 

You were sure that Sawamura was keeping something from you. You pressed your lips together and took a step closer to him to ask about it, but he wordlessly bowed to you and took off down the hallway to meet Kageyama halfway. 

You held your tongue and watched them exchange a few words with Sawamura making a pointed look your way over his shoulder. Kagayama raised his head and met your eyes. He turned away quickly and inclined his head back to Sawamura. 

You took a liking to Kageyama since he started as a squire a few years ago and now he was a knight. One of his first duties was to guard you, and you found him rather annoying at first. He didn’t really talk much and whenever you would start conversations they would be shot down. He’d have a stoic expression on his face and answer your question reluctantly or with a pinched look on his face. You thought he was rather rude. 

However, once you asked him about it, his answer was rather simple: he had a hard time soiclizing among the other knights he had trained with. You knew that it was a burtral process to become a knight and sometimes it was hard to gel with others and Kageyama fell victim to that. When he did become a knight and started his duties with the knights at the palace, he had gotten better (you confirmed that with Sawaumra). 

Another small reason was that he didn’t expect to be guarding you at first — a member of the royal family — and had heard rumours from the other trainees that the royal family were vicious when it came to dishonour and gave punishments accordingly. 

Once it was clear that you weren’t going to behead him at a moment’s notice, Kageyama became a lot more comfortable with you. 

You considered that the first building block in your dynamic with him.    

But you were sure that he was avoiding you. Though his first period at the palace was being your personal guard, that ended for unknown reasons to you and guards began rotating for you. Even with the King’s extra protection now, you felt as though you only saw Kageyama less and less. 

“Anything interesting happening?” you asked, cocking your head towards him as he walked to you. “Anything worth mentioning?”

Kageyama blinked, clicked his tongue and leaned closer to you. “I’m not telling you what Sawamura said or what your father told us.” 

You shrugged. “I had to try.” 

He sighed. His eyes glanced at you and then back to the door. “You’re not going to go back into your room are you?” 

“Unlikely.” 

“You should.” Kagayama said quickly. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. His hand lifted as if it had a mind of its own and then stiffed, finding its place back at his side curled up into a fist. His eyes flickered briefly before he looked away from you and in a low voice said, “It’s the safest place for you.” 

“I know where the safest places are for me. It doesn’t mean I have to, or want to, stay in them.” 

Kageyama pushed off the wall, glaring at you. “It’s your life at risk you know.” 

At the tip of your tongue was an un-royal comment, but then it dawned on you. You had your guesses, but the knight in front of you confirmed it. “Someone threatened to kill me then?” 

Kageyama closed his eyes and let out a string of curses. “(Y/N)...” 

You smiled—what you hoped to be reassuring, but from the look on Kageyama’s face, you could tell it wasn’t close at all—and nodded your head. “It’s okay. I kind of figured it would be something like that.” 

“Are you—?”

“Don’t worry,” you said, “I won’t tell anyone you said anything.” 

“That’s not what it was going to say.” 

For the first time, you didn’t want to see his dark blue eyes looking into you. You wanted to lie in bed and drown in the pillows and soft sheets. 

He tentatively grabbed your wrist and tugged on it. “Let’s go.” 

“What? You’re the one who said I had to stay here.” 

“I’m with you, so it’s fine.” 

You opened your mouth to say something but were rudely interrupted as he started pulling you down the hallway. Your eyes glued to the slight swaying of his black hair and the warmth of his hand around your wrist. All of the reasons you liked him seemed mute when you compared the fact that you felt safe and comfortable with him. You’d let him drag you anywhere without question, knowing that nothing bad could happen. 

A silence lapsed over the both of you. You ignored the strange looks from the other guards, hoping that none of this would get back to the King…that would be an awkward conversation. Definitely a hard one to explain. 

Kageyama pushed through familiar doors and walkways. You could tell where you were going even before you were standing in the middle of the training room. Do you know that spot? You were tempted to say, that’s the spot where the King almost cut off my arm. That sword rack? Yeah, I crashed into it from time to time. That stain of blood on the floor? Probably mine.

“Here.” 

Kageyama offered you a practice longsword by its hilt. The edges were dulled, but it could still hurt if you meant it too. You stared at it and then moved your gaze back up to the blue-eyed boy. 

“What are you doing?” 

“You don’t want to be stuck in your room, right? Take the sword. I’ll teach you.” 

You tilted your head to the side. “Are you only doing this because you feel bad for me?” 

Kageyama filiped the blade in his hand. “What if I am?” 

You let out a long breath. Were the fundamentals of sword fighting appealing to you? Not in the slightest. Not being stuck in your room? Being “taught” by your favourite knight? That could have some perks. Besides, what was life without a little bit of fun?

You grasped the hilt of the sword. You let your shoulder drop a little so the tip of the sword collided with the ground. The familiar weight in your hand brought you both a sense of comfort and anger. The amount of times you held this sword greatly outweighed the times you had a decent conversation with the King. 

Kageyama reached out and grasped the hilt of the sword, his rough hand covering your own. “Careful,” he said. 

His eyes met yours, widening slightly. How is it even possible for someone to have eyes like that, a deep blue ocean that could surely whisk you away at any moment? You wondered how long you could get lost in them—you definitely spent a lot of time thinking about them. What’s a little more?

His hand jerked back. 

“It’s okay,” you said, your face feeling hot, “you’re trying to teach me, right? Don’t worry about it.” 

He nodded and cleared his voice. “Here, then.” 

Your eyes never left him as Kageyama moved to be by your side. He took your free hand and guided it to the hilt of the sword, wrapping it around your other hand. You raised the sword as he instructed. His fingers trailed down and lingered lightly on your forearm, tracing an unrecognizable pattern on your skin. A shock went through you and spread throughout your body like fireworks spreading throughout the sky. 

“Longswords are held with two hands.” 

He took a step closer to you, pressing his body into your side. He was warm, comforting. 

At this, you turned to him. You were close enough to feel the rise and fall of his chest as he took a deep breath. His cheeks weren’t flushed, nor did they show any sign of embarrassment or regret. Your eyes searched his. They were steady and clear, an ocean at a lull. 

Kageyama’s hand stilled on your skin. He took a step back. 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” 

You let the sword drop. “Kag—” 

“Maybe you should carry a weapon on you.” He cleared his voice, his eyes travelling down to the sword in your hand. Despite the pounding in your chest, you forced yourself to study his face. An inscrutable expression rested there—a mask that every knight that served the King wore. “I’ll find something for you.” 

Without sparing you another glance, he turned and walked over to the weapons rack. 

You clenched your jaw. The blade in your hand felt suddenly more deadly. Longswords were meant to be held with two hands, but you were sure that you could cut off his head cut with one. 

“Knight.” Your voice came out like royalty, commanding and loud. 

Kageyama froze. He turned to you, his posture went rigid and a blank look on his face. He was ready to serve. Ready to fight. “Yes, Your Highness?” His words were soft and airy like a Sunday morning. 

Your heart dropped. This is how things were going to be, weren’t they? Even if you followed the way you felt, the way your spirit would lift when you saw his familiar black hair in the hallway, the way that you would feel safe and at ease with him like stepping into a spring breeze, the chain of command wouldn’t change between you two. You were always going to be the heir — eventually the Queen — and Kageyama was a knight. Were you even friends?

“Nevermind.” 

Kageyama’s lips pressed into a thin line. “As you wish.” 

When you were eighteen, there was a period where you weren’t allowed to leave your room. It might have been because the King found out that you were sneaking out to wander around town, to which you and the knights guarding you got an ear full of. 

Kageyama had ceased being your personal guard, but he was still in the rotation, and thankfully not a part of the guards you evaded. That would only add to the guilt you felt that you got them in trouble. You took as much heat off of them as possible, but the king was rather ruthless when it came to your safety. You were never sure what that was about, but you made your guesses. It wasn’t like he told you anything anyway. 

You learned in that time that the window from your bedroom had the greatest view of the town below. When the sun set, you watched groups of people travelling from place to place and soon after witnessed fights in the streets. During the early morning and day, you watched couples taking walks and businesses thrive and fall in the market. 

The most interesting day was when you saw a familiar black-haired boy going up to the flower stand of an elderly lady. They talked for a bit before he walked away with a bundle of red and pink flowers. 

Whoever got them would be a lucky person, you thought. 

You smiled. You remembered you thought that about him before, when he first came to the palace the year before. 

His hair had been shorter but he only grew taller. You spotted him at the ceremony where the king would be introduced to the new knight and give final approval to them. You had sat there begrudgingly, but that changed once your eyes met his deep-blue ones. 

You saw him steal glances at you but your eyes had never left him. He follows his duties and final tests without hesitation, distraction, or failure. It was that day too, that the King told you he would be your new personal guard until further notice. 

You turned as grumbled voices and three sharp knocks tapped on your door. 

You crossed your room and opened it. At the foot of your door was a bouquet of red and pink flowers. You peaked your head out the doorway and saw Kageyama’s fleeting figure round a corner. 

The note attached to it read: 

For Your Highness who is stuck inside. 

You’re not missing much, the outside isn’t that great. 

It was the first time you laughed since your confinement. 

The dark sky was starless, making the evening scratch into an endless night. You and the King sat in a long dining room, clearly made for more than two people. A bright candle chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling and the walls were decorated with paintings — random scenes of waterfalls and naked people in clouds or standing on rocks. You’ve never understood them, if you could understand any aspect of art, but had appreciated the work that was put in them.

Tall wooden chairs were pillars at either end of the table; your father sat in one. On either side of the table, running the length of it, were regular unimportant chairs; you sat in the one to your father’s right. The food had already been laid out, no servers or guards were in the room, but you knew better and could sense the guards on the other side of all of the doors and patrolling past the windows and into the courtyard. 

The King gulped down a sip of wine. After another beat of silence, he asked, “How was your day?” 

Interesting, you wanted to say, it wasn’t every day that Kageyama would try and teach you sword fighting, but you didn’t know if you wanted to share that just yet. It was like a whisper, only meant to be heard between one another. 

You pushed some food around your plate. You didn’t want to start a fight, but the words were already out before you could stop them. “It would be a lot better if I wasn’t confined to my room.” 

A moment passed. The King didn’t touch anything else on his plate but looked rather amused. An unfamiliar gleam sparkled in his eyes; one you hadn’t seen in a long time and didn't know if you wanted to see because it felt out of place. 

“From what I heard, you spent a lot of time in the training room.” 

Your blood felt like ice as heat rose to your cheeks. “How—?” But the answer died on your lips. 

Kageyama. He was a knight and knights reported to The King. But so does everyone, you thought, as your mind went back to the line of guards you had passed along the way to the training room. You placed your fork down, feeling as though you were viciously kicked in the chest. Why had your mind first gone to Kageyama? “Okay.” 

The King frowned, his eyes glossing over as if he were at a loss. “Training, then?” 

“You could say that.” 

“I think it’s good that you’re still keeping up with it. Wouldn’t want to waste any skill.” 

“Yup.” You tilted your head towards him again. “Are you ever going to tell me what’s happening?” 

The King placed his silverware down carefully. “(Y/N)...” 

“You’re always the one telling us that you have to know all the information before going into anything.” You shook your head. “You taught me to protect myself, too. Instead, I’m escorted to dinner with five guards and I can barely go outside without someone telling me I should go back inside.” 

“It’s not about you protecting yourself. I know you can. I’m trying to protect you,” he said softly. 

“I don’t need it. I don’t need people following me around. I don’t need this. Being King doesn’t mean you're always right.”  

“I’m your father too.” 

A heavy silence fell between the two of you. 

“You’re a King and you’ll always be one,” you whispered

 Dinner ended shortly after that.

You laid in your bed, staring at the ceiling. A rather large set of french doors, blinded with heavy velvet currants, leading out into a balcony, stood to your left. Gold crown moulding ran the perimeter of it, engraved neatly with an assortment of flowers and flames. 

After dinner, you were escorted back to your room with six guards, which wasn’t surprising. Surprisement was laced in The King’s absence of anger. Your comments were usually enjoyed or indulged by the people around the palace except with him. Every misplaced word and small quip were frowned and yelled upon. 

But had gotten away with two at dinner. 

Something was seriously wrong. 

You turned to your side, facing your balcony, reduced to counting the flowers. The open space just beyond the doors was borderline rude. However, you weren’t stupid; as much as you complained and protested, you weren’t going to go against the orders placed on you — at least not yet. You would bide your time and patients. The King had information you didn’t and even if you didn’t agree, you knew he wouldn’t do things without reason. 

Annoying reason, but reason nonetheless. 

There was a light tapping against the door. 

You ignored it, but didn’t make another sound. 

A slight rustle. A word of speech. A louder knock on the door. A clink of armour getting further away. 

You waited another moment. Silence. You pulled yourself from your bed and towards the door, poking your head outside.  A different guard stood at your door, but the hallway was otherwise empty. The slightest smirk on his lips. 

“Was someone else here?” you asked. 

“Why would you think that?” he deadpanned. 

“Tsukishima.” 

“Yes, Your Highness.” His words were drawn out, said in a mocking tone. Nothing like the way Kageyama said it. 

You barely got a foot out of the door before Tsukishima interrupted you. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said. 

You retreated your foot and huffed. “Not you too.” 

He shrugged. “Well, those are the orders, but not exactly what I was referring to.” Tsukishima cocked his head towards the ground in front of you. 

Two carefully wrapped and placed objects in front of your feet. You picked them up, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“So there was someone else out here.” 

He laughed. “How do you know they’re not from me?”

“Purely because you're laughing at me.” 

“Not so much at you, but at the person who left them.” 

You rolled your eyes and took a step back into your room. 

“(Y/N)?” 

You glanced outside once more. Tsukishima, despite being on friendly — most of the time snide —  terms with him, was true to his word as a knight. You trusted him as much as every other knight you had befriended, including Kageyama. Which was why whenever one of the knights called you by your name, even when they weren’t supposed to, you never stopped them. It made you feel more human than being called a title. 

“Yes?” 

Tsukishima furrowed his eyebrows as if he were going to regret what he was going to say. He didn’t look at you when he said, “They’re trying their best, you know. Trying to keep you safe.” 

You felt like you’ve had this conversation before. “Knowing will keep me safe.” 

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice calm, almost indifferent. “You are going to be Queen one day,  which means you’re going to have to bear the weight I see on your father every day. It’s a lot to handle, more than you probably know now even with all the training that is meant to prepare you for it.” 

Tsukishima left his post to stand right in front of you. “If you want to know so badly, at the bare bones, someone did threaten your life and it’s being taken seriously because it was a serious threat.” 

The same sinking feeling you experienced earlier that day settled once again. You wondered about all of the times you want to go outside only to be deterred back inside. All of the times where your guards would quicken their pace to sad beside you instead of hanging back or out of sight. 

“Did knowing make you feel better?” he went on. 

It did not. 

“I know that you can handle yourself, (Y/N). You are definitely as strong as The King, maybe even more, and he knows it too. I don’t want to defend his way of dealing with things, mainly because he could probably have me beheaded for telling you anymore —  Kageyama told me he let something slip. I agree that you should know.” 

“Thanks,” you whispered, barely believing it.

“You are the next ruler, yes. But you’re also the only person your father has left. How long are you going to blame him for trying to protect you?” 

His words were said into a well, reflecting back to you in a distant echo. You smoothed out the paper that wrapped the unknown items. 

“He’s all that I have left too.” 

You shut the door.

The palace had settled for the night. The torches in the hallways were low and the guard rotation became more frequent. The night brought darkness and the darkness brought the unknown, one that you knew your father wouldn’t leave unguarded.

This time, you were watching the candles burn on your nightstand, the gifts that Kageyama left you sat beside it, still wrapped. You reeled in the fact that Tsukishima had a point and it filled you with hatred, both for himself and you. 

What an ass, you thought. 

You knew that you were right, you deserved to know something involving you, but Tsukishima was also right. Another hard part was figuring out how to coexist in the middle of it. 

You sat up, draping your legs over the edge of your bed. Hesitantly, you reached for one of the packages and turned it over in your hands. It was in a long rectangular box and didn’t feel heavy in your hands, but you could tell what it was before you even opened it. 

The smile on your face was reluctant, drawn out of you like being tortured for information. Guilt flooded through you when you opened it. A neatly placed dagger laid on top of a satin cushion. The blade was long, shimmering silver, and sharp. Engravings of flowers and flames graced the silver handle in a way that was exceptionally beautiful but didn’t interfere with the way you would grip the handle. Something about it seemed oddly familiar.

Where could Kageyama get something like this? It hadn’t been a full twelve hours since you last saw him in the armoury. 

You placed the dagger on your night stand and the access packaging beside you. The bigger of the two boxes was tried together with string. A black leather sheath was the first thing you saw. It was a loose belt with a holder attached on one side, something just big enough to hold a dagger. Did Kageyama just have all of these things laying around? Did he have an arts and crafts hobby that you didn’t know about?

The next object in the package was a book bound in brown leather. Embossed on the cover was the title: The Basics of Swordplay. You glanced at your bookcase. You had a copy already, but there was no way you were going to Kageyama that. This would be your new and only copy. 

You’ve only read it once, when the King first taught you how to use a sword. But it was a part of your personal collection now because a small bookcase had to be attached to the servant’s door wall. Without it, you could clearly see the outline of the door which you thought was dangerous — letting other people know there was another way into your room. No one has used the passages for a while, the King and you preferred people using the main hallways.  

You opened the cover and Kageyama’s scrawly handwriting inked the first page of the book. 

To Your Highness, 

For future reference. 

Always protect yourself. 

The pages were frayed, ripped at the edges, and soft to the touch; discoloured in places from the light, but very much readable. The leather bounding looked brand new, but you could tell that the spine of the book had been broken in a few places. It felt more precious than a new copy. It felt loved.  

Kicking your feet back on the bed, you placed the packaging on the ground. You propped up pillows against your headboard and leaned back. You skimmed through the table of contents. All of the subjects and concepts were familiar to you; the differences between types of swords and how to hold them, different forms and defensive movements, and strategies. It was based on theory, which could only take a person so far, but, like Kageyama had said, it was good for reference. 

You flipped to the section on how and when to wield daggers. Only a couple of pages in the chapter, handwritten notes and scribbles appeared in the margins. The writing was bunched together and slanted as if it was written in a patient hurry. It was nothing like Kageyama’s. 

You furrowed your eyebrows and sat up straighter. The old ink crossed out printed words and replaced them with the person’s own notes and ideas. There were some hard to make out add-ons to the printed drawings in the book, but in line breaks and spaces, there were inked drawings of sword forms and hand movements. There were things that you never thought of or were taught. It stated small things, tiny changes to things you already did. 

The candle at your bedside had grown low, going dangerously near the candle holder. You heard the subtle movement of Tsukishima changing with another guard. Flipping through the rest of the book, you saw the same handwriting in the margins, sometimes mixed with Kageyama’s. 

At one of the end pages, another note was written. 

To my grandson, 

Learn to protect yourself and others to your last breath 

It was hard to look at Kageyama the next day. He was waiting outside of your door, bright and early, which was horrible because you stayed up reading the book he got you and running your hands over both inked dedications. You almost didn’t notice that the candles had burnt down to the nub, but you didn’t start a fire and were quick to replace them, which gave you extra points in your book. Even when you decided to get some rest, your mind was wandering through the book and into what you thought your life was. 

Kageyama had to know his grandfather’s dedication was in the back. Had it been something passed down? Was it a gift? Why did he give it to you? It was at that point when you realized you didn’t really know anything about his family. He had always just been Kageyama — the guard with blue eyes who listened to you ramble while he stood outside your door. 

You saw the difference between Kageyama the knight and the Kageyama who you thought was your friend, but how could he be your friend when you didn’t know anything about him? Was there another Kageyama that you didn’t know about?

But then…what else did you know about the other knights? Tsukishima? He was an ass, but he had left a family to come here, right? So did Sawamura and everyone else you had called a friend. 

Were they just nice to you because of who you were? If they were…were you just alone? Did you not have any friends? 

“Your highness?” 

You snapped your head up at Kageyama. He was looking at you; his eyes were drawn together slightly in concern. You were walking down the hallway, making your way to the training room. The dagger he had given you was strapped around your hips, hidden beneath your jacket. 

From what you could tell, he didn’t say anything about the gift…should you mention them? Or was this more of a silent gift? Something that you both acknowledged but didn’t have the need to say anything.

The you of last night would’ve gratefully thanked him the moment you saw him. But now? That was something friends would do. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked. “You seem off.” 

“Are we friends?” 

Kageyama stopped just short of the training room doors. “What?” 

“Are we friends?” you repeated. Your heart pumped heavily in your chest and rang throughout your ears. “You know, you and me. This” — you gestured between the two of you — “us. The two of us standing here. Friends? Yes or no? I don’t really think there could be a ‘maybe’ in this situation. Unless we were like transitioning from strangers to—” 

“Your Highness.” 

You blinked. “Yes?” 

Kageyama looked at you like he always did. A half exasperated, half an ‘are you an actual person’ face, which you had grown fond of. A smile tugged at his lips. “Of course we’re friends.” 

“Great!” you said, almost too quickly. You cleared your throat and looked away, your face feeling hot. “I mean,” you said in a measured tone, “of course we are.” 

Kageyama chuckled and reached out to hold the door open for you. “Is that why you were acting strange? You didn’t think that we were friends?” 

You partially skipped through the door and to the weapon rack. Maybe you should ask Kageyama if you could do daggers today. “What was strange about my behaviour? I’m acting normal.” 

“You weren’t looking at me.” 

You froze and risked a glance over your shoulder. “What?” 

Kageyama stood less than a metre from you, his hands behind his back as if he was pointing out the obvious. 

Kageyama shook his head and walked up beside you. He looked at the weapons on the rack for a moment before selecting a dulled arming sword and handing it to you hilt up. Arming swords was the weapon of choice with knights — it was the one that hung at their sides and that they used in battle. It was similar to the longsword, but had a simple hilt and was a little lighter. 

You wrapped your hand around his to take the sword, expecting him to let go, but as you were pulling away, his other hand encased yours. The silence was deafening and all you could feel was his hand around yours. 

Tearing your gaze from your hands to Kageyama, you were surprised to see that he wasn’t looking at you. He was staring at your hands in between his, holding them like glass — something precious. 

“What are you —?” you whispered. 

“You said I could, right?” he said in a low voice. “Because I’m teaching you?”

You didn’t know what this had to do with swordsmanship, but you didn’t want him to let go. “I did.” 

He shook his hand again. “Maybe your behaviour wasn’t strange. Maybe I’m just used to looking at you and already see you looking at me. Maybe I’m the one acting strange.” 

The hand that rested on top of yours tightened its grip for a moment before both of his hands slipped away from you. You didn’t know where this was coming from, but you knew that you couldn’t look away from him again. Not when he was looking at you. The tip of the sword dropped to the ground, making a small clink sound echo through the room. 

“Kageyama?” 

“Yes?” 

“Thank you for the gifts.” 

He smiled and nodded his head at you. Kageyama reached over to the rack and picked another sword from the rack.

“Shall we?” he said. 

You were fifteen when the King decided to stop personally teaching you swordplay. You were glad. He was a tough opponent. He never let you win. You would leave the lesson with bruises on your sides because you left them open and calluses on your hands from the hours you spent gripping the hilt of the sword. It was unlike the tutors he had set up for you on the days he couldn’t make it. 

“Should we go again?” he had said. “You’re getting better.” 

“Do I get a choice in the matter?” you asked. 

The King cocked his head to the side. “Not really, no.” 

You expected this answer and had raised your sword before he finished his sentence. 

You sparred longer than your previous match, but this one, too, ended up with you on the floor with the King’s sword at your neck. 

“And you’re dead.” 

You pushed the sword away and stood up. “Thanks for the commentary.” 

It was always like this. He’d beat you, you got up, and then he’d beat you again. 

“Winning isn’t the most important thing,” he said. 

“Says the person who told me that losing means death.” 

“Only in life or death situations.” 

You picked up your fallen sword and brought it back to the rack. “I’ll make sure to keep note of that.” 

“You look at me too much.” 

“What?” The King never left his spot, standing tall and proud like a king. Would you be able to do that once you took his place? 

“When we were sparring, you kept looking at my movements to anticipate my next moves.” 

You blinked. “Yes. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? That lady you brought in a couple years back gave a book to me about it.” 

The King chuckled. “Did I not tell you that your books would only push you so far? The key to winning a fight is to follow your instincts. Don’t be ten steps in front of them, be their shadow, an inch they can’t scratch, something they can only see when they look down. Your instincts are what keeps you alive when it counts.” 

He walked over to you and placed his practice blade beside yours. “However, that comes with the time and experience of wars and fighting, something that you should stay away from until you’re ready. Use what they taught you and build from that. Until then, strike first, and when you can’t, strike fast.” 

You counted his footsteps and listened for the sound of the door closing before you looked behind you. 

Kageyama didn’t know what he was doing. What was going on with him? 

After his lesson with you (to which he thought you were mediocre at best, but you were getting better) he walked you back to your room. Tsukishima was already waiting in front of your door, leaning beside the door frame with a lazy smirk on his face. 

Kageyama glared at him. 

You looked up at him for a moment, and your lips were pursed like you wanted to tell him something. The lesson had gone how they usually did. The dynamic between the two of you didn’t change despite the look in your eyes when he said that you were acting strange. Kageyama didn’t know if he felt more relieved or hurt that you acted normal. But either way, it wasn’t your fault. 

He told himself to stop before wrapping his hands around yours, but once he felt the warmth and comfort of your touch, he didn’t want to let go.

His self-control always faltered whenever you were around. He needed to work on that. 

Your eyes shifted quickly to Tsukishima and then back to Kageyama. 

“Did you need something else, Your Highness?” Kageyama asked in a low voice.  

You shook your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right? For tomorrow's lesson?” 

“Of course.” 

You smiled. “I’ll see you then!” 

You went into your room and shut the door. 

Kageyama glanced at Tsukishima who had a hand over his mouth and head turned to the side. 

“What,” Kagayama said, narrowing his eyes. 

“You know,” Tsukishima replied, cocking his head towards your shut door. “I don’t know why you do this to yourself.” 

Kageyama bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned and started down the hall. 

“I doubt that,” Tsukishima mumbled. 

Kageyama wanted to smack himself. More so of the fact that he didn’t even know what he felt. He felt stupid calling it love, but saying that he liked you seemed like an insult to his own feelings. What do you call wanting to be close to someone? Wanting to see all the places you knew they could go and remain by their side? 

His feelings had been like this for quite some time now and he doubted that that would change. He would be your knight to his last breath, but anything after that was something that he could not entertain. Even thinking about the possibility that he could be with you made his mind fuzzy. 

The thought of teaching you how to defend yourself had lingered in his mind when he first met you. Kageyama wanted you to know how to protect yourself in every circumstance, so that you were never left unguarded. And with the strong threats against the kingdom, King, and you, now was a good time to start. 

That contributed to why he contemplated asking someone else to take over for him, but after what happened today, he couldn’t. Kageyama couldn’t distance himself from you — mainly because he didn’t want to — but now it would defeat the purpose of him saying he was friends with you. He didn’t want to know what your face would look like if you thought he had lied to you. 

He aimlessly made his way down carpet-lined floors and candle-lit hallways, past windows metres taller than him and old paintings that were just as big. Why couldn’t he be born someone royal? Or someone with good diplomatic relations? This place had a way of making him feel small. Once he reached the end of the hallway, he turned left, heading back to the knight’s quarters. 

“Kageyama,” a voice said behind him. 

He froze. Without another second, he stood straight and turned, bending forward in a low bow. “Your Majesty.” 

The King waved his hand dismissively. “You don’t have to do that.” 

Kageyama blinked. “You’re the King.” 

“I know.” The King took a step down the right of the hallway. The guards that were trailing behind him leaned their backs to the wall to make room for the King to pass. “Walk with me back to my chambers?” 

“Of course.” Kageyama quickly fell in step with the King as the guards closed ranks behind them. The palace felt small again. 

A moment of silence lapsed between the two. Kageyama didn’t want to speak out of line, so the right choice was to wait to be spoken to. No one was idoitic enough to repeat words of the King, which had to do with honour and respect towards him, but nothing would stop the guards from repeating Kageyama’s words. In fact, they would never let him forget it. 

“I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time with (Y/N).” 

One of the guards coughed behind them. Kageyama focused himself not to glare at them and instead turned gaze to the King. He looked more curious than angry, which Kageyama took as a good sign.

“I’ve been teaching them how to defend themself.” 

The King’s lip twitched. “Teaching them? (Y/N)?” 

“Yes.” 

The King turned his head away from Kageyama, his hand covering his mouth slightly. A strange sound, one caught between the clearing of a throat and a cough, came out of the King. 

Kageyama frowned and took a tentative step forward to him, and so did the rest of the guards. “Are you alright?” 

The King straightened his back and faced forward once again. His lips were pressed in a thin line, but his eyes were crinkled at the corners like he was trying not to laugh. “Yes. That’s good, with you teaching (Y/N). You should continue that.” 

Kageyama wasn’t planning to stop them, but he nodded nonetheless. 

Each step forward towards the King’s chambers felt like sinking deeper into unknown waters — the dread and the pressure. Kageyama tried not to think about the meeting the King had a couple of weeks ago when they got the first threat. 

Threats weren’t uncommon, and most of them were harmless, trying to blackmail the royal family with false and ridiculous claims or short letters threatening their lives. Surprisingly, a lot of them put names and addresses on the letters, so they were checked and double-checked, which turned out to be nothing. 

Yamaguchi had been on mail duty, sorting out the royal mail as punishment after accidentally sleeping through a night post-shift, and had brought Kageyama the letter that night. There was no verbal threat written in it. No threats like “I will kill (Y/N) at 11:42 pm” or “I have poisoned all the drinking water”. It was a schedule. A schedule of all of the things you did that day down to the minute. 

11:32 am — Princess (Y/N) left their bedroom chambers 

11:45 am – Princess (Y/N) arrived at the dining room

12:24 pm – Princess (Y/N) left the palace 

Kageyama had been with you the entire day and confirmed that it was true. He called a meeting with the King that night. The memory of the King’s face made a mark on Kageyama. He didn’t think he could forget the eerie silence that hung in the room or the blank expression on the King’s face once he saw the letter — a blank, unseeing look. Everyone was uneasy, not used to having their clear cut, quick to make decisions, better under pressure King freeze. 

Kageyama didn’t agree to the 24/7 surveillance of you, partly because he knew that it would drive you insane (which it did), and partly because he knew that it wouldn’t solve anything. Once that person saw that you had seven to eight guards with you all of the time, they wouldn’t attack, and the problem would only be drawn out more. 

He wasn’t sure if you noticed, but since then Kageyama had begun switching his shifts with other knights to avoid guarding you. 

The King stopped before his door. He looked at the guards behind them, and with a flick of his wrist, the guards moved around them and filed into his office, shutting the door. 

“Sorry about that,” the King said, rubbing visible dust off the front of his cloak. “That was a bit dramatic, but the knights do have a habit of whispering amongst themselves, right?” 

Kageyama had never seen the King this up close before. The King always had this regal, untouchable aura around him. When looking up from the ground to the elevated throne, one didn’t notice the wrinkles around his eyes or the way his shoulders slumped forward. He looked tired. 

“Yes,” Kageyama said. The King nodded and stared at him. Kageyama forced himself to hold the stare instead of squirming under it. After another moment, Kageyama cleared his voice and said, “Did you want to tell me something, Your Majesty?”

The King wrinkled his nose the same way you did whenever Kageyama called you anything but your name. 

“Starting tomorrow,” the King said, “I would like you to go back to being (Y/N)’s personal guard instead of the knights rotating through.” 

“What?” 

The King chuckled. “The formalities always go away when it is something people don’t want to hear.” 

“It’s not something I don’t want to hear,” Kageyama rushed. “I was just surprised…Your Majesty.” 

“I think that it’s safer to have one trusted guard at all times. (Y/N) likes you and you’re spending time with them anyways, teaching them swordplay; it makes sense doesn’t it? Unless you don’t want to?” 

“No!” 

The King tilted his head. “No? No meaning you don’t want to?” 

Kageyama flushed. So much for his plan of distancing himself from (Y/N). “No. Sorry, Your Majesty. Yes, I will be their guard. I don’t know how much they’ll like that…they weren’t very fond of your initial idea.” 

“I know.” An unfamiliar emotion flickered in the King’s eyes as he turned towards the door. His eyes carefully ran the length of Kageyama from head to toe before settling on his eyes. “Start tomorrow. I’ll notify the other guards. Look out for them.” 

Though this conversation did nothing but confuse him, he was sure of one thing. 

“I will,” he said.

It had been hours since Kageyama had left you at the door. You tried to fall asleep, but something made your skin crawl, like dozens of tiny needles poking you from every direction. Someone was watching you. You were scared that every time you turned around, you would see a shadow over you, waiting and going in for the kill. That feeling made you think that you shouldn’t be in your room tonight. 

Tsukishima was right again and you hated it. Knowing only made you more paranoid and terrified to be alone. 

On nights like this, where you couldn’t sleep, you would stare at the candles and count the number of times the guards changed from your door. It was one less than it should have been. It could have been nothing… maybe someone decided to walk extra quietly tonight. 

You didn't know anything that was going on about the threat to your life, but you had enough common instinct — possibly trained instinct from all of your lessons with the King and tutors about danger when fighting — to know to follow your gut. If you felt that an arrow was pointing at you, it was safe to assume that it was aiming to kill, and if it wasn’t, then no harm was done either way. 

 You pulled a cloak off of the rack beside your door. It covered most of your night clothes and would keep you from walking around in your nightclothes. Your hand hovered over the door. What were you going to do though? Walk around aimlessly? You scratched your head. 

Before the feeling of imminent death, you were tossing and turning wanting to know more about Kageyama — and all of the knights for that matter. Even if you were friends, you were probably a bad one, granted you’ve never had any before. 

Seeing Kageyama, even for a moment, would put your mind at ease. 

The knight’s quarters was in a detached part of the castle, but there was an entrance that connected that to the palace near the kitchens. It wasn’t a far walk, but not the closest either? Should you risk it? You looked back to your night stand where you had placed the leather belt that held your new dagger. At first, you were reluctant to take it off, but now it felt wrong to put it on. 

If you had to defend yourself, how could you drench a gift in blood? 

You scanned your room. There were no other weapons unless you wanted to throw books at people or carry around a candle holder. Neither seemed like bad options, but the dagger was the more logical one. You frowned and buckled the belt under your cloak, around your waist. Tomorrow you were going to move an entire sword rack into your room.  

Going through the door felt wrong. Once you opened it, you would be met with a guard and they would either refuse to let you go or come with you. You didn’t want that. A clink of metal and the sound of footsteps rattled behind your door. 

Dread stabbed you. You felt like you were making this up in your head, but fear was a real thing. You froze. Nothing was happening. Everything was happening. You looked around your room again, trying to find something that you could seek comfort in.  Your eyes darted to your bookcase. The servant’s passage. 

You rushed over to it. Putting pressure on the left side of the case, you pulled it towards you. A hole opened up in the wall. You didn’t know where it led, but it would have to lead somewhere in the castle that was what these passages were made for. A louder sound came from behind your door. You wanted to leave. 

Grabbing a nearby lit candle, you went through the door, pulled the hatch shut from the inside and began your descent into the darkness with only a little bit of light. 

This was not creepy at all. 

Spiders were not creepy with their various sizes and multiple legs. Cobwebs didn’t brush against your cloak. Nothing of the sort happened. 

Despite those beautiful things, the passages were rather easy to navigate. They were almost a copy of the hallways above minus the fancy decor, access to certain rooms, and random doors littered throughout the hallway. Most passages were labelled to where they led out and the ones that weren’t, surprisingly, didn’t spark your curiosity about where they led.  

You felt safer down here than in your room, but you were on your way to Kageyama and the knights. If the King thought that the safest place for you was in your room, he was wrong, it was wherever they were. 

You were three-quarters away from the knight’s rooms when the warning bell rang. The sudden noise made you drop your candle and it went out. Thunderous footsteps stamped over your head. Dust and pebbles fell loosely around your head and feet. Without the light, you wanted to get out of here more than ever. 

Your hands began to shake as the bells became louder. Were you safer here? No one knew that you were here, but that was also the reason you wanted to leave. No one knew you were here and there were protocols in place for moments like this. Any minute, knights would be in your room prepared to take you to a safe hold or to the King until it was over. This never happened before. 

You placed your hand on the wall to steady yourself. You took a deep breath and started walking. If you waved your hand along the wall, you were bound to find an exit eventually. You tried to ignore stomping and bells, but they sounded as if they only got louder with added shouting. 

Relief flooded you once your hand hit the handle of an entrance. You had no idea how far you walked, where you were, or the circumstances outside, but at least you weren’t trapped in dark tunnels. 

The dagger was heavy on your waist. You pulled it from its sheath and gripped it tightly in your hand. This was what you were trained for.  Bracing yourself, you pushed on the door. You were met with some resistance, but it gave away. 

You rubbed your eyes, adjusting to the light. From the small glimpse you got of the hallway, you were closer to the armoury than the kitchens, but the distance was shorter than where you started. When they did, you regretted looking around. A small fire started in the yard just before the fences. Tables and vases were turned over on the floor or broken. Knights laid motionless on the floor. 

You winced as vomit threatened to come up your throat. You tightened your grasp on the dagger and made your way to the closest fallen guard. Kneeling beside them, you removed their helmet. A guilt consolation washed over you when it was someone you didn’t recognize. Blood trickled from the corner of her lips and her eyes were wide and unseeing. You clutched your jaw as you carefully laid your hands over her eyes and closed them. 

“Closing their eyes won’t bring them back to life.” 

Your armed hand slipped behind your back. You turned and were faced with two people. They were wearing plain clothes, weapons strapped to their legs and around their hips, and a mask covered everything below their eyes. You bit your tongue. 

You stood up, shoulders back and jutted out your chin a little, steeling yourself. “You missed your opportunity, you know. Why talk when you could’ve just killed me from behind. It’s rather an idiotic move.” 

One of the men’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his gaze landed just above your shoulder. 

You quickly sidestepped and stuck out your foot. A person that tried to attack you from behind tripped over your foot and fell to the ground in front of the two people. Taking their moment of confusion, you glanced behind you to make sure the rest of the hallway was empty. 

The man on the right kicked the person on the ground who was trying to stand back up. “You pathetic—” he cut himself off and glared at you. “We were supposed to take you back, Your Highness, but I think I’ll enjoy killing you.” 

Telling yourself you were going to be fine did almost nothing to comfort you, but your nervousness did. If you were going to die anyways, why filter yourself and your words? You covered your mouth and chuckled. “Yeah, what’s that about? No one ever tells me anything. It’s kind of annoying.”

“Just because you had some lessons with your light knight, you think you can take on all of us? You must be confident.” 

The three of them, now all standing, drew their swords. 

“Actually, I’m confident because I've had over a decade of lessons with people I’m sure are better fighters than you are. Better people than you are.” The dagger felt small in your hand, but you always knew it was the size of the weapon that mattered, it was how you used it. Slowly you brought your dagger forward, pulled your other arm backwards for balance, and planted your feet. “So the only question is if you want to be unconscious or dead.” 

The answer to that question was unconscious, but there were some things that people didn’t need to know. 

The person you tripped came at you first. He raised his sword arm in a slashing motion leaving his right side opened. You knelt down and pushed yourself forward. In a swift motion, you cut his ribs, stood up, twisted the dagger in your hand, and used the pommel to hit him on the head as hard as you could. He fell.

Strike fast.  

A second of stillness sat between the remaining intruders. 

You heard faint shouts between the warning bell, but you were already moving. You kicked one of them in the stomach, sending them back. A sting across your upper arm made you stumble. The pursuer pulled back their sword. Blood dripped down the blade. 

“I thought you wanted to go in for the kill,” you said, raising your blade.    

The person glanced at your small dagger and laughed. “It’s more fun this way, isn’t it?” 

You lunged forward. Cutting his sword hand with your dagger, you brought up your other hand and punched his side. You were behind him. You kicked him in the back and he fell forward. 

Strike first. 

A person stood behind them. You gripped your blade, bracing yourself for another fight, but the person raised their own weapon and smashed the bottom of the sword on their head. 

They stepped closer to you, their sword still raised and their spare hand clutching their side. You leaned back on your foot. But once you got a better look at them, you froze. 

“Kageyama?” 

His hair was messy and parts of his armour were falling off. Two blood patches saturated the clothes underneath, one on his lower thigh and the other on the side of his abdomen. The sword in his hand lowered. His face was pinched and his eyes were wide at the glimpse of you. Kageyama’s eyes travelled and landed on the blood that soaked your upper cloak. 

“You’re bleeding,” he said. His voice was rough, but there was an emotion that laced his words that you couldn’t put your finger on. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet; you didn’t feel anything. 

“I’m bleeding? You’re bleeding. What happened to you?” 

Kageyama blinked. “You used that dagger very well.” 

You glanced down and the blood-soaked dagger shook in your hand. “Surprise?”  

A sudden aggressive shout from beside you, made you both jump back. The man you had kicked earlier was up and had swung his sword. He went straight for you. Kageyama jumped in front of you, parrying the blade with his own. You went around Kageyama, on the side that the man left open by attacking, and slash across his ribs. The man fell to his knee and you took that moment to hit him on the side of his head.  

Maybe it was the shock from seeing Kageyama, but your hit never landed. Holding off Kageyama, he used his other hand and punched you in the ribs – maybe that was pay back for you. You fell on your back clutching your side. The air had been knocked out of you. 

“(Y/N)!” 

You tried to say you’re great, just fine, but all that came out was a wheeze. No amount of training could prepare someone getting hit really hard. The dagger had skidded away from your hand. Your eyes water so the fight happening before you was blurry. A ringing in your ears began, but you were sure if that was the warning bells or just in your own head. 

You laid there for a moment, collecting yourself. You didn’t want to feel pain, so don’t. You weren’t close to death — you didn’t know what that felt like and you didn’t want to. No yet. You were all that your father had. You were going to rule next. 

A loud grunt of pain and the clang of metal came over from the fight. Your eyes cleared.  Both swords were laying on the ground. The man had Kageyama up against the wall, his back to you, and a dagger from his thigh sheath aiming at Kageyama’s abdomen. You’ve read about how wounds would affect people and two the abdomen would probably kill him. 

“Kageyama,” you said. 

You pushed off the ground with energy you didn’t have. You grabbed your dagger and stumbled towards them. Your body moved on its own. You lunged forward, stabbing the man in the left shoulder. You gritted your teeth and pulled down. 

His screams were an afterthought as he leaned sideways and fell to the floor. There was blood on your hands. 

In a quick motion, he turned you away from the fallen man. 

“Hey,” he said. 

You heard his voice. You focused on the blood running down the dagger and dripping down the end, falling on the carpet, staining your cloak. 

Kageyama raised his hand and cupped your cheek, whipping away the tears streaming down your face. He stared at you for another movement before enveloping you in a hug, pinning your arms down to your sides but still mindful of the wound on your upper arm. You stiffened against him. Your mind was blank. But you were tired and Kageyama was warm. Slowly, you sunk into him, resting your head against him. 

Three men laid around you and Kageyama. 

There were only echoes left of the warning bells and the small crackle of the fire outside.  

The fear and nervousness that you used to keep you standing was the thing that weighed you down now. You took a breath and lifted your arms and wrapped them around him. It was better knowing that Kageyama was there sharing some of the weight. 

“Why weren’t you in your room?” your father asked. 

You sat across from him in the war room. It was also one of the only rooms that remained untouched by the invaders. You’ve never ventured down here before and you were clearly right not to do so because this room was on a different level of depressing. Though the room was full of natural light, with the windows rimming the top of the walls, going around the circumference, the room was fully concrete. Maps and books were pinned to walls and lined shelves. 

A rectangular table stretched the length of the room. The King sat at the head of the table, you sat on his right, and the rest was filled with trusted knights and advisers. It was intimidating, but you were also trained for this. One day you were going to sit at the head of the table. 

Kageyama sat across from you, two people down. It had only been two nights since the invasion happened. You hadn’t seen him since Tsukishima found the two of you hugging in the hallway. He didn’t see your tear stains or the bloody dagger that Kageyama had to pry from your grip. Kageyama wanted to stay with you more, but he had night duties to do and you had to fix your room. It was a good distraction.

You learned that it started in your room. The new shift change guard found a knight outside your room and your door opened. That was when the warning bells rang. Your room was ransacked and everything was turned over, which you spent those two days cleaning up. At first, the King wanted to move you into a different one, but you said no. He didn’t argue. 

Whatever the threat was, you still didn’t know. Maybe you could get Kageyama to tell you. Or not. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know anymore.  

“That,” you said, “is a great question. Would you like to hear it from the beginning or the middle? The beginning seems like a good choice, but starting at the middle would be more exciting and we could cycle back.” 

“Well, most of us know how it ends,” said your father. You froze. Only you and Kageyama knew really what happened and only a couple of them knew what your father was referring to. Tsukishima pressed his lips together to hide his laugh, but he wasn’t doing a very good job at it. Kageyama stared at the table. 

You brought a shaky smile to your face. “I liked that ending.” 

Kageyama’s eyes snapped to you. A more genuine smile took over when you looked at him. There were never good times for conversations. The ending that Tsukishima saw and the one that your father believed was a good one. You wanted Kageyama to know that too. Your eyes went back to the King who was smiling at you. Your hands clammed up. When was the last time you saw his smile? 

“Though the middle sounds exciting, the beginning please,” the King said.

You shook your head. “Right. I couldn’t sleep because I had a feeling that I was going to die. So I left through the old servant passage.” 

“You had a feeling that you were going to die?” Sawamura asked. You looked at him and realized that everyone was staring at you. 

“You know, when you’re taught how to use a sword, most people think the hardest thing to learn is how to hold the blade or memorize the techniques that go into balancing and footwork,” you said. You turned back to your father. “But the hardest is how to follow your instincts. It took me a while to do that, but that’s what I did. I guess it paid off.” 

Your father continued to stare at you as you muttered off the rest of your story, leaving out the fictitious ending. The advisor began talking about the casualties of the battle and the room was masked in mourning. The number wasn’t as high as you thought, about twenty people, but each of them felt that they were killed by your hands. You were the reason there was an attack. 

When that concluded, the advisor started talking about logistics and how long it’ll take to rebuild some places. Though your father was silently listening to what your adviser had to say, his hand was tapping on the table. Maybe you weren’t the only one who was getting a little bored. Did your father endure these types of things? Or did he enjoy this? Like Kageyama and all of the other knights, you never saw below the surface of who you thought he was. 

You waited a couple more minutes before you sighed and cocked your head. “Sorry to interrupt you,” you said, waving your hand in apology to the advisor. “But could I talk to my father for a moment? Alone. It won’t take that long. I estimate about fourteen minutes.”  

The room fell silent and the stares were back to you. 

Your father nodded. “Fourteen minute break everyone.” 

Everyone shuffled in their seats but didn’t move from them. You gritted your teeth. “That means everyone needs to get out. Now.” 

Kageyama snickered, and so did a few others, but followed your orders nonetheless. The shuffle of the chairs and closing of the doors lasted a couple of minutes, but soon it was just you and your father sitting at the table. 

“You get that from me,” he said.

You swallowed. “I understand why you didn’t tell me.” 

Your father leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. “I admit, my approach to the situation might not have been the best. It wasn’t something so dangerous that it needed to be kept from you.” 

You nodded. “We’re both kind of…” 

“Stubborn?” 

“Very.” 

“Another thing I get from you then?” you asked. 

Your father smiled. “Amongst many things.” 

You rested your elbows on the table and matched his grin. “I’m assuming that the reason they wanted me dead was some political thing?” 

“I can tell you more, if you want. If you invite everyone back in, the advisor could tell you.” 

“No. I —” You shook your head. “I don’t want to know.” 

He took a measured look at you. “What’s wrong?” 

You licked your lips. 

“You are my child. I can tell when something is wrong. You and Kageyama are not as subtle as you think you are.” He laughed. “I see the looks and hear the whispers. I am the King, you know.”

You let out a humorous laugh. “It’s not really about Kageyama. It is, but it’s not. You know those people who attacked Kageyama and I? The one with the slash on their back?” 

Your father nodded. 

Your body felt heavy and your eyes watered. You bit the inside of your cheek. “I did that. I— I killed that person. They were about to kill Kageyama and I just…” 

“Do you blame him?” 

“No.” You rubbed your eyes. “God, no. It wasn’t his fault.” 

“That’s good,” he said. His head hung low, looking deeply at his hands. “I blamed your mother a bit.” 

Your mind clouded. “What?” 

“When I was your age, something happened to your mother and I killed someone too. At first, I blamed her because I didn’t see any other choice because then I could only blame myself because it was my hands that killed a person. But we made it through, talked it out. It’s really different, learning how to protect yourself and actually doing it, which is way I told you—” 

“There are some things I can't learn from books.” 

He laughed mirthlessly. “Taking a life is not exactly what I had in mind for myself or you, but there it is. But I know that you are in the strangest position, knowing what you did was both right and wrong and doubting yourself because of that. It’s not going to get any easier. It’s something that you fight to live with. The person that I loved was safe and there was some consolation in that.” 

“The right part of the wrong,” you said. 

“Yes.” 

The room felt lighter. 

“I can help you with it,” he said. 

You let out a breathy laugh and smiled. “Like you did with swordplay.” 

Your father grinned. “Yes. Look how good you are at it.” 

“Thank you.” You felt the urge to hug him, but you weren’t sure if you were there yet. The smile and the kindness that he showed the rest of the kingdom was being shared with you. “Should we let them back in? I have a feeling that Tsukishima is meticulously counting the minutes I said this would take.” 

Your father leaned towards you. “He can wait another minute. You and Kageyama.” 

You scrunched your nose. Did you really have to do this now? You were just starting over with your father and you didn’t think you needed all of the reasons why your relationship with Kageyama wouldn’t work. You already knew all of them. “Yes?” 

“Do you like him?” 

“A normal amount.” 

Your father gave you an inquiry look. “I was lucky enough that your mother was someone who could be socially and politically accepted by my parents for marriage.” 

You crossed your arms. “You don’t have to rub it in.” 

“What I can tell you is that once you become ruler, gain your people’s respect and give them yours, you might find that they have bigger problems than who you chose to be with.” 

Your heartbeat quickened. “Thank you.” 

“Also, if you’re worried about what advisors might think, you are their boss. It would be very simple to do something about those people.” He sat up straight in his chair. “Just don’t ruin our people’s lives.” 

“I’ll try my best.” You laughed.

“Oh, and Kageyama is going to be your personal guard again.” 

“What?”  

“Forgot to tell you,” he said. “It was supposed to start two days ago but our home was invaded.”

“What?”

“I’ll allow some time for you to process this. I’ll start tomorrow.” Your father smirked and gestured to the door. “Go open the door, please. I think our fourteen minutes are up.”  

The adjoining knight building was a lot bigger than you expected it to be. You no longer had guards trailing you everywhere you went, but now you wish you had. Night had fallen, and though you knew guards were posted at all the entrances and walking about, it would be nice to have someone with you. 

Maybe that’s why your father set Kageyama to guard you again. You needed someone after everything. But that started tomorrow and you wanted to see him now. 

There were no guards standing at the knight’s entrance, so you swiftly walked past and pushed your way through the door. 

The loud chatting and shouts silenced the moment you stepped in. The entrance opened into the common room. Many knights were out of their armour but plenty of them had their sword belts hanging loosely around their waist. They all stood up at the sight of you and bowed. 

You waved your hand dismissively. “You don’t have to. Is Kageyama here?” 

“In his room, Your Highness,” Sawamura said. “I can go grab him.” 

“It’s okay, I’ll go. Where is it?” 

Sawamura and Sugawara shared a look that ended with amused smiles on their faces. You hadn’t seen many of them up close despite the people who were in the war room earlier that morning. Many of them had bandages around their limbs and opened bottles of medicine were scattered around the room. 

“It’s through there” — Sugawara pointed at the left-most passageway — “third door on your right.” 

You nodded. The sound of your footsteps echoed as you reached the entrance, no one daring to move a muscle. You stopped. You didn’t want that, for them to be scared of you. You turned, knowing everyone’s eyes were on you. 

“I just wanted to thank all of you for what happened two days ago. I know you risk your lives every day doing this and I appreciate that. I’m also really sorry if you lost one of your friends because of it.” 

The knights caught the glances of others before smiling at you. 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Yamaguchi said. “We know that it wasn’t your fault. It’s what we do.” 

Sawamura nodded. “When the time comes, it will be an honour to serve you.” 

The knights bowed once more before returning to their conversations.  

You took your time walking to Kageyama’s room, but took your time standing in front of his door. The last you knew, his wounds were fine and he was walking around perfectly fine too when you saw him in the war room. Courage had left you by the time the meeting was over but you had a hard time sitting through the rest of it without looking at him. 

Strike first. Strike fast. 

You knocked on his door. 

Faint footsteps thumped behind it. Kageyama started yelling through the door before he opened it. “Hinata I don’t have any more bandages” — the door snapped open — “go ask someone else.�� 

His eyes widened and his mouth hung open. He was wearing casual clothes, a beige tunic and black pants. His body was half-hidden behind the door. 

“You are not Hinata.” 

You stifled a laugh. “I know that. Do you?”

Kageyama blinked. Red flushed his cheeks and his gaze never left yours. 

You cleared your throat. “Are you going to let me in?” 

“Yes. Of course.” He stepped aside and opened the door fully for you. 

“Thank you.” You walked in and he shut the door behind you. His room was bare, only a bed, table, and closet filled the room. His sword hung from the bedpost and he had a couple of books stacked neatly on the table. 

“I’m so sorry,” Kageyama said. 

You turned. He hadn’t moved from his spot in front of the door. 

“And why is that?” you asked. 

“You had to kill someone because of me.” 

The chatter and liveliness you heard in the common room was drowned out by the heavy silence that filled the air in that room. 

“I don’t like what I had to do, Kageyama,” you said. He nodded solemnly; his chin dipped into his chest and his gaze settled on the ground. “I kind of hate myself for it a little and probably always will.” 

“That will be my burden to bear.” 

You bit your lip. You didn’t want that for him, but just like how you could erase your guilt, you doubted that you could erase his. “I don’t regret my decision.” 

Kageyama slowly raised his head. 

‘I don’t regret it for a second because you are standing in front of me and I can find solace in that.” 

“Really?” His voice shook. 

You took steps until you were in front of him. “You know what you said about how you would look at me and already find my eyes on you? That has always been true because I could not look away from you even if I tried. It’s not strange or by coincidence; you are the person who I want to be with. You are who I want to love and who I want to be loved by.” 

Your chest tightened with nervousness and Kageyama staring at you now, not saying a word, did nothing to ease that. 

“Or not, if that’s not what –” 

“(Y/N),” he said, cutting you off. 

“Yes?” 

“Would I be beheaded if I kissed you right now?” 

Your mouth gaped open and quickly morphed into a grin. “I guess that depends on how good the kiss is.” 

Without another second gone by, Kageyama closed the gap between you.  His hands ran the length of your back. The world spun around the two of you, leaving you completely still and dizzy. His lips were warm and soft, sending sparkes along your nerves and rested in your bones. 

When you parted, both of your breaths were heavy. 

Kageyama laughed. 

“What?” 

He laid his forehead on yours. “How could I not know that you trained how to fight when the King. I feel like an idiot.” 

You giggled. “You were so cute trying to teach me though. How could I say no?” 

A loud bang came from the door. You and Kageyama jumped away from each other like shrapnel. 

“Kageyamaaaaa,” Hinata’s voice shrieked through the door. “Tsukishima said you had all of the bandages! Stop hogging them.” 

Kageyama glared, stomped to the door, and threw it open. “I don’t have any freaking bandages.” 

You peered around him and saw that not only Hinata, but seven other knights were behind him. 

Sugawara waved to you. “Just making sure everything’s okay.” 

“Everything was fine until you idiots showed up.” Kageyama slammed the door in their faces. 

“So he really doesn’t have the bandages?” you heard Hinata ask as they walked away.  

“Sorry about that,” Kageyama said softly. 

You laughed. “It’s okay.” 

“I should probably take you back to your room.” 

You reach for Kageyama's hand. “Wait. I thought we could talk a bit more.” 

He nodded and pursed his lips in confusion. “Did we miss a topic?” 

“No. It’s just…the book you gave me?” 

“Yes?” 

“Could you tell me about your grandfather? I saw the inscription.” 

Kageyama beamed. He tightened the grasp on your hand and pulled you to the bed. You kicked off your shoes and leaned against the headboard. 

“My grandfather was my favourite person in the whole world.” 

Epilogue 

You and Kageyama drew your practice sword. The training room was rather full today. Knights, advisors, and staff with free time create a circle around the two of you as you and Kageyama circle each other. 

“Five silver pieces says Kageyama will beat (Y/N),” Hinata said. He glanced at you and then called out, “No offence, Your Highness.” 

“Five gold says (Y/N) crashes Kageyama,” snipped Tsukishima. 

“You don’t have five gold,” Hinata argued. 

Tsukishima glared. “Just because you don’t, doesn’t mean that I have.” 

The match lasted a total of seven minutes before Kageyama’s sword was on the ground, he was on the ground, and your sword pointed just under his chin. 

“You cheated,” Kageyama grumbled as you helped him up. 

“Maybe I’m just better than you are,” you smirked. 

Kageyama scowled. “You’re lucky that I love you.” 

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing.” 

Tsukishima made a sour face. “I came here to watch you fight, not flirt.” 

“I think they’re cute,” a voice said. The room fell silent as your father stepped into the circle. He held out his hand to Kageyama and guested on the sword. “May I?” 

Kageyama placed the blade in the King's hand and backed away slowly. 

The crowd backed away as well, making more space for their King and future ruler. 

“This is amazing,” Yamaguchi said. 

You and your father grinned at each other. 

“Taking on challengers?” your father asked. 

You braced yourself in a ready position and raised your blade. “Are you just going to stand there?”

You began the swordplay.

This one shot feels very strange…..and not that great even though it was the one I was slowly doing over the course of term…..writing it in spare time and when i was bored in class lsdjfl It’s kind of like Language of Flowers pt 3 where I wrote it over the course of the year and I felt like it didn’t flow that nicely….

Sorry for the tonal and language/dialogue inconsistencies lol … and that the geography of the palace makes no sense…Still have no idea how to write fight scenes. 

Sorry, too, for the delay…but it wouldn't really be my week without it right lmaoo I was going to cut this down…but it was kind of crucial to this plot thing going on so I wrote it in

Also…..(writing this in the editing phase) I think I’m killing Bacon with all the knew parts I added during this time….sorryyyy

Hope you enjoyed! - Kiwi

Posted: 17/05/2022

[drwcn]

midnight sun [snippet 14], following [10]

*aka the reveal scene y'all are probably waiting for, sorry it doesn't live up to expectation, lol im v tired*

↦

Lan Wangji used to have a dream, a repeating one. Nothing much happened in it, except he was back in the cave at the Burial Mount. It was how he remembered it before the Siege of Nevernight and the subsequent raid. Wei Ying was always there, perched on that slab of rock she claimed as bed. Lan Wangji knew she wasn't real. There was nothing in this world that could make him forget the terror of her wrenching herself from his grip and falling into the molten chasm. Yet there she was, sitting cross-legs on that rock, smiling at him, always smiling, as though she hadn't died violently and alone.

L-Lan Zhan - Lan Z-Zhan - Lan Zh-an -

He had never been able to discern what it was that she had tried to tell him...

Now, he finally knew, knew that he'd been fooled - no - that he'd been a fool.

Such a fool.

~~~

Everything happened slowly and all at once.

Yan'er!

Wei Wuxian shoved aside the arm Lan Wangji had raised to shield her from the blast of Jiang Yan's spiritual rage colliding with his xiongzhang's Shuoyue.

Lan Wangji watched, transfixed and horrified, as Wei Wuxian swept across the temple, a torrent of black cloth and dark unbound hair like demonic smoke coalescing around the girl curled on the ground.

The temple darkened. Shadows seemed to be drawn in to Wei Wuxian by a force unseen, and the epicenter of her being emanated a quiet eerie darkness that choked out any light. She gathered Jiang Yan from the ground and cradled the girl in her arms. Her eyes were red when she lifted them to cast a murderous glare upon Lan Xichen.

"Wei-gu'niang, I -" The master of Gusu Lan stumbled back half a step, horrified at what he'd inadvertently done and at the silent threat in those blood red eyes. "Is she - I did not mean to -"

Jiang Yan coughed abruptly, breaking the tension and jolting her mother's attention back to her. Rapidly, the demonic red faded from Wei Wuxian's eyes.

"Yan'er, Yueqian, you're all right; you're alright, just breathe."

Jiang Yan twisted and arched, pulling in several stridorous breath as she fought to quell the erratic torrents of qi flooding her meridians. Her gaze fleeted about, left and right, disoriented by the impact of her earlier rebound, until she focused in on the face in front of her, peering down in distress.

"You're alright, yatou. You're safe." (yatou = 丫头, girlie, lassie, can be an endearment term for girls)

For a minute Jiang Yan did nothing but stare up unblinkingly. She opened her mouth, teeth still rust-stained from the blood she'd spat up, but no sound came out. Then, all at once, she seemed to let go. Colour returned to her cheeks, overtaking her from collar to crown and drawing a shimmer to her eyes that Wei Wuxian realized, belatedly, was the refraction of candlelight through tears.

"阿娘。" A-niang. "哎- 哎，好孩子，我的好孩子，我是你阿娘。这么些年，是我对不起你。是阿娘的错，都是阿娘的错。" Y-yes, good child, my good child, I am your mother. All these years, I've let you down. It's my fault. All my fault. "阿娘，曕儿好想你。" A-niang, Yan'er missed you so much.

It need not be said that Jiang Yan could not conceivably have missed Wei Wuxian as she was, having never known her or known of her. Nevertheless, no one in that temple questioned the sentiment behind those earnest, innocent words. It was most natural, the longing of a child for the mother who must've have existed to bring her into this world but did not have the fortune to remain in it long enough for them to meet.

"A-niang, I feel...strange."

Wei Wuxian smiled. "I know, the feeling will pass. You'll be alright. Close your eyes, Yan'er, you need to rest."

Jiang Yan hesitated. "You won't leave? I still have so many things I wish to tell you. Promise, you won't leave?"

"I won't leave," promised Wei Wuxian, passing a hand gently across Jiang Yan's temple and leaving a glowing red talisman in its wake, which sunk softly into her daughter's skin. "Sleep."

Trusting, Jiang Yan smiled and grew still. Her breathing evened, and her head lulled to the side.

Across the temple, still reeling from the revelation, Lan Wangji struggled to his feet.

"Wei Ying -"

But he was not the only one. A sharp swoosh was all the warning there was before Sandu's blade edge swung beneath his chin.

"Jiang Cheng!"

"Jiang-zongzhu!"

"Jiang-xiong! " No one noticed when Nie Huaisang had awakened amidst the commotion.

Lan Wangji turned slowly to Jiang Wanyin and faced the man who had raised his daughter in his stead. In doing so, he had kept her identity hidden from the world.

Lan Wangji didn't know whether to thank him or hate him.

For thirteen years he had mistakenly believed that it was Jiang Wanyin who'd betrayed Wei Wuxian the most. He couldn't understand how anyone could do to the mother of their child what Jiang Wanyin did to Wei Ying at Nevernight. Especially yesterday, when Wen Ning had revealed the truth about his golden core, Lan Wangji had nearly been driven to murder by his fury. To think Wei Ying had given Jiang Wanyin everything she had, had hollowed herself out in more ways than one, and yet he had turned his back on her and treated her to the point of his sword.

Lan Wangji wanted him dead, had wanted him dead for so long. But he held back, employing his churlish silence and his spite as his only weapons of offense, not only because slaying a sect master would be an open declaration of war between their clans but because he could not deprive Wei Ying's only child of the one last parent she had left in this world. So many times he thought about telling her the truth, about how Jiang Wanyin had been the one to murder her mother, but what would that achieve but cause her more misery? She was happy as she was, living in her blessed ignorance, and because she could not hate Jiang Wanyin, Lan Wangji would hate him on her behalf.

But now, after the truth had been revealed and exposed to him every misconception and false notion he had stored like festering pus in his heart, he realized that the hatred that he felt must surely have been mutual.

"You don't get to speak to her, you faithless bastard." Jiang Wanyin cursed through grounded teeth. He glanced at Lan Xichen. "Zewu-jun, is this the true face of Gusu Lan? Hypocrites and liars who either uses and abandons or steadfastly defends a wretched creature beyond redemption at the expense of one of your own. Even if you do not recognize her as so, Yan'er is your niece!! She shares your blood!! How could you hurt her?!"

Lan Xichen had gone bloodless. Sweat dripped from his chin. His hands shook. "Jiang-zongzu, I - I did not know - I swear I did not mean - "

"Did not know?" Jiang Cheng laughed. "You think this matter can settled, can excused, if you simply exclaim ignorance?! What your perfect, honourable brother did to my sister, the absolute wretched state he had left her in after he violated her virtue - "

"A-CHENG!" Wei Wuxian yelled, head bowed and unable to look at any of them. "It's all the past; what's done is done. Stop, just stop -"

"I will NOT stop!" Jiang Cheng snapped back. "I've waited fourteen years for this moment. You may not care about yourself, Wei Wuxian, but you're of Yunmeng Jiang." He turned back to the younger of the Lan brothers, and continued through barely concealed malevolence, "What Lan Wangji owes you, owes Yan'er, I will make him pay."

[tbh]

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (part 9.5): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: it’s over. the ruse is up.

wc: 2.1k

tw: none

masterlist

“Have you ever considered just not going to meet the Prince and remaining in your rooms?” Kaori wonders as you sharpen a blade with a rock. “I mean, I’m sure he wouldn't bother you if you assumed the appearance of an invalid. How about getting out of town for a week?” 

She’s tried everything to get you to reconsider your stance on killing Prince Naoya. Any theory, any loophole, any cop-out; Kaori’s said it. But you have no choice. Geto has to be avenged, and the only way you can manage vengeance is killing the man who sent your lover to his death. 

“Listen, we have only a couple of days left. We can use poison, strangulation, accidental drowning, and straight-up murder - which I think is the messier of the bunch.” Toji ticks off methods as he watches you work away at the blade with determination. “I vote we poison his food, and if that doesn’t work, smothering can go a long way.” Megumi peers into the little pond in front of him as his father discusses treason, entirely uninterested in anything but finding another frog to play with. You envy the child and wish that you could take his place, forgetting everything else except the current pursuit of a frog. But your frog is much more elusive, slippery, and well-guarded.

“We have to drug the guards first,” you note, and Toji grunts affirmatively, biting his lip as he stares past you, deep in thought. You look at the scar on his mouth and squint, wondering if you’re just now noticing the pink-ish raised mark or if you’d seen it before, but never noted the way it looks against his tanned skin in the sunlight. You look away before anyone can accuse you of staring, but make a note to ask about the injury later. 

“How can you be assured that none of this will affect your parents?” Kaori wonders, and you look at her with a pensive stare. 

“I’m sure it wouldn’t affect them. They know nothing of the plot and I--”

“If you’re dead, you can’t defend them,” she reminds you, and for a moment, you reconsider the plan altogether. 

“Toji, do you think you could get my parents out of here safely?” 

“I can’t guarantee shit,” he replies, resting his chin on his palm as his green eyes focus in on you again. “But I can sure as hell try.” He adds when you give him a defeated look. You respond to his addition with a half-smile, and he rolls his eyes at the sight, huffing out a short breath. 

_______________________________________________________________________

“Try and hit me,” Toji encourages you, and you reach a hand out to slap him across the face. But you miss entirely and stumble forward, almost face-planting into the ground. “You can’t put all of your force in your upper body like that.” He chastises, stepping in front of you again. 

“Give me a rake and we’ll see about that,” you counter, earning you a loud laugh. Toji takes his stance again, hands prepared for a fight. 

“Come on, little girl, put up a serious fight. You don’t need a rake.” You inhale deeply, centering yourself with one foot placed behind you at an angle and one foot in front, planted firmly into the dirt. “Hit me.” 

The roundhouse kick narrowly misses Toji’s tan face, and his eyes widen as your heel barely scrapes his nose. 

“I said hit me, not kill me!” The bodyguard gripes, and you laugh at his overly-surprised expression and step back, holding your stomach as you bend over in a fit of giggles. When you stop and straighten back up, you catch Toji staring at you in wonder. 

“What?” 

“Your laugh… I’ve never heard you laugh like that before.” At the mention of your enjoyment, you hum thoughtfully, realizing, yes - you hadn’t laughed so heartily in a long time. But in his moment of unguardedness, you shoot your hand out - the fist making contact with his gut immediately. He grunts, holding his abs and wincing a little. “You… fucking... bi--” Before he can finish his sentence and grab you, you take off for the hill behind the house, laughing as you run with all of your might.

But Toji catches up to you easily, grabbing your elbow and making you tumble to the grass, then roll back down the hill in his arms. As you roll - and scream - grass and dirt and wildflowers are kicked up and tossed into your hair and clothes, dirtying your face as well. When you stop though, you’re on top of Toji, and his arms are crushing you against his chest protectively. 

“You can let go now,” you groan, and he opens his emerald eyes, staring right into yours with an intensity you’ve only seen on one other person’s face. “Toji…” you whisper, and his face changes again, now softer and much more… relaxed, if that was even possible. He blinks, and you pause, recognizing the meaning behind his looks. “Fushiguro, I--” He lets you go immediately, clearing his throat and standing. 

“We should get back before dinner. I’m fucking starving.” He saunters off with his hands in his pockets, not even offering to help you up off of the ground.  

_______________________________________________________________________

The moon hovers precariously in the night sky, illuminating the garden directly below it and bathing you in moonlight. You’re only a few hours away from meeting Prince Naoya, and it’s the thought of seeing him face-to-face that keeps you up tonight. What would he look like? Would he know who you are? Would he ask you any questions about Geto? 

Your eyes rest on the reflection of the moon in the fountain, Toji’s old dagger resting in your lap. 

“It ain’t much,” he mumbled when he handed it to you. “But if something happens, whether it’s with the food or the smothering... You’ve got this dagger.” Then he showed you how to murder someone quickly by using a pillow and your dagger, aiming precisely for the open space between his ribcage. “Stab once, pull it out, and run like hell if you want.” 

You inhale deeply, filling your lungs with fresh air. 

“Cold out here,” Toji mumbles, rubbing his arms as he walks out of the house barefoot. “Can’t sleep, y/n?” 

“No,” you admit, then jerk your chin at him. “You?” 

“I don’t get much rest these days,” he replies, sitting beside you at the fountain. “Worried about tomorrow?” You look over at the green-eyed man and blink, your blank expression telling all. “Well, I’m not. You’re going to be fine.” 

“And what will you do when you have to watch me be executed?” you tease, but Toji’s eyes fall to the fountain, eyeing the moon’s reflection. 

“It’ll be sad. But I understand why you have to do what you’re doing.” 

“Toji Fushiguro? Sad?” You laugh, but he gives you a withering look instead of laughing along with you. 

“Listen, I’ve made a lot of off-color remarks, but I meant what I said. You’re a great person, and I would hate to see your life go to waste over some petty vendetta.” His mumbling catches you off guard, but you say nothing in response, opting to look down at the dagger instead. “But, you’re determined to pursue your lover into the afterlife; I get it. You must really be in love with him.”

“I am,” you reply, still not looking at Toji.

“Well, since you’re going to die tomorrow, I might as well be transparent with you,” Toji whispers. “You know, looking after you was a pain in the ass at first.” You frown at him, wondering what kind of comment that is, but he continues anyways. “But you grew on me. Shit, watching you for these months has become enjoyable, more exciting than the idiocy I used to do before. Y/n… I’m--” Toji swallows hard, then raises his eyes to meet yours. “I’m... going to miss you.” Toji leans in slowly, placing a rough hand on your right cheek before kissing the other cheek with a tenderness you always knew he held deep inside. Once he pulls away, he stands, raking his hands through his short hair and sighing before walking back into the house. But you’re left outside, wondering what could’ve been if you weren’t so hell-bent on bringing your dead lover justice. 

_______________________________________________________________________

The sounds of horses, bells, cheering, chants, cacophony… too much noise.

You can hear it all from your position in the kitchen. The village is louder than it’s ever been before, and all the noise provides the perfect background noise to you and your mother’s preparing food for the six of you already living in the house and about thirteen guests- the seven guards, the four servants, a royal advisor, and finally, Prince Naoya. The resulting feast will outshine any feast your mother has cooked before, and you know that the village will speak of the honor bestowed upon your house and the cooking from it for at least a day. 

The next day, they will be lamenting the loss of the eldest son of the Imperial Court, and rejoicing upon your execution. Just like they celebrated Geto’s death. 

Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy, Su, you pray as you peel a leek with precision. Only a few more hours and Naoya would be within your reach. 

First, you’d drug him with a powder Toji had acquired in exchange for… something unmentionable that he wouldn’t divulge. Second, you would help the prince off to his bed as the drug took hold of him and tuck him in. Then, you’d smother him to death. If that didn’t work - “and there’s a chance that it might not”, Toji warned - you would stab him in the heart. Death would reach the Prince’s soul before the morning light. And you would be ready to die the next day, all to meet Geto in whatever world he had passed on to.

An icy hand grips your heart as the hours pass.

The thought of rejoining your lover - feeling his arms around you, touching his hair, looking into his black eyes - is more than enough for you to pretend everything is alright. All you’re doing is making the most of the last few hours you have with your family, Kaori, Toji, and Megumi. The small child is parading about in his newest outfit, displaying his hakama and haori for all to see and coo over. Toji wears a matching outfit, the clouds and animals drifting about his black haori reminding you of a zoo display and of the days you wish you could have. 

You’re wearing your best kimono - the peach one Kaori dressed you in the day you left the camp; Suguru’s mother’s kimono. It’s all too beautiful, really. Everyone is dressed up like royalty, but you’re the only one who came dangerously close to that life and escaped by the grace of a certain General who had your heart. Now, you would murder royalty and die as much of an outcast that Suguru was. 

After you wash your hands in the fountain, you place the dagger inside your kimono and look at yourself in the mirror for the last time. Color had returned to your cheeks over the past few days, and a certain look in your eye had become commonplace. You had something to live for, and these days would remain in your memory as the best days you’ve had since Geto died. 

“They’re coming up the path,” Kaori hisses as she walks past you, ushering Megumi and Toji to the door behind your mother and father. “Come on.” You follow them obediently, standing behind your father and mother as the procession winds its way down the road. While soldiers, musicians, villagers, everyone is parading in front of the carriage carrying the murderer of your lover, you look to the ground and clench your fists. Your resolve steels itself in your spine as you hear the procession get even closer, the clanging making your jaw tighten and your knees tremble. Too much noise, too much noise, too much noise for a man who slaughtered innocents.

The music dies down when the carriage comes to a halt, but the sound of children excitedly squealing nearby. You keep your eyes downcast, not daring to look the spiteful man in the face or attract attention to yourself. The echo of children’s excited chatter stabs you in the heart even deeper - how could children be excited by this killer? - and you try to block out the memories of Itadori, Junpei, and Nobara, but to no avail. 

You’re trying so hard that tears are streaming down your face, and mucus gathers in your nose as you begin to cry quietly. Megumi reaches up to grab your hand tenderly, holding it in his five little fingers as you hear the door to the carriage swing open slowly. You avoid looking, and sniff so hard you almost miss the first words out of a certain blue-eyed bastard’s mouth: 

“Whoa; watch your step, Yuji! You don’t want to fall in front of Lady y/n, do you?”

_______________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @kamisamaundercover​ @jotazinha​ @just4readingfics​ @mxhi​ @sammytamaki​ @brownskinnedgirll​ @keelyshayee​ @leanne-tamashi​ @vabybizzle​ @amaris9​ @fuegy-fuegy​ @ambiguous-something​ 

[smellsfaintlyofvanilla]

Hey~~ could you write Annie x reader? What I had in mind was towards the end of s1 when Annie was trying to climb up the wall, could she try and take reader with her because they always talked about being together? Kinda like when Ymir took Historia in s2, and I really love your writings 💕 thanks~

TAsdfhjksfadh you didn’t specify whether Annie made it over the wall with the reader or not so uh I just kinda picked one lol hope you don’t mind

Also, sorry this is a little late, I've been feeling just a little sick for the past couple of days.

Prove It

(Annie Leonhart x Reader)

AU: Canon

Warnings: Season 3 spoilers

Category: Mostly angst, little fluff

Summary: When Annie was outed as the Female Titan, she didn’t have a lot of options on where to go. And, as the fight between her and Eren progresses, it becomes clear her best option is to flee. Yet, there’s just one thing she can’t leave without. And it seems the feeling’s mutual.

Words: 3.1K

That wicked laughter.

It rung through the empty streets of Stohess, abandoned specifically for this military operation.

The goal? To lure out the suspected Female Titan, Annie Leonhart. Your girlfriend.

At first, you were violently against participating in the operation. You weren’t going to incriminate her, that would be incredibly faithless. Really, you wanted nothing more than for her to be vindicated, and to prove the the world the the “heartless” Annie Leonhart is a loyal soldier, not the traitorous snake they started to make of her.

It got in your head, most certainly. Within hours of the first discussion, ‘Annie Leonhart’ and ‘Female Titan’ had become synonymous with each other, and you hated every bit of it. You always defended her fiercely, because you could only hear so much distasteful talk towards her before you started to broil over with rage.

So, you agreed. You were going to lure Annie down in to the tunnel and prove once and for all that she wasn’t a monster. You could clear her of suspicion, and the two of you would go back to your ordinary lives with each other.

And oh, if only that was what happened.

But you watched in horror as Annie refused to go down the tunnel. She laughed, laughed, when you pleaded with her to follow you, that all she needed to do was come along with you to be unshackled from the scrutiny and doubt.

But her feet remained planted in her rigid stance of defense.

“Y/n...” She slurred out, laughter finally subsiding. “I’m glad I could be a good person to you.”

The slope of fear seemed to lose it’s steadiness, and the drop-off into the pit of empty horror occurred when she held up her hand to her mouth, preparing herself for the bloodshed to follow.

“You’ve won your bet. But this is where my bet begins...!”

The signal flare fired, and the countless soldiers waiting in ambush jumped from all angles. You watched, wide-eyed and frozen, as they restrained her and gagged her, like muzzling a dog. But, it was no use. Her ring, the silver ring she never let you touch, sprung up a spike out of it’s side, and a quick slide of her thumb across the tip opened up a bloody gash in her finger.

And then came the lightning.

Mikasa had thrown her arms around you and Armin, dragging you down into the tunnel to get out of harm’s way of the transformation.

You knew she had finished her transformation when the thundering stopped, and chunks of debris rolled to a stop at your feet, stirred dust slowly settling itself back onto the stone ground. For a moment, everything stilled, and only the ragged breaths of Armin and the sheathing of Mikasa’s blades were audible.

And then something moved.

You weren’t sure what it was, until around the corner, the light was consumed by a large shadow, growing closer and closer and absorbing more of the sunlight until it rounded the corner.

A fingertip. Then the finger. Then the hand. An arm—and it was traveling down the hallway, fingers frozen in a pose as if it were trying to grab onto something, something it couldn’t see.

“Shit!” You let out a terrified yelp and took off running, Mikasa hot on your tail and Armin stumbling closely behind.

It sought after the three of you, until a distant thump could be heard. You whipped your head around and stopped running, noticing the hand—ever present, it’s finger stretched desperately in an attempt at grabbing something, but it was no use. You caught a glance of it’s upper arm, flush against the wall of the curve.

She couldn’t reach any farther.

You let out of a sigh of relief, falling to your knees and gazing at it. It’s shaking fingers stopped, finally, and went limp into it’s palm in defeat, before slowly pulling itself out. You had no clue whether it was trying to grab you, or Armin, or Mikasa, or if it was planning on killing you or not. Bottom line, it was unsuccessful.

But then more thunder.

It seems Eren finally got his cue, because the signature yellow hues of transformation shone even into the dark abyss of the wrecked tunnel.

The three of you took a deep breath and shared a collective glance. Before long, the unsaid instructions were followed, and the three of you scurried out of the tunnel to witness the action.

And action it was—the first sight you were greeted with upon exiting was that of Annie delivering a decisive punch to Eren’s jaw, sending him flying backwards into the streets of Stohess.

Eren returned to his feet as fast as he could, and let out a menacing roar as he charged at Annie, arms low like a football player preparing to pounce on something.

He charged, but her feet remained planted, arms bracing for impact.

You watched as the two of them brawled furiously. You didn’t even notice that Mikasa and Armin had left your side—you hadn’t moved. You couldn’t find it in your heart to fight Annie, but neither were you going to fight Eren. No, all you could do was watch, helpless.

The battle continued fiercely, absolutely wrecking the city in the process. Building were destroyed and crumpled, streets of stone completely upended as one or the other got helplessly tossed around.

It came to a head as the fight eventually progressed to a wide, open space of stone, and the two of them were fighting hand to hand, both of them looking worse for wear. You shot your ODM gear into the roof of a nearby building, watching the fight with a slacked jaw. You had no clue how Eren was even standing a chance to Annie, since you yourself had seen how skilled she was in martial arts.

Soon, though, a decisive kick to Annie shin sent debris and rocks flying everywhere. Annie lost her footing, tumbling to the ground with a thump.

And you had been so fixated on Annie in that moment that you failed to notice the debris, and it was headed right towards your face.

Something—rigid and powerful—collided with your head, and you fell to the ground instantly.

Your vision was already fading, and you watched as tiny streams of crimson flowed over the shingles and down the roof—no doubt stemming from the newly opened gash on your scalp.

The distant clinking of the rock as it tumbled down the slope of the roof was the last thing you heard, and the world around you faded to black.

---

Through the darkness, a memory flashed through your mind.

---

It was dark out, of course it was. Shadis would never let you have leisure time at all when the sun was up.

You leaned against an lone oak tree, fingers brushing through the soft grass idly. The air was cold and crisp, and a soft breeze flowed through the air, just barely enough to rustle your soft hair.

Annie sat silently next to you, shoulder brushing up against yours. Slowly, she slinked her hand over yours, hesitantly grasping at your hand. You entwined your fingers with hers, and she looked away shyly.

She often had bouts of insomnia, lying awake at night for hours, unable to get her body to relax. And, the first night she tugged at your nightshirt, waking you up to go outside with her, she fell asleep in your arms due to exhaustion almost immediately.

So, it had become an unspoken ritual from that day on. She couldn’t sleep, she’d wake you up, the two of you would go outside, and talk or busy yourselves until sleep inevitably caught up to her.

But today was different. For whatever reason, something had been keeping her up for a lot longer than usual. You knew something was weighing down on her heavily, but you weren’t going to pry it out of her.

Deciding to break the tense silence, you squeezed her hand gently, getting her attention before you spoke.

“It’s nice out, isn’t it?” You observed. You weren’t talking about the weather per-say, but the thousands of white speckled stars that dotted the sky, and the bright, full moon that illuminated the grass and dirt beneath you.

“It’s cold.” She said bluntly.

You chuckled softly, her bleak attitude was so characteristic of her.

“I guess that’s true.”

More silence.

And then she sighed, bringing your hand into her lap to cusp it in both of her palms, clinging onto it as if it were grounding her.

“What do you plan on doing later in life, Y/n?” She huffed, leaning her head backwards against the back of the tree and gazing up at the sky. “You don’t possibly plan on staying in the military your whole life, do you?”

“No, of course not.” You sighed.

“Then do you have plans afterwards?”

You paused for a minute. She raised a good point, you didn’t really think of anything after the military. Deep down, perhaps you understood that by joining the Cadet Corps you didn’t have much ahead of you. You can only survive so many brushes with death before it’s your turn to go.

“I guess not...” You hesitated, deep in thought. You swallowed a lump in your throat before changing the subject. “Why, do you?”

Even through the darkness, you could feel the shrug of her shoulders against you.

“Not really.” She muttered. “Just... stay with the MPs, make a living wage, retire somewhere in the interior, and... relax. I just wanna... find somewhere to relax.”

She paused for a second. Clearly there’s something tugging at her mind, something she wants to say. So, you sit back and wait for her to find the confidence.

“Do you promise me that... sometime, after a while in the Scouts, that you’ll come back to be with me?”

The future between the two of you was always painted with uncertainty—whether the two of you could ever truly stay together. It would be difficult, between soldiers, to be able to settle down and stay together no matter what, especially from different regiments. But you could always try.

She exhaled shakily, struggling to get the words out of her throat.

“I just can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you. ‘Cause... if anything ever happened to you in the Scouts...” Her voice trailed off near the end, and you assumed she was trying to plan out her next words carefully, until you heard a small sniffle pass her lips.

Surprised, you turned to face her. She was trying to fight off the tears at the corners of her eyes, lip trembling as she struggled not to cry. It wasn’t until now that you realized just how tightly she gripped your hand.

“Annie- Annie it’s alright.” You stumbled, trying to comfort her. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was upsetting her—she was scared of living a life without you.

You hooked an arm around her lower back, pulling her closer to you and putting your other hand on the back of her head and guiding her to your shoulder.

“I promise you, no matter what, I’ll live. And one day, we can spend all our time together. I’ll go wherever you go, I swear.” You ran your hand through her hair, undoing the bun she kept it in and evening it out over her shoulders.

“You promise?” Her voice sounded shaky and weak, a vulnerability to it that she rarely showed. “No matter what happens to me, you’ll trust me and stay with me?”

“I promise. Of course I do.”

---

Warmth.

It was the first thing you noticed upon waking up. The second was darkness. You sat up, noticing how wet the surface beneath you was. And how how fleshy.

Your face paled in realization. You were in a titan's mouth.

You raised your arm up, cringing at the trail of saliva that connected you to her tongue.

Immediately, you searched for a way to get out. You didn't plan on leaving her behind, but you'd rather not be stuck in a place as slimy and dark as this either. However, your efforts were pointless, since her jaw was clamped shut, her teeth caging you in and preventing you from escaping. Your heart dropped a little, wondering if she didn't trust you not to run away.

Suddenly, you felt a large thump, the unexpected movement causing you to grab desperately at anything that would keep you grounded in one spot.

But then, another thump. And another, and another. It felt like running, almost, but far too slow. You pondered it for a moment, before you realized what was going on.

She was trying to climb the wall.

But then, the thumping stopped. She wasn't falling, thank god, but all movement has seized.

Hesitantly, her jaw started to open, giving ample space for you to squeeze through. A sudden thought came to you—she needed your help.

With no hesitation, you drew your blades and burst through the skin of her cheek, not even waiting for her to part for lips. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you immediately search for the source of the problem. And you found it in the brute of a soldier, Mikasa Ackerman.

The girl was perched on Annie's nose, staring down at her. A quick glance to your side and you realized, with horror written all over your face, that Mikasa had cut off almost all of Annie's fingers—one more and Annie would easily lose her grip.

You understood, as soon as Mikasa drew her blades towards Annie's hand, you only had one option.

You shot your ODM gear towards her, not even caring when the hook dug into Mikasa's shoulder, causing her to yelp in pain as she turned to you.

She wasn't even given a moment to process as you came hurtling towards her, colliding with her shoulder and sending both of you flying through the air and towards the ground—fast.

Despite the small voice telling you that it would be easier to just ditch Mikasa, to release your ODM gear and let her fall, you shot the other hook into the wall, and your momentum halted to a stop.

She peeled her arms away from their protective guard around her head, processing that the two of you had stopped before looking up to you in surprise. You looked back down at her, an expression of sorrow in your eyes. It hurt you to betray her, and all of your comrades, like this, but you knew as soon as Annie placed her trust in you by opening her mouth that you only had one choice.

"Y/n what are y—!"

"I'm sorry Mikasa!" You yelled, trying to put aside your emotions for the time being. "I can't... I can't leave her, I promised I wouldn't!"

You took a deep breath, positioning on your finger on the trigger, preparing to release Mikasa from your ODM gear's bloody grip in her shoulder. "I'm sorry..." You muttered, before pulling the trigger, watching Mikasa tumbled towards the ground, her betrayed expression still glued helplessly on her face.

You decided that it would only hurt you to look at Mikasa—engraining that image into your head would certainly plague you later on.

You finally turned to look back at Annie, and your heart picked up a couple paces at the sight.

Her head was turned to you, watching—waiting—for you, her hand outstretched in your direction. You smiled, firing your ODM and flying into the palm of her hand, quickly climbing up onto her shoulder to allow her to finish her ascent up the wall.

You turned back one last time, looking over at the destroyed city, and the furious and betrayed faces of your comrades. You sighed, turning back around. That's in the past now, you thought. It doesn't matter. I... made a promise to Annie, I can't betray her. I can't...

---

The line of trees in the distance grew closer and closer as Annie jogged forwards, having made it over the wall and all the way to the forest inside Wall Maria.

She slowed down to a walking pace as she neared the trees, kneeling on the ground before releasing herself from the nape of her titan. Steam flowed from her body as she immediately collapsed forwards, and you instantly lurched forwards to catch her exhausted body in your arms.

"Grab on." You instructed, waiting for her to securely wrap herself around you before you flew through the air and onto a tree branch, making sure you were safely out of the reach of any mindless titans before you let go of her.

She took a deep breath, leaning against the wooden trunk of the tree to recollect her strength. After all, even as a titan, the fight had done numbers to her body.

You sat there in comfortable silence for a little bit, waiting for her to catch her breath while you idly readjusted the straps to your ODM gear.

Finally, she reached over to take your hand, grabbing it in both of hers just like she had during your conversation with her years ago.

"I'm so glad..." She sighed, voice weak and wavering. "I was so scared when I opened my mouth that you would just... run off without me."

Slowly, she shifted, wrapping her arms around your neck and leaning her entire body weight on you. You could feel some of the tension leaving her body as she sighed against you, burying her nose in the crook of your neck.

"I was terrified that if you found out my real identity, you would just leave me. I don't know how I would've handled it. I was just..." She took a shaky inhale as she continued, and you felt a few wet tears against your neck. "Scared. So... So scared..."

You set a comforting hand on her back, hugging her tighter in an attempt to sooth her.

"Annie..." You cooed in her ear. "I promised you, remember? I would never leave your side. I'm gonna stay with you for the rest of my life."

Her breathing started to calm against you, your words managing to ease her worries.

"Yeah," She sighed, pulling away from you. "I shouldn't have doubted you, sweetie."

You smiled and placed your hands on her shoulders, bringing her in for a quick kiss before wiping her tears with the back of your hand.

"It's fine. Just remember," You leaned in and hugged her, exuding a warm feeling that made Annie's heart swell with love. "I'll always be on your side, no matter what."

"God, I love you so much, you dork." She muttered, heat rising to her cheeks with a content smile.

You chuckled, "I love you, too."

MAN THIS IS ASS

This is what happens when you force yourself to write with a headache whoops haha

[pirate-au]

A Pirate's Life for a Prince (Part 6)

Summary: Roman was a dashing Captain, content with his exciting life out at sea, diving head first into adventure both on and off land. He wouldn't give up his life for anything, and yet he found himself...lacking something. He was never sure what.

When he meets Virgil, a seemingly common traveler in an old tavern, that lacking feeling in his chest goes away for the first time in a long while. So surely there's no harm in offering the stranger and his friend a ride, right?

Notes: Thank you again to @cheshirevalentine for helping with editing and the descriptions of sword fighting, They've got a side blog for this au, go check out @actorau

TW: a little blood and injury and really gay pining

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Virgil had no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

Roman was frowning at him, watching Virgil with scrutinizing eyes before sheathing his own sword at his side.

“Have you never held a sword before?” he asked, his hands on his hips. “It’s like you’re afraid of it.”

Virgil huffed, lowering the sword that was steadily becoming embarrassingly heavy to his side, cheeks burning red with shame under Roman's judgment. “I don’t know what you think I was doing in that palace, but it wasn’t sword fighting.”

“But I thought you were raised as a prince.”

Virgil had asked before, once or twice when he was much younger, but it had been shut down almost immediately, and the request had never even made it to his Uncle. He would never be the dashing Prince who charged into battle, brandishing a sword like it was nothing. That wasn’t the kind of prince they wanted him to be.

“Whatever.” Virgil would really rather not discuss this right now, especially not here. “Why are we even doing this?”

“Because you have to learn to defend yourself,” Roman said simply, moving around Virgil to check his stance. “I won’t always be here to save the day, you know. Now, lift your sword again. I’ll fix your hold.”

Roman was behind him, making Virgil’s shoulders tense instinctively, but he forced himself to relax and do what he was told.

“Come on,” Roman urged as Virgil lifted the sword. “I promise this will help you feel more secure.”

Virgil rolled his eyes when Roman moved back around, mostly to cover up how uneasy and inadequate he felt. He wasn't exactly excited to show off how weak he was to a pirate Captain who had already seen him cry twice.

“Running away has worked out pretty well so far,” Virgil said, but kept the sword lifted all the same. “I’m not gonna be any good at this.”

“You don't know that," Roman said quietly, moving beside Virgil. He moved to help him hold the sword and hesitated, awkwardly maneuvering his hands as if he wasn't sure how to place them around Virgil's. “Uh… my apologies. Is it alright if I touch you?”

Virgil only hesitated a second, forcibly shoving down the panic rising against his will. It was just Roman, and Roman had made it clear that he wouldn’t hurt him. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Alright then.” Roman moved slowly, clearly trying not to spook Virgil, placing himself behind the prince once again and gently wrapping his warm hands around Virgil’s own. The weight of the sword lifted considerably with his help. “The way I was taught was rather… untraditional. It’s easier to teach like this.”

Virgil nodded, trying to focus on keeping his breathing steady. “So… where did you learn to sword fight?”

“My brother and I learned a long time ago,” Roman said, curt in the way that told Virgil the Captain would prefer to discuss anything else. “Anyways. I’ll teach you to block and parry first.”

Virgil wanted to apologize for prying, but it was already hard enough to form words with the feeling of Roman’s hands encasing his own, his chest rising and falling against Virgil’s back. He had the sudden, ridiculous urge to close his eyes and lean back against the steady warmth.

“Uh, ok,” he said instead, forcing himself to focus. “Just… be patient with me I guess. I’m kind of a slow learner, so… sorry in advance.”

“Nonsense,” the Captain chided. “You’ll do fine.”

Virgil nodded, his breathing still a bit uneven as he let Roman move his hands to the Prince’s wrists. He guided his arms, first to slowly swing up to block at his left shoulder, and then down.

"When you block, you want to make sure your assailant isn't pushing you back,” he said. “On a ship, that could be the difference between being cast overboard or staying dry." He dropped a hand to pat Virgil's left hip. "It's best to step forward after that, preferably with your non-dominant leg. It will give you a stable base to attack on, so make sure your weight is centered."

Virgil was doing his absolute best to listen to what Roman was saying, but to be fair he was pretty sure he was going to suck at this whether he could comprehend the instructions or not.

But Roman was still holding his hand, warm and strong, and when the Captain moved to touch his hip Virgil could only respond with a slightly panicked, "Okay."

“To attack,” Roman continued, his voice a gentle murmur in Virgil’s ear. “Take another step with your other leg and swing forward-” He stepped with Virgil, guiding their arms to swing at their invisible assailant. "Your sword is an extension of your arm. You don't want to overextend and throw yourself off balance, that will give your opponent a chance to swing at you. Now, back-” He stepped back, gently pulling Virgil with him. "Block, forward, attack, back."

Virgil couldn’t breathe, something he was unfortunately used to, but for once it didn’t feel like a bad thing.

The panic wasn't all consuming and cold, it was warm and it made him feel lightheaded and distant. Roman was up against him, guiding his movements, and although he knew he probably looked absolutely pathetic holding the sword, in the moment it felt like he could do anything.

Other than Patton, no one had ever been so gentle with him. It had been so long since he’d been touched without the intention to hurt.

“Once more,” Roman instructed. “Block, forward, attack, back. Look at you! You’re doing amazing already.”

Virgil’s face grew hot, chest light at the praise. It took him a moment to find his voice, choked and unsteady. “I… thank you.”

“Now we pick up the pace,” Roman said, slowly starting to increase their speed. “You’re doing so well. Just a bit faster now and then I’ll let you try it on your own.”

After a moment of the back and forth, the two almost dancing in the afternoon sun, Virgil closed his eyes for just a second, basking in the warm glow, the feeling of Roman’s hands over his, content and safe.

“Now,” Roman said softly. “Can you show me?”

Virgil’s eyes snapped open, reality slamming back into him as Roman stepped away and the sword momentarily wobbled in the air, the Prince struggling to keep it upright by himself.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” He hesitated, face burning for an entirely new reason this time. God, he was so stupid. He could vaguely recall the movements, but… he'd just end up looking like an idiot if he tried it by himself. "Sorry, uh… could you let me watch you first? Sorry I'm just… kind of slow sometimes."

“You’re not slow,” Roman assured, sending Virgil a patient smile. “Some people are visual learners, it's only a matter of preference. I'm a kinesthetic learner, so I have to do it, rather than see it."

Virgil shrugged, still not fully convinced he wasn’t just stupid. “I guess.”

Roman unsheathed his own practice sword and lifted it, turning so he was parallel to where Virgil was standing, and began the back and forth.

“Block, forward, attack, back,” he said, repeating the motions twice, faster the second time. "Ideally, a fight isn't so tense and scripted. You have to learn to think on your feet. And always, always play dirty. A fair fight is sure to get you killed." He lowered his sword, facing Virgil with a smile. "Ready?"

Slightly stunned by how patient Roman was, Virgil nodded and took a shaky breath. The Captain’s patience was bound to run out soon if he didn’t hurry up and get this right.

“I’m ready.”

He began to copy Roman’s movements- block, forward, attack, back. He knew it looked clumsy and ridiculous, and not even close to what Roman was expecting. The sword still felt heavy and foreign in his hands, and he turned sheepishly to the Captain when he was finished, fully prepared to apologize for doing so poorly.

But Roman was smiling at him, wide and genuine. He sheathed his own sword again, placing his hands on his hips.

“You learn quickly!” he praised. “This particular style requires a lot of physical conditioning. Your abdomen, back, wrists, and hands all need conditioning if you're to properly hold your sword. Though, I'm sure we have a rapier around here somewhere that may better suit you."

Virgil furrowed his brow. “A rapier?”

“Something smaller,” Roman explained, eyes softening. “It might be a bit easier for you. Logan prefers lighter weapons, as well.”

“Oh,” Virgil said, arms already growing sore from the strain of the sword. “Maybe.”

“We’ll save that for later,” Roman said. “For now, I need you to take the rhythm you just learned, and I need you to forget it. Falling into a rhythm can mean spacing out, and without the utmost concentration, you're dead. Now! Make like you're going to attack me.”

Roman didn’t move, didn't even unsheathe his sword, and Virgil frowned when he just stood there, waiting expectantly.

“Uh… okay?” He cautiously positioned the sword again and pointed it at Roman, the Captain still unarmed. “Like this?”

Roman nodded, looking Virgil over carefully. "Widen your stance. For you… I think it's best to stave on the balls of your feet. I believe I've been teaching you how I was taught, and since our body types are so different..."

He trailed off, smiling dropping into a small frown, eyebrows drawn together as he studied Virgil’s stance.

"Don't focus so hard on grounding yourself,” Roman instructed. He finally took his blade out with a flourish, spinning it once before he widened his stance, holding his sword at the ready. "Attack me.”

“I- what?” Virgil wasn’t sure if he was more worried about hurting Roman, or Roman hurting him. The latter seemed more likely. “I’m not gonna… I can’t just start stabbing at you!”

“You can,” Roman declared, shifting eagerly on the balls of his feet. “That’s how you learn. I won’t bite, I promise. Now, attack me! If you hesitate in battle, your foe won’t hesitate to take your life.”

“I guess,” Virgil relented. “Okay.”

He pushed down the lingering uneasiness, both from the sight of a much larger man holding a sword in front of him, and the off chance that he might actually end up hurting the Captain. Virgil moved forward, still hesitant, moving to attack slowly with no real intent to hit.

Roman was silent and still, holding his sword at the ready. He stepped forward to intercept Virgil's blade, twisting his own to knock the handle out of Virgil's grip. His sword clattered to the ground between them and Roman took a step back.

“You can do better,” the Captain said. “We both saw it. Again.”

Virgil reached down to pick up the weapon off the ground, keeping his eyes on Roman and the weapon in his hand. "What if I… accidentally stab you?"

“I’ve been stabbed before,” Roman said, clearly biting back a rising smile. “And you’re a fragile ex-prince who’s never held a sword before. I’m not worried.”

Virgil scowled, hoping his embarrassed flush wasn't as obvious as it felt. He still hesitated, this time with a bit more force. “Well, if you’ve gotten stabbed clearly you can’t be that good.”

“Right, and clearly you’re so talented.” Roman parried this time, stepping forward to smack the blade back. “Again. Harder, this time. You’re not going to hurt me, Virgil.”

"What if I do?" Virgil shot back, unable to stop a smile as he attacked again, still keeping his movements a bit slow. "What will people say if you get stabbed by someone who’s never even held a sword?"

"That I was viciously attacked by a vengeful Prince and did nothing wrong," Roman huffed, smacking the blade away once more. "Faster. I can keep up."

"You sure?" Virgil asked, more teasing than anything as he finally let himself relax just a bit, moving forward to attack once again.

“Move faster and we’ll see.”

The friendly banter took some of the tension away, Virgil smiling despite himself, feeling lighter by the second.

Virgil's movements were still definitely a bit more frantic than they needed to be, shoulders tensing as he moved his sword up, glancing hopefully up at Roman when he blocked the attack.

“Good!” Roman said, beaming. “Try not to panic, it’ll make you lose focus. Try again.”

Right. Try not to panic. That was easier said than done, especially when it came to Virgil, who could never seem to react any other way.

But the praise made him feel lighter than ever, and he smiled with a tiny nod before stepping back to try again.

“You’re doing good. Keep it up, don’t stop-” Roman parried and returned the next blow. “Pick up the speed. Push me back!”

Virgil managed to keep his movements a little less panicked this time, taking deep breaths like Patton had taught him and moved to attack again, faster this time as instructed.

"You sure you can keep up, Captain?" he teased with confidence he didn't feel in the slightest, smiling with his eyes still on the swords.

To his relief Roman’s smile only grew, the Captain taking another step forward to block again. “Eyes on me. Watch the weapons, but if you can see where I'm looking you can see where I'm attacking."

Virgil managed not to completely freak out when he blocked Roman’s next attack, still a bit more tense than he knew the Captain would have liked.

It was almost impossible to keep his eyes on Roman, cheeks growing hot whenever the Captain met his eyes, forcing himself to avert his gaze.

Virgil really did not need to be distracted by the blush spreading across his cheeks and the butterflies in his stomach as he moved to attack again.

Roman laughed, Virgil’s eyes lighting up when he nearly lowered his sword before he could block Virgil’s attack. “Come on handsome, eyes up here.”

“I’m trying!”

Roman took another step forward, swiping down towards Virgil’s leg. “When you can’t block, move!”

Virgil just barely managed to scramble out of the blade's way, and he was sure if Roman had moved any faster he would have lost a leg.

“Jesus!” His face was burning red now, both from the teasing and his own sloppy moves. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Roman's grin only grew as he took a step back, spinning his sword. "No, I'm trying to prepare you. Distractions happen. Now come on beautiful, one more time."

Oh, this was so not fair. Virgil’s blush depended, but he forced himself not to look away this time when he attacked. “Careful, or I’m actually going to stab you.”

“I’ve got the experience, darling,” Roman bragged, though he barely got his sword up in time to block Virgil’s strike. “You can’t hurt me.”

Virgil laughed, ignoring the way his cheeks burned at the nickname. He was going to die here. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

Virgil had no idea how long they went on like this for, time nothing but a distant blur, overshadowed by the warm excitement bubbling in his chest. His cheeks burned bright when he eventually managed to start meeting Roman’s eyes, the Captain sending him a teasing smile.

He should have noticed Roman had gotten distracted, should have realized he’d started moving just a bit slower than he had been when they first started.

But he didn’t, and Roman’s sword didn’t move up to block Virgil's next attack.

Roman gasped when the blade cut into his bicep, ripping through the cloth and drawing blood immediately, and the Captain quickly smacked the blade away with the end of his own sword.

"Holy shit!" Virgil dropped the sword without thinking, wincing when it clattered to the ground. He moved towards Roman, stopping in his tracks when he saw how much blood there was. "I… shit, Roman I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, I- I wasn't paying attention I'm so sorry!"

Roman looked back up at Virgil, raising an eyebrow at the Prince’s panic.

“I stand corrected,” he said, voice more awed than annoyed or angry. “It turns out you can stab me. Well done.”

“Well done?” Virgil echoed. “I hurt you!”

“It’s fine, Virgil. I’m barely bleeding. I wasn’t paying attention, this is just the consequence.” He looked back to his wound, lifting his arm to inspect it. “Would you mind grabbing Logan for me, though? He should be up on the bridge.”

Virgil nodded and scrambled back, carefully stepping over the swords, grateful for the excuse to get away. It at least meant Roman wasn't angry enough to lash out.

Unless that was Logan's job.

Virgil’s head was spinning and his hands were shaking, but he forced himself to keep going, rushing to the bridge.

The relief was almost crushing when he saw Patton, leaned up against the wall as he chatted with Logan, the two of them lost in quiet conversation. Virgil hadn’t been sure he could handle being alone with Logan, especially when it ran the risk of making him angry.

“Virgil?” Patton called, concern rising as soon as he saw the young Prince. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“I…” Virgil hesitated, eyes glued to Logan. “Roman he- he got hurt. With his sword, it… it was my fault and- and he asked for you. I’m… I’m sorry, I—”

Logan was already starting forward with a sigh, freezing when Virgil flinched back at the sudden movement, arms wrapped protectively around himself, eyes flying instinctively to Patton.

“I’m going to go check on Roman,” Logan explained, keeping his voice low. “I’m not angry with you. Whatever happened was clearly an accident.”

Virgil nodded, still a bit frantic and shaky, stepping aside to let Logan through. Patton moved to follow, pausing to place a gentle hand on Virgil’s hunched shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, the words meant just for the two of them. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Virgil shook his head, grateful beyond words Patton had decided to stay. “I’m fine I just… I- I didn’t mean to hurt him we were just—”

“I know, honey.” Pat squeezed his shoulder, sending a reassuring smile. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you, V. Come on, let’s go see if they need any help.”

They followed Logan back to the deck where Roman was waiting, letting the first mate make a quick stop for a first-aid kit, and Virgil averted his gaze when Roman straightened up at their arrival.

“My valiant knight in black armor,” the Captain greeted, offering his bloody arm to Logan. “Hello, Logan. How has your day been?”

Logan sighed, carefully taking a hold of the injured arm and lowering himself to a crouch. “What on earth are you and Virgil doing?”

“I was teaching Virgil how to use a sword!” Roman announced, and he was beaming when Virgil risked a glance up. “Isn’t he doing great already? I didn’t think he could hit me at all, but here we are!”

Roman rocked back and forth as he talked, gesturing with his free hand, and Logan tightened his grip. “Stay still, please.”

It was clearly a pointless venture, Virgil hadn’t seen Roman sit still once since he’d come aboard, but the Captain nodded and settled for tapping his hands against the floor. He winced when Logan touched the wound but didn't shy away, letting a hissing breath of pain out.

“He’s doing great,” Roman declared again, leaning back slightly to look at Virgil. “You are, you know. This is good progress.”

Virgil tensed, warily glancing between Roman and Logan despite the fact that neither of them seemed inclined to chew him out or make a move to strike him just yet. “I stabbed you. I literally stabbed you!”

“You did!” Roman said, ecstatic. “That’s the whole point! You did it, you got me! And I’m barely even hurt, don’t worry about it.”

Logan sighed again, reaching with his free hand for the rest of the medical supplies as Roman's blood began to soak through the first rag. Virgil looked away, even as he blushed under Roman's praise.

"But I… you’re not mad?”

“Not at all,” Roman assured. “I told you to attack me, didn't I? Sometimes people get hurt when you spar, this was a learning opportunity!" He paused, glancing down at Logan. “I’m bleeding quite a lot, aren’t I? Should I be worried about that?”

“You will be fine,” Logan said, not looking up. “The cut is shallow. Virgil did not land a fatal blow, though I can imagine the temptation was there.”

It startled a laugh out of Virgil, and Roman gave an offended gasp. “He would never! He’s a very good friend, much more so than someone I know.”

“Stay still.”

Roman scowled at his first mate, then winced in pain as he continued to tend to the wound. “It really is okay, Virgil. I’ve been stabbed worse by far more terrible foes, I promise.”

“You seem to have a habit of getting stabbed,” Virgil said, voice still a bit shaky. He relaxed a little when Patton put a hand on his shoulder. “And here I thought you were a master.”

“Even masters occasionally get stabbed. This is nothing,” Roman boasted. “Do I need stitches, Lo? That part does hurt, and I’d recommend not watching if you don’t have a thick stomach.”

Virgil did feel a bit sick at the thought, though it was more the idea of the Captain being in pain because of him than the stitches. The blood didn't bother him all that much- he'd had to get Patton to patch him up like this plenty of times in the past.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I can stay if you need someone to hold your hand.”

It had been a joke, nothing more than teasing, and Virgil absolutely was not half hoping Roman would take him up on the offer.

But Roman grinned, something mischievous in his eyes. He lifted his free hand and wiggled his fingers at Virgil. “Well then you’d better come comfort me, Prince Dreary.”

Virgil was going to kill him. His face flushed again, cheeks on fire. He had no idea how Roman kept managing to fluster him like this, but he wasn’t about to give the Captain the satisfaction of seeing it.

He rolled his eyes as he stepped forward, effortlessly slipping his hand into Roman’s and smirking. “Better?”

“Much,” Roman hummed, and Virgil saw Logan roll his eyes. The Captain just smiled, his thumb stroking gentle lines along the back of Virgil’s hand. “Your hands are very small, you know. Soft, though.”

It was quiet musing, gentle and kind, but Virgil's chest squeezed painfully, suddenly very aware of how much smaller he was than the other three men on the deck, shame and anxiety rising to his throat.

“Yeah okay,” he muttered, gaze dropping back down to the floor. “Maybe your hands are just huge, Roman.”

“I’m not complaining,” Roman said, but his smile softened like he had picked up on Virgil’s discomfort. “They’re soft. Cold as hell, but that’s only fitting for Peter Deadpan, I suppose.”

Virgil scoffed, but his face felt warm, and his smile was quickly becoming more relaxed again. “Well, I didn’t grow up playing with swords like you did. Royal life is kinda boring compared to the life of a pirate.”

“I don’t know,” Roman mused, and he shared an odd look with his first mate. “Royal life can be exciting too. It’s just… a different kind of excitement.”

Logan snorted, peeling the blood soaked cloth away from dark skin. “You would know.”

Roman winced, squeezing Virgil’s hand. “That was years ago, Logan. It’s possible it’s gotten more exciting since then.”

“I’m sure.”

Wait, what?

Virgil didn’t get a chance to ask the questions on the tip of his tongue before Roman huffed, tilting his head to inspect what was left of the wound. “Are you almost done, oh gracious healer?”

“You don’t need stitches, Captain,” Logan said, unamused. “But you’re more than welcome to keep holding the Prince’s hand if you’d like.”

Roman just glared, clearly biting back a smile as Logan gathered up bandages from his first aid kit, still keeping a firm hold on Roman’s arm.

Virgil squeezed Roman’s hand without thinking, scrambling for the right words. “You… you were a royal?”

“A long time ago, yes.” Roman’s smile faded, his thumb going back to tracing soothing lines on Virgil’s hand before he could feel guilty for opening his mouth. “Far from here, I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t know of me.”

“What kingdom?”

“Lucoria,” Roman said softly. “It’s due East, months away. We’re far from it.”

Virgil nodded, fighting not to lose himself to the flood of memories as he thought back to the history practically forced down his throat since he was a child. He’d heard of Lucoria, could vaguely recall rumors and stories, but history had never really been his strong suit. He’d never really been interested in the past, anyway.

But he could see the tension Roman was failing to hide, and he quickly squeezed the Captain’s hand once more, offering what he hoped was a gentle smile

“I’m glad you got out,” Virgil said, eyes glued to Roman, unable to look away. “It doesn’t seem like you’d enjoy that life.”

Roman returned Virgil's smile easily, tilting his head. "Like I said, it’s a lot more free. It wasn’t… all my choice, but once you're out there's no way you can go back. Leaving was the best thing I could have done."

“Well… thank you,” Virgil said quietly, the rest of the world melting away for just a moment. “For letting me leave too.”

Roman’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed, and for the first time since Virgil had met him, Roman was completely still. “Anything for you.”

For what felt like an eternity neither of them moved, everything almost magically quiet. And then Roman hissed in pain, whirling around and yanking on his injured arm, shattering the moment.

“Ow, you—”

“There you are, Captain,” Logan announced, ignoring Roman’s outburst and cutting the rest of the bandage. “Try to be more careful next time.”

Roman winced and pulled his arm away from Logan, scowling. Virgil glanced at Patton, the older man watching them all carefully, expression worried but guarded.

“Yes, yes,” Roman said, the Captain practically pouting. “We’ll be more careful.”

Virgil hesitated to let go of Roman’s hand, eyes now on his freshly bandaged arm. “I’m sorry, again. For hurting you.”

“It’s okay,” Roman assured. “Though, I do think it’s best that we stop for the day. But we can pick this up anytime.”

“Yeah,” Virgil agreed. Today had entailed more physical activity than he’d ever had in his life, his ribs and chest starting to ache now that the adrenaline was starting to fade. “Sounds good, Captain.”

Logan practically had to drag Roman away, guiding the Captain back to the bridge while Patton gently took Virgil by the shoulder and steered them both back to their quarters.

Virgil went willingly, leaning into Patton’s familiar touch, but it took a while for the pleasant warmth to disappear from Virgil’s cheeks.

And if he couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot for the rest of the afternoon, Patton was gracious enough not to point it out.

Taglist: @i-really-like-dragons @stitches-system @poettheythem @remy-the-lemon-berry @shrubs-and-bushes @i-sexually-identify-as-a-mistake @wordsmithandworm @the-dead-and-the-decaying @hope340 @winterwynd @thomas-sanders-tothe-standers @angstysunshine @sunshineandteddybears @pixelated-pineapple @fire-and-ash67 @blues-clues-oh-wait @shinekittenace @marrymebishop @all-panic-nodisco @ravenclawunicorn1 @someoneiwasnt @listenherebuddypal @aroace-energy @iinyxtello

[wannaholdhandswithfictionalmen]

(My) Sanctuary;

A/n: First Ever Fic for Genshin Impact Fandom. A fic no one asked for but the idea was living in my head rent free, so what's a girl to do except play more Genshin Impact and work on this fic. (Listened to Sanctuary & Don't think twice by Hikaru Utada while writing this -- hence my inspired and very unoriginal title for this fic because I am horrible at thinking of titles.) 

Genre: Mostly Fluff really, a pinch or two of Angst.

Warning: Implied underage drinking. Brief description of Violence. Of age drinking. 

Summary: Childhood friends with history. Unspoken feelings. Mutual pining. Circumstances and life have forced you and Diluc on different paths, but you always return to Mondstadt and Diluc always makes time for you.

Word count: 3,128

The busy streets of Mondstadt. How long had it been this time? The absence of your presence from these cobblestone paths; four, five? No. Six months. Commissions to fight greater, fierce foes across Teyvat demanded your blades and lightning. Not that it mattered much how far or long you ventured from your former home. There was only one person who meant a great deal, important even if you could not sort through all the emotions attached to him in your own heart or even dare to give voice to those emotions.

Diluc Ragnvindr. 

And despite the inner twisted, festering turmoil (of your own making) cradled in your heart for Mondstadt, Favonius Knights, The Fatui 'diplomats'. Diluc was always a reason to return. 

In fact you aren't at all surprised when you stop by Good Hunter, offering up a handful of Mora for a meal. Sitting down at a table, closing your eyes. You took in a deep breath, the air here felt different to you. Thanks to the Anemo god, Barbatos. You swear it truly is the sense, embodiment of freedom that fills your lungs and soothes you even if for a few seconds. 

A savory blend of mushrooms, chicken and noodles is your lunch for the day. After thirty minutes have passed since your arrival in Mondstadt. And Diluc is sliding into the chair across from your own, elbows on the table, arms folded. Crimson eyes silently taking in the features of you. 

"Hm. You're slacking. That's ten minutes later than before, what took your little informants so long to whisper in your ear word of me being back?" You don't even spare a look at him, taking another bite, chewing a mouthful as you wait for his reply. 

"I do have a winery to run and the protection of Mondstadt to ensure, I can't not always come rushing away for personal affairs." Diluc holds a evident edge of underlying frustration in his smooth voice. 

Your own gaze trails up and over him, taking in the exasperation and exhaustion that furrows the brow of his otherwise stoic expression-- you want to ask when he last got a full night's rest? If he was still doing his lone warrior, Darknight Hero routine? If he was as stubborn as ever shouldering the burden of his fervor desire to defend and protect. Oh, how you worry, worry and worry the weight of it all on your tongue, tightening your throat-- who takes care of you? Who stands by your side? Who defends you? Who protects you? Who lov-

Once upon a time it had been you but a vortex of mourning, sorrow, rage swallowed up your old life. Until you wanted nothing more than to never see the walls of Mondstadt ever again. One day leaving it all behind. Time was a cruel mistress, one day swiftly grew to years. The first time you returned from what would become regular disappearances--adventures. 

Damage had been done. Diluc was the one who reached out to savage your friendship and you had welcomed the chance to have him back in your life even if it would never be anything more. 

"Should I be honored that the gentleman Ragnvindr can even grace me with his company?" It's a hollow jest as you pick at your half eaten plate of food. 

"No," His dismissal of the notion is soft yet firm. "Just Diluc, a friend, who is glad to see you well again." It's never his straight-forward or blunt nature that catches you off guard, it's when the subtle but clear sincerity creeps to the surface. Open, unwavering in his honesty.  

You huff, looking down feigning disinterest yet the twitch of your lips is undeniable. Warmth, simple, gentle curls in your chest. Happiness. Flickering embers outside of the stone walls of your heart that would make Rex Lapis proud. Diluc had always been able to slip past your defenses, so easily lingering in your thoughts, in your heart. Whether he was aware of it or not. 

"I suppose I am glad to see you too. Saved me a few bottles of my favorite wine?" You ask glancing up to catch his watchful gaze, biting your bottom lip as a wide smile threatened to spread on your face. Dulic's sudden raised eyebrow says it all-- do you really need to ask? 

"Four pristine bottles of aged mixed sunsettia, valberry wine." Prideful is subtle and delicate in his voice as if Diluc would ever forget your favorite wine. Funny enough to think about how even as the unspoken king of the winery industry, he doesn't enjoy alcohol himself. Still keeping a stock of your favorite in his manor. 

"You never let me pay you and we can't really share a few glasses together, so," you hum, slowly wired up with nervous yet excited anticipation as you reach down into the bag hanging off your shoulder. Shifting through the items and materials you carried with you for cooking and crafting you find it! Grabbing a slender jug of a bottle, wrapped in cloth. Swiftly placed on the table in front of Diluc. "I brought something for you." 

It's not like grape juice is such a hard find or something Diluc could not afford himself with his abundance of wealth but you had commissioned a famous brewer to make a special blend of grapes and other berries to create a rich and sweet juice. With your own Mora to spare after a few jobs, and you had a feeling your wandering would lead back to Mondstadt. 

Diluc is steady, slow with peeling back the cloth to stare at the deep, dark purple liquid filling the glass bottle. Uncorking the bottle, Diluc takes a whiff, closing his eyes, the smile that graces his face. It's everything and so much more. "It smells delicious. Thank you, I can't wait to taste it." 

"Then we should begin our walk to the manor? I can hear my wine calling me." You leave a few Mora coins as a tip, standing up, Diluc presses the cork back into the bottle and hands it back to you for safe keeping. 

"Alright," Diluc nods, following, matching your stride with ease. "Adelinde was asking about you the other day, you know she always makes sure your room is tidy, spotless in fact." 

Stupid. How one little phrase has your stomach full of crystal flies like you are a teenager all over again. And the mention of the kind maid who still fusses over Diluc and you on occasion makes you happy. It is a nice reprieve from nights of solitude, you are content to travel alone but loneliness is a creature that waits, and waits until the right moment to sink its claws and fangs into you on the road. 

The walk from Mondstadt isn't far but you aren't expecting a fully pleasant and peaceful walk with Diluc. Outside of the gates of the city and a few minutes down the dirt road, the sight of Hilichurls is predictable. 

Small pack of fighters, five Hilichurls carrying clubs and one hulking Mitachurl with a shield. This should be fun. 

"Make sure to show me how playing the part of the nighttime hero has kept your skills sharp!" You yell with a laugh, grinning as you summon your sword, forged of dragon bone, jagged, fierce blade. Rushing forward you dodge past the throw Pyro slimes. 

You let yourself run a little wild, your Electro vision surge through you, bolts of lightning crash down on the charging Hilichurls. Shocking and stunning the monsters for a moment, that's all you need to unleash a flurry of fast slashes.

A loud, enraged howl, crashing stomps approach from your back. Anyone else would need to worry or doubt--you don't. The familiar roar and rumble of flames fills the air, the scorning heat of it nipping behind you. Diluc doesn't even let that Mitcahurl so much as graze you, his grunts and shouts clash with its growl and howls as his flame imbued blade breaks and burns through the beast's wooden shield. Leaving ashes flying in the air and the heavy smell of smoke and fire. 

You electrify the Hilichurls, slowing, paralyzing the small beasts until they are left vulnerable and weak against you. The perfect targets. You cleave one's head off, stab straight through the mask of another, impale the chest of another. Delivering killing blows with precision and force. Wiping them out, you turn in time to see the beauty of Diluc. 

Rapid, graceful, relentless, ferocity embraced in unyielding flames. The towering giant Hilichurl is left staggering, stumbling under the strikes of Diluc's claymore left all too unprotected without its shield to hide behind. Diluc turns up the heat quite literally, the soaring, blazing phoenix that emerged from his own vision and will, his flames destroy the Mitcahurl, wiping out its pitiful existence effortlessly. 

Diluc shakes a bit of lingering flames and smoke off the steel of his blade with a sweeping slash at the air, standing among darkened, black grass, a gust of wind sways his hair and he looks over his shoulder. It is surely a moment deserving of immortalizing in portrait, his bright red hair blowing in the wind, holding his greatsword in one hand, sunlight giving him an ethereal glow, gazing at you. 

Giving a slow applause, you whistle and laugh. "Flashy as ever, Diluc." 

"The pyro element leaves little room for anything else. Still it's efficient and powerful," Diluc turns to face you, letting go of the hilt of his sword as it vanishes, unneeded outside of battle. "However, it's not something you could critique me on, when anyone for miles could see your lightning." 

"Fair enough." 

Besides a few stray slimes, the rest of your walk is undisturbed, reaching the winery as nightfall, the sun dipping below the horizon. 

"(Name) it is good to see you well." Adelinde smiles upon seeing you as Diluc opens the front door and holds it open for you to walk in first. She hugs you, it's hard not to melt into her tight cradle. 

"Have you been eating well? Sleeping accordingly? Not just naps. Taking breaks in between all your monster hunting?" Her lovingly stern questions always feel comforting in a way that is odd to describe and felt deeply. 

"I am still standing, Adelinde, fully rested and my stomach is full at the moment." 

"You would do well to keep it as such." Adelinde levels you with a motherly look of if you do not take care of yourself, I will which should be hard to make look threatening but the older woman handles it with years of expertise. She has worried over guests, Diluc, Kaeya, you for many, many years in the pact and many to come you are certain. 

"Adelinde, please have the bottles of sunsettia, valberry wine brought up, we-" 

"One step ahead of you, Master Diluc. Hillie and Moco brought them up a short while ago, I hope you two enjoy your time together." Adelinde leaves the manor, you aren't sure what work needs to be done on the grounds, you know for a fact Adeline specifically tries to do outside chores during daylight hours. It's an obvious tell for someone who knows her, she is ensuring you and Diluc remain alone for now. An avid supporter of your friendship you suppose. 

Diluc barely gets to call out a 'thank you!' as she is shutting the door. 

You stroll across the room, not much has changed at all. Your destination is the furniture set by the fireplace, the small, round table paired with two cushioned chairs. Pulling out the bottle of juice to place on the table top next to the bottles of wine, to cups awaiting you both. 

Pouring your first cup, you are eager, excited to taste the almost sickeningly sweet flavor of the wine. It never seems to taste the same from any other winery or brewery or even in the company of others. 

Moments of comfortable quiet drift by as you slowly, steadily sip and savory the wine. 

When Diluc takes the first taste of your gift and his low moan of approval as he swallows. Oh. You could listen to that again and again. All husky, raspy delight that sends shivers down your spine. It feels good to bring any kind of bliss to Diluc, even the simplest kind by providing him a drink he loves. 

You get the mutual feeling of being watched as you drink, sighing and smiling at the taste, the feeling of nostalgia creeps up on you. 

"I remember the first time I tasted this wine. We were barely teenagers sneaking down into the cellar. I badly wanted to try the wine everyone in Mondstadt wouldn't shut up about," you recall it interrupting yourself with short, full breaths of levity. Far too amused by the memory to contain your laughter. "I- I asked. No- begged you to come down with me while your father was gone, saying I'd bring Kaeya instead if you didn't come, bluffing and you got as red as a flaming flower, grabbed my hand and pulled me all the way to the cellar and downstairs." 

Diluc huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa. "You knew how to push my buttons too well, half of the stuff I let you talk me into was completely foolish." Staring into the lit fire as he listened to you. 

"Just half?"

"Fine. All of the escapades I let you drag me along on were absurd." 

"Your welcome as I recall you had a lot of fun." 

"At the risk of a lot of trouble, you tested the lengths of even my father's generous patience." Diluc shook his head, the fondness in expression was plain as day. 

"Oh, remember the night after getting my gliding license, I dared you to join me on top of the cathedral to see which of us could get farther across the city, and you landed in a bush!" Several glasses of wine, one empty bottle of the tart and sweet berry alcohol and you felt even more relaxed, comfortable in the company of Diluc. 

"I, at the very least, remained dry. You were the one who crash-landed right into the fountain." Diluc smirked, sharp, sly as he chuckled, lightly tugging and adjusting the fabric of his gloves. Idle gestures as his cup stays on the table after a few sips. 

"I would rate my dive undoubtedly ten out of ten." By the Archons, it had been a miracle you both escaped from the knights of Favonius night patrol with the commotion you made, wet leather boots on stone top made you slip a few times in your dash to escape discovery. Diluc had kept a firm grip on your arm, tugging you back up and refusing to leave you behind. 

Then you remember, hiding away, pressed chest to chest, the chill of your soaked clothes clinging to you, the rise and fall of heavy, labored breaths. How close Diluc had been, that smokey, fiery scent that having pyro vision gifted him along with faint aroma of fruit thanks to the orchard of the dawn winery, he worked with his father on occasion. If you had just tilted your head up, leaned in--

"I know Kaeya was always jealous. I could talk you into anything but you refused his antics left and right." 

"It's different. I actually like you and spending time with you." Diluc's deadpan response pulls a ugly snort-laugh from you. His relationship with Kaeya is an odd one but you know deep down he cares for his brother even if things aren't exactly civil between them. 

"I feel so special." 

"As you should, I don't like people." His sarcasm, that is half-joke, half-truth keeps you laughing. 

The first wave of tiredness hits you, letting out an involuntary yawn. Your travels, the trek and fight from earlier catch up with you. Combined with the consumption of alcohol. 

"I think the wine is getting to me, I feel a little sleepy." You finish off your glass with one gulp, smooth like silk down your throat, the lack of burn makes it far too easy to want to empty all the bottles. Four. You'd certainly regret that in the morning. 

"I noticed." Diluc gets up first, three steps towards you, he is holding out his hand to you. 

"I can walk myself, I am not that drunk." You protest his offer while reaching out and taking his hand, entwining your fingers without a second thought. Diluc gives your hand a squeeze, his slender fingers lightly caressing the back of your hand. He guides you upstairs to your room as if you don't know the way by heart as if your room would ever change. 

"You would never ask for help yourself and you did break a vase the last time, even the smallest bit of intoxication seems to make you clumsier." Diluc gives his clear and absolutely unfair opinion. It happened one time!

It is really not necessary either to open the door for you, letting go of your hand only to press the large, warm palm of his hand against your back. Nor does Diluc need to kneel before you as you sit on the edge of the bed, unfastening your boots, removing your satchel and placing your belongings on the bedside table. 

"It is hilarious to hear you of all people, calling me out of not asking for help. Mister Darknight." 

Dliuc 'tsks' at the mention of his beloved hero name. "I am aware, that can be a little hypocritical." 

"A little?" 

"(Name)," Diluc speaks your name so tenderly, softly, as if the word itself is precious. "I simply want to help you, to car-" He clears his throat cutting off that train of thought. Pausing for seconds of silence pass, crimson eyes staring into your own. "If there was anyone I would accept help from it would be you." 

That is dangerously close to an admission of something else. And all every moment of the past, all the maybe(s), what-ifs, almost(s) flash through your mind. You could take the leap or let this become another memory to turn over and over in your head, wondering, wanting, yearning. 

"Get some rest." Diluc walks over to the door, standing in the open threshold of the room, hand gripping the door knob. 

"Diluc, wait" It's barely a whisper, so hushed and subdued. So low, he doesn't hear it and when Diluc looks over his shoulder, the short-lived courage in you has diminished and you can't bring yourself to voice all the longing, desire, love trapped in your heart. 

"Goodnight, Diluc."

"Goodnight, (Name)." 

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Family member anon here. Reader and they uncle tricky is awesome ^_^ and hope looking others for having a relatives for them.

Zardy is friend with his farmer neighbor that brought his grandkid for the summer and reader loved to help they grandpa farm and making new friend with zardy. When summer is over the reader gonna miss they grandpa and zardy, many years later zardy took his friend corn farm and taking caring it. It’s Halloween day and the reader dress up as a scarecrow just like they friend zardy, encounter boyfriend and girlfriend walking to a corn farm. The reader got new friends but zardy came to tell boyfriend to go away, boyfriend didn’t leave and the music began while the reader trying stop zardy but zardy doesn’t recognize reader them. When the song is over the reader rushed to hug zardy to tell that reader is zardy friend grandkid

Zardy’s human friend's grandkid (Reader) returns to the maze many years later dressed as a scarecrow, only to meet BF and GF who end up challenging Zardy to a singing match.

...........

Summer at Zardy's Maze was always fun for you, especially after learning that the scarecrow himself, Zardy, was able to come to life at night. He kept your grandpa company, helping him chase out any trespassers and keep the crops watered.

Unfortunately, this summer would most likely be the last one you'd spend at the maze, since you're moving onto college and may not be able to care for the farm anymore.

Your grandpa reassured you that he and Zardy will take care of things...although the scarecrow was less than pleased to learn of your departure.

But he bore no ill-will towards you, hugging you goodbye as you left the farm for the final time.

Years would pass and soon his longtime friend would also leave. Not only the farm, but the world.

And that was the day Zardy truly felt alone.

Things haven't been easy since, especially with his grudge against trespassers who dared "disrespect" the maze. Other creatures of the night would come to aid him in his eternal quest to preserve what remains of the giant flowers that towered over the cornstalks.

Of course, he knew not all humans were bad. But most were.

Anyone who set foot inside the maze will not come out alive.

...........

"Man..this is itchy, but I hope it's worth it.." You scratched your arm, feeling the fleece material of your costume as you checked yourself in the mirror.

Then you smiled and saw how scary you actually looked. You were a scarecrow, after all, similar to your old friend Zardy but not quite like him.

You've never forgotten about him, often missing the fun times you two had while working on the farm.

Since it was Halloween and you actually had time to do whatever you want, why not make this year extra special and revisit him?

Once you grabbed your witch-like hat and belongings, you were on your way to the maze. A friend dropped you off at its entrance, wondering why you wanted to spend Halloween all alone here. But they didn't question it and simply drove off after you waved goodbye.

"Beep!"

You blinked, confused about whether that was your friend's car. Though..it didn't sound like a horn at all.

It was more like-

"Oh! Hi, scarecrow!"

Grinning, you decided to put on a spooky act and turn around to face the people who greeted you: a blue-haired guy and a lady in a red dress, both who looked around your age.

"Welcome, friends~ What brings you to my cornfield on this frightful night?"

"Uh," the girl began. "We just wanted to take a walk through the-"

"I suggest you leave..lest you forfeit your right to live."

You recognized the voice and immediately dropped the act, spinning around upon seeing Zardy standing there. He looked more aged, his body tattered, and he was gripping a garden hoe like it was a scythe. The glow from his eye sockets was more orange as he gazed at you three.

"Good job catchin' these trespassers, friend."

"H-Huh? Zardy, I-" You began.

"You should know these humans ain't welcomed here." He interrupted coldly. "They only wanna disrupt the peace with their damn noise cannons...and destroy what ain't theirs. Don't tell me you're gonna defend 'em after what they did to us."

'Humans aren't welcomed..?' You were shocked to hear those words. 'What happened to this place? What happened to..my friend?'

Zardy's gaze flickered back to Blue Guy, noting the microphone in his hand. "Ah, you sing? I'd say I'm quite the musician myself. Let this be just a secret between us four, alright? Don't go tellin' Pumpkin Jack anything." He warned with a snicker. "If ya want a show..I'll give ya a show."

Although you knew absolutely nothing of this "Pumpkin Jack" he was talking about, you knew Zardy was determined to chase out these innocent people. So you reluctantly stepped back and watched as he and Blue Guy had a sing-off.

'I don't remember grandpa ever teaching him about music..'

Red Dress Girl, who you soon learned was "Cherry", told you about her boyfriend--Blue Guy who's name is "Keith". She was surprised when you said you weren't actually a scarecrow, just someone in a costume who was close friends with Zardy.

Though as you tried to explain, the song became more intense, and you noticed Zardy was practically screaming at Keith with haunting undertones in his vocals. Miraculously the latter remained fearless, keeping up with the rhythm until the very end.

Once the music ended, Zardy was infuriated at losing. Then he spun his tool around, raising the bladed part and scowling at Keith, who now became terrified as he beeped out of fear.

But before anyone could get hurt, you finally intervened, running over to hug your old friend tightly. "Zardy, stop!! Don't hurt them!!"

"..huh..?" The straw of hay fell from his mouth as he glanced down at you, recognizing your voice. "You couldn't be....no. Of course not. They've forgotten about me...or perhaps they're gone, too."

"My costume is that convincing?" Stepping back, you removed your mask so that he could see it was truly you, smiling up at him. "That surprises even me, but I never forgot about you."

"[Y/n].." His eyes widened with astonishment.

You've grown so much since the last time he saw you..

He just didn't know what to say. "I...I didn't-"

"It's okay, I forgive you for what you said about humans. I know a lot of us suck, but there's good ones out there." You chuckled, glad that he finally realized it was you.

Dropping his weapon, Zardy brought you into a tight hug, his hands trembling. "I've missed you so much, old buddy. It's been..far too long, and I've just been..so lonely and angry and..."

"I'm sorry I haven't come back sooner," you returned the embrace. "But I'm not leaving you again."

Keith and Cherry could only look on at the touching scene, smiling as they saw that this scarecrow wasn't so scary and mean after all. Sure, they were confused on your friendship with him, but they knew better than to interrupt.

So they quietly left the maze, hoping you'll enjoy the rest of your Halloween with your old friend.

[kyber-queen]

of silver and steel (wolffe x f!reader regency AU)

Summary: Reader is a mercenary hired to protect Duke!Wolffe without his knowledge. Shenanigans ensue.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: One (1) innuendo, mentions of weapons, an exorbitant amount of pride and prejudice-esque Female Gaze

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I wrote this MONTHS ago and found it sitting in my files and thought I'd just post it so I don't forget about it again. Lmk if you'd be interested in me writing any more of this!

***

Your reflection stared back at you from your vanity mirror. Your face was painted in the fashion of the time—cheeks flushed coral and lips stained a Persian rose-red. You smiled to yourself, smoothing your hands over your bodice—it was a deep forest green, with a bold golden line down the center. It was your personal favorite, and it would serve your purposes well that evening. One gloved hand lifted elegantly from your form to hover over the objects adorning your vanity. You settled over an elaborate golden-hilted dagger. You tested its weight in your hand before guiding its tip to the rim of your bodice, sliding the weapon into the pre-stitched gap in the fabric. Only the hilt remained visible, but against the golden embroidery, it appeared altogether unrecognizable as a dagger, taking the form of an ornate golden cross emblazoned across your chest. You hummed in approval.

You were to be attending a gala tonight, with the proceeds benefitting the construction of a second dormitory within the orphanage in the capitol, Coruscant. It was sure to be a rather raucous event—the more rambunctious of the younger nobility had accepted the invitation—but your mind was far from drinking and gallivanting. You were there for one explicit purpose: to protect the Duke. The Duke did not know this, of course. From what you had heard, Duke Wolffe Fett was a rather imposing figure, and this combined with his military service made him rather vehemently opposed to the notion that he was unable to protect himself. His brothers had solicited your services as a mercenary in secret after the Duke had experienced three separate attempts on his life, all of which he had managed to fend off on his own.

Your mission was quite straightforward—make the Duke’s acquaintance, and remain nearby should trouble arise. Nerves prickled at the tips of your fingers. While quite comfortable with a blade in your hand, you were much less well-versed in these hierarchical social scenarios. Your eyes flicked back up to your reflection in the mirror, your gaze centering in on the cross adorning your bodice. Your gloved fingertips dragged across the textured surface of the dagger hilt. You looked the part of the elaborately dressed nobility; all you needed to do now was match their mannerisms.

***

The ballroom hummed with energy. Conversation and music flowed freely through the air, the Ladies in their best gowns and the Lords in their sharply pressed suits intermingling in small groups. Wolffe strolled from cluster to cluster, making his necessary introductions but never remaining in one group too long. He preferred to remain on the fringes—he was here for the benefit of the orphanage only. The hedonistic tendencies of his contemporaries at these supposedly charitable gatherings often disagreed with his more refined sensibilities. Wolffe had hoped he could escape the evening without engaging in the drunken small talk he so despised, but an old family ally beckoning him forward was a clear indication otherwise.

Wolffe now stood stiffly amongst a small circle of aristocrats, his features set firmly as he made tense conversation. The socialites were already quite inebriated, and the donation ledger had long been forgotten in favor of partaking of the complimentary spirits.

Wolffe cleared his throat.

“Sir Roger, have you yet had the opportunity to tour the orphans’ asylum in Coruscant?”

The man looked at Wolffe incredulously.

“Why in the blazes would I do that?”

Wolffe’s eyes narrowed. The man, obviously too taken by liquor to remember his station, placed a casual hand on Wolffe’s shoulder.

“You must have learned by now, my good man, that events like these,” The man gestured to the throngs of aristocrats conversing in clusters about the ballroom, “Are merely a justification for drinking and merriment,”. The man punctuated his sentence with a particularly loud hiccup.

Repulsed by the man’s uncouth behavor, Wolffe took a step back. The man’s hand fell from his shoulder. Wolffe opened his mouth to respond, but the smooth lilt of your voice drew his attention.

“Perhaps, Sir, were you not so unfeeling toward the plight of the needy you would see the larger purpose of events like these,” you quoted. The man stepped back, stunned, effectively making room for your presence.

Wolffe turned to you, his eyes catching yours for a moment before turning back to the aristocrat.

“I find myself in agreement with the Lady. This ‘justification for drinking and merriment’ will provide the funds to house at least a hundred needy children,” Wolffe’s lip wrinkled slightly in disgust, and the man fell entirely silent. “Good day, Sir,”.

The man turned to make his exit, leaving you alone with the Duke. He watched the drunkard stumble away, shaking his head slightly before fixing his intense gaze on you. Before he could say a word, you extended a snifter of brandy in his direction. He accepted the drink, tilting his head slightly at the gesture.

“I’m glad we can agree, Sir…” You trailed off your sentence, waiting for the Duke to fill in the blank.

“Duke Wolffe Fett,” He offered.

You widened your eyes in feigned surprise.

“Your Grace,” You murmured, dropping into a curtsy.

You rose, and when you met his eyes you noticed his eyebrow was raised slightly. He was one of the highest-ranking noblemen in Coruscant—had you presented yourself as too oblivious?

The Duke sipped his drink as you reeled for something to say.

“It’s unusual for a man of your status to have such high regard for personal involvement in charitable contribution,”.

Wolffe glanced up from his drink, pausing to look you over.

“Is there a question in there or are you merely observing?”

His tone was difficult to read—you assumed this was an invitation to inquire more directly.

“Why exactly does a young Duke such as yourself harbor so much respect for the common people?”

Wolffe hummed.

“It is my duty as a ruler to defend and uplift my people. There is no honor in wasting away your days indulging in mindless drink and frivolity,”.

You nodded in assent, falling into what you hoped was a pleasant silence.

The Duke seemed content to stand wordlessly at your side, and you understood that the less you spoke the less of an opportunity you had to make a faux pas. Your eyes darted about the room—having made your introduction your mind now focused entirely on detecting any plausible threats. You glanced over to his brothers, Boost and Sinker. They appeared engaged in conversation, and you quickly turned your attention elsewhere. A man stepped in front of the string quartet, clinking his glass. You feigned attention, scanning the crowd as pieces of the man’s speech filtered in and out of audibility.

“…And with that, let the dancing begin!”

Wolffe rolled his eyes, taking another swig of his drink

You watched as several ladies scurried to the floor, eager to partner with the gentlemen that had made their way to the open space in the center of the room. You watched closely as the many pairs began to twirl in rhythm with the string quartet. It was more crowded on the dance floor—here, on the fringes, the Duke was exposed. Keeping him hidden and occupied among the many dancers would complicate the efforts of any potential assassins. Was it within a lady’s right to ask the Duke to dance?

“Sir, would you grant me the pleasure of accompanying me on the dance floor?”

Wolffe’s head whipped to your direction—he seemed tense. You glanced over your shoulder, wondering whether he had spotted someone behind you. Neglecting to observe the presence of any potential assailant, you turned back to the Duke and affixed him with your most charming smile.

“As you wish, my Lady,”.

He offered his elbow, and you placed your gloved hand over his lightly. You strolled in tandem to the dance floor, and at the next pause in music, you each took your place across from each other in the line of dancers. Your eyes locked on his. One of his eyes was golden-brown, gleaming in the candlelit ballroom. The other seemed to be tinted white, with a long vertical scar reaching from just above his brow to the apple of his cheek. He was quite handsome, you noted. His gaze was intense, never seeming to leave your face, even as you pressed your gloved palm against his to begin the dance. His hand was quite large, and you felt its heat through the thin silk of your glove. Your breath stuttered as he brought his other hand to your waist. He gripped you firmly, each individual fingertip making its presence known as they pressed into your bodice. You inhaled, bringing your attention back to the task at hand.

You placed your other hand at his upper arm. He wordlessly lifted your hand to his shoulder, his eyebrow quirking slightly as he began to lead you through the dance. You felt your cheeks grow warm.

The music grew livelier, and the Duke shifted both his hands to your waist. His thumb pressed against the dagger concealed in your bodice as he lifted you into the air. The metal pressed, cool and foreboding, into your stomach. You masked your shocked gasp with a breathless giggle as your feet once again contacted the ground.

You stumbled, stepping to the right instead of the left. The Duke’s hand dug into your waist, pulling you sharply to the correct direction, and by coincidence, closer into his chest. He was warm. You offered a quiet ‘thank you’ at his correction, and he nodded stiffly. You felt the flexion and tension of his shoulder muscles under your palm. He was strong, you noted. This combined with his previous corrections caused your cheeks to heat even more than you thought possible. Focus on the mission. The music ceased, and before you could speak, his hand was gripping your forearm and he was dragging you off the dance floor.

You made eye contact with Sinker and Boost, the latter giving you an inquisitive look as Wolffe led you away from the ballroom. You turned your wild gaze back to the Duke. His fingers tightened around your forearm, gripping you hard enough to leave a bruise. He led you down a hallway, flinging open the first door he saw and roughly pulling you inside.

“Sir, I—”

He yanked you around so your back flattened against his chest. One hand gripped your upper arm while the other splayed across your midriff, pressing down uncomfortably. Pressing the flat edge of your dagger into your stomach. He knew.

His voice rumbled from deep within his chest, his breath hot against the junction between your shoulder and your neck.

“I value candor quite highly—why exactly are you here?”

Your breath hitched, and the pressure on your abdomen increased. You remembered Boost and Sinker’s words—he mustn’t know of your arrangement.

“I don’t know what you mean, Sir, I—” You squirmed against his iron grasp as he cut you off.

“You are no actress, my Lady,”.

You cursed yourself silently. You had been so focused on securing the Duke’s safety you had forgotten to ensure your own. Your hand flew to the hilt of the dagger against your chest, but the Duke’s hand on your upper arm caught your wrist with almost inhuman speed.

“What are you here for? To kill me?” His voice was a snarl.

Adrenaline flooded through your veins, your heart racing.

You drove your heel into his insole, using his shock to wrench yourself from his grasp. You drew your dagger from your bodice with your free hand, your other wrist still encircled within his grip. You gasped for breath, instinctively preparing for a fight. As your mind caught up with your body, you recognized your position and lowered your dagger. Your agreement to secrecy wasn’t worth a life.

“To protect you,” you panted.

Wolffe scoffed, his intense glare centered on your face.

“Your brothers hired me—Sinker and Boost. Said there had been attempts on your life, that they wanted me to look after you,”.

Your eyes searched his, praying that he would believe you. The Duke was a fearsome opponent—if this escalated further, you couldn’t guarantee either of you would walk away injury-free.

The door flew open, Boost and Sinker stumbling into the room.

“Are you both alright? What happened?”

Wolffe’s shoulders fell, and his grip on your wrist loosened. Your hand dropped from his grasp. Recognizing that the situation had been diffused, you reinserted the dagger into your bodice.

“A slight misunderstanding on my part,” Wolffe offered to his brothers before turning to you, “I apologize, my Lady,”. He bowed slightly before offering you his arm.

His gaze rose from the floor to your eyes and he looked at you expectantly. You cocked your head, content to let him stew for a moment. The man did drag you by the wrist across the entire ballroom, after all. His eyes narrowed. You returned his intense gaze before smiling slightly when an unrecognizable emotion flashed across his features, pleased that you had managed to get under his skin.

You took his arm tentatively, and he led you back out to the ballroom.

***

Two weeks had passed since your attendance at the charity gala. Boost and Sinker, though initially concerned by the events of the evening, had maintained that you remain in the area should they require your services once more. Your payment from that night would cover your stay at the local inn twelve times over. The town was quaint—its center held a tavern, a church, a few scattered shops, as well as the inn at which you were staying. You had inquired as to where the Duke’s residence was on your second day in town, finding out from the barkeep that his estate lay a few miles from the town outskirts.

The barkeep had said it was a lovely piece of property. He himself had not had the pleasure of visiting, but he had heard tales of its rolling green hills, lush forests, and the clear brook that bubbled just on the edge of the terrain. While you acknowledged the appeal of the property, your mind was much more entranced by its rather solemn proprietor. Your admittedly dull days were spent deep in thought, poring over your final interactions before the evening had ended.

Wolffe led you back into the ballroom, back to the deserted corner in which you two had been conversing before you had suggested some dancing to lighten the mood.

He motioned to a table with his head, pulling out a chair for you to sit in before taking a seat himself.

His eyes, intense and intoxicating, seemed to bore right through your soul. It was unsettling, yet something about his gaze resonated deep within your chest. Your cheeks flushed, against your will. You took another cursory glance about the room, ensuring that no suspicious figures had made themselves known.

“So, you’re a mercenary?”

Your eyes flashed back to the Duke, a slight smile creeping across your face. You nodded.

“I trained with a well-respected swordsman for quite a few years. Took a few odd jobs here and there as a sellsword, but my ‘unusual’ position made me much more suited for espionage. People rarely notice an extra woman in the household—makes it easier to slip in, do what needs to be done, and slip out,”.

Wolffe’s gaze lingered on your face.

“I find it hard to believe that no one would notice you,”

You snorted, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. The Duke raised an eyebrow in response. Your behavior could hardly be described as refined—despite your earlier attempts—yet something about your casual air drew Wolffe in more than he’d like to admit.

“Tonight was a one-off. Typically, I’m much more discreet,”.

Wolffe shook his head with a barely-there smile.

“Oh, I’m sure,”.

A knock at the door of your room drew you from your recollections. You grabbed the handle of your dagger from the nightstand before peeking into the door’s spyhole. A courier stood, impatiently shifting from foot to foot, with a letter in hand. You opened the door.

“From Duke Fett,” the courier spoke, before darting off to deliver his next letter. Ensuring that no one had followed the boy to the inn, you closed the door behind you and tore open the letter.

It had been closed by an elaborate red wax seal, and you rolled your eyes before dropping the envelope to the ground. Typical nobility.

You scanned the letter quickly, noting the elegant handwriting marking the page while pacing the floor. It was a dinner invitation. You gulped.

Your experience with the nation’s nobility was admittedly quite limited, and you dreaded making yet another grave social error. Still, the Duke intrigued you, and anything was better than holing up in this godforsaken inn for yet another evening. You searched for your quill to pen a reply, but on a second reading of the letter, you noticed that the author had made no mention of an RSVP. The Duke had simply stated his wish for your presence at dinner. You assumed that he was not a man used to the denial of such wishes. You placed your quill back into its case, and readied a gown for the evening ahead.

***

A carriage was at your door three hours later. You took one last glance in the mirror—your gown was a deep blue, with a concealed pocket hidden within its skirt. Your dagger rested comfortably against your hip. You turned away from your reflection to meet the footman at the door. He helped you into the carriage before taking his seat at its front. You watched as the town slowly faded from view, little buildings being replaced by the moor surrounding the town. Low-lying shrubbery and taller grasses swayed in the wind, flashes of purple and green arraying the tawny scenery. You spotted a swatch of trees in the distance. The barkeep had mentioned something about a forest, right? That must be the edge of the Duke’s estate.

The carriage rumbled along the road, until the well-kept path grew over with the same grasses blanketing the moor. You furrowed your brow. Were you in the right place? Your hand travelled to the dagger at your hip. One could never be too careful, you reasoned.

The carriage stopped abruptly, nearly shaking you from your seat. Before you stood a large iron gate, flanked on both sides by tall evergreens. The footman stepped off the carriage to open the gate, its doors swinging open to reveal a wide cobblestone path. The horses’ hooves clacked rhythmically against the stone. Your eyes traced the path, following it to where it met its end and widening at what you saw.

Fett Manor was, quite simply, breathtaking. Dark grey stone, blanketed in ivy, rose up tall from the well-maintained gardens. Candles flickered in the many windows, giving the manor a gentle glow as it imposed upon the dusk-reddened sky. The carriage stopped at the crest of the U-shaped drive. You looked out at the tall oak doors, tentatively stepping out of the carriage and refusing the footman’s aid.

You marched up the front steps, tapping your knuckles gently at the door. You glanced over your shoulder at the footman, and to your surprise, he was already gone. The clacking of the horses’ hooves was still audible—the footman must have headed back to the livery stable.

The large doors swung open smoothly, and you were greeted by the sight of a kind-faced elderly woman. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her simple dress indicated that she was part of the staff. You offered a gentle smile.

You introduced yourself, dropping into a deep curtsy. The woman gave a small chuckle.

“There’s no need for that, dearie. I’m just the housekeeper,”.

Your cheeks heated as you rose from your curtsy.

The woman motioned for you to enter. You stepped inside tentatively, observing the high ceiling and grand staircase. The floors and stairs were solid and wooden, and the décor was elegant if not a bit dated. The manor seemed to walk the line between homey and formal. In your time as a mercenary, you had learned that a person’s surroundings could tell you much about their character. What did this tell you about the Duke?

“This way,” the woman spoke, leading you through the great room and into the dining room.

Boost and Sinker were already seated at the long oaken able, grinning when they saw you enter.

“Good evening, gentlemen,”.

The formality seemed to drip from your tone. Were you alone, you might have laughed at the pretense.

They offered you a greeting in response, before diving into the meat of the conversation.

“My lady, before our brother arrives, we have to ask you something,” Boost stated.

“Ask away,” you smiled.

“I’m sure the inn is quite nice, but would you consider staying at the estate? Just last week, the gardener spotted someone attempting to enter the premises through the back gate. Wolffe dealt with em’, but he’s been on edge, lately. Might do him good to know he’s not the only one on the lookout all the time,”.

Sinker exchanged a look with his brother.

Fett’s estate was certainly preferable to your rather cramped room at the inn, and if nothing else, you could spend your days wandering the moors instead of your one-room apartment.

“I accept,”.

“Accept what?”

You spun in your seat to face the Duke. He rolled his overcoat off his shoulders and took a seat at the head of the table, directly opposite you.

“We have a new houseguest, Wolffe,” Sinker grinned.

Wolffe glanced incredulously at Boost, as if to check whether or not he had heard his brother correctly. Boost shrugged as Wolffe settled into his seat at the head of the table.

“She’s gonna stay in one of the spare rooms so she can keep an eye out for you—maybe you can get some real sleep for once,” Boost said with a grin.

Wolffe nodded slowly.

“Alright,” he turned to address the housekeeper, who stood patiently in the doorway. “Mrs. Nu, would you mind preparing a room for our guest?”

The woman nodded swiftly before exiting the room with a twirl of her skirt, leaving you alone with the Duke and his two brothers.

“So you’re an assassin, right? Does that mean you always carry a weapon—”

The Duke cleared his throat rather loudly, interrupting Sinker’s stream of questions.

“Was your stay in town pleasant, my lady?”

You nodded.

“Very much so, your grace. I’d like to thank you for your invitation to dinner this evening, as well,”.

A sommelier materialized from behind you, filling your glass half-full with a dark red liquid.

“Mulberry wine,” Boost clarified. “The cook makes it himself in the summertime,”.

You uttered a quiet ‘thank you’ to the sommelier before taking a sip. It was sweet, the flavor of summer-ripened berries fresh and warm on your tongue. You set the glass back down on the sturdy oak table, taking a moment to admire its fine craftsmanship. Your eyes flicked back up to the Duke, whose gaze met yours as he raised his own glass to his lips. His accented voice cut the silence.

“Did you find time to visit the bookseller while in town? I’m told he has a new translation of The Odyssey in stock,”.

You shook your head.

“I’m afraid I didn’t. Are you quite partial to Homer’s works, sir?”

“I am, my lady,”.

You grinned.

“I myself prefer Virgil, but I cannot cast blame on your respect for the Blind Poet,”.

Wolffe hummed in approval as your eyes darted over to his brothers, who had been watching your exchange with increasing interest. Sinker cleared his throat.

“Are you fond of riding, my lady? I’m sure the Duke would be pleased to have you accompany him," Sinker paused, blinked, and in an instant turned as red as the Manor's garden roses. "--on his journey into town, that is. You could collect your belongings from the inn, as well,”.

Boost snorted as Wolffe choked on his drink. Your eyes widened as you absorbed what you hoped was an accidental innuendo. Your face rivaled Sinker’s in redness. Your mind reeled for a response, hoping to smooth over the embarrassment.

“I—I do have some experience on horseback. I’d like to visit the bookseller—if the Duke doesn’t mind the company, of course,”.

Your gaze traveled back to the Duke’s face.

“I’d be much delighted, my lady,”.

You smiled lightly. It was settled.

***

Your first night spent in Fett Manor was nothing if not memorable. After a rich dinner rife with conversation, you had been lead by Mrs. Nu to one of the most luxurious rooms you had seen in your life. A silk nightdress rested across the fine linen bedspread.

“I figured it would be more comfortable to sleep in than your corset, dearie,” Mrs. Nu had said.

Comfortable had been an understatement. You woke up late in the morning feeling more well-rested than you had been in years.

You tugged the down comforter up to your chin and extended your legs under the covers with a sigh. Light filtered in through the window, covering the room in a golden haze. You needed to get up.

You flipped back the covers with an exaggerated sigh, your bare feet meeting the cold wooden floor. You scooped up your gown, which you had rested carefully on a rather stately chair in the corner of the room. Your fingers coasted over the hem of your nightdress—you made a mental note to thank Mrs. Nu for lending it to you.

Once you had redonned your significantly less comfortable gown, you opened the door to your room and strolled down the spiral staircase to the great room.

The house felt surprisingly empty—a glance at the clock told you it was later than you had previously thought. Still, unease prickled at your spine. You peeked around the corner into the kitchen—it was empty, save for a plate of scones that had been left out from breakfast. You took one in your hand, biting into it as you continued your search.

A clang from outside the manor caught your attention. You hastily made your way to the side door, flinging it open with one hand as your other curled around the dagger in your dress. Your scone fell to the floor, forgotten.

Your lips parted in astonishment. The door had opened to reveal the Duke, with an elaborate silver spear in hand. His broad chest rose up and down as he spun the weapon with surprising speed and grace for a man of his size. Your eyes traced the strong lines of his arms, following all the way down to where his hands wrapped tightly around the spear. You drew in a sharp breath.

The Duke turned abruptly, lowering the weapon as recognition crossed his features.

“I apologize for the interruption, your grace,” you stuttered out, sheathing your dagger back into your skirt.

“It’s alright, my lady,” Wolffe assured. He rested the spear against the garden wall. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you,”. Your eyes danced back over to the spear. “An unconventional choice of weapon,” you noted.

The Duke’s eyes followed your gaze over to the spear before locking back on your face.

“I am a man of unconventional tastes,” he replied.

You nodded politely. He intrigued you­­––his skill with a weapon was undeniable. You had assumed you’d be able to hold your own against him in a fight before, but his use of the spear certainly changed the game. You made up your mind to review defensive tactics against spears once you returned from the bookseller. Wolffe posed no iminent danger to you, but he did present himself as a rather attractive sparring partner. You grinned slightly.

Wolffe turned back around to his spear, wiping off the point and grip with a silk cloth before making his way to the door. You followed, nearly tripping over a rosebush as your skirt caught on its thorns. His hand came to your shoulder instinctively. You inhaled sharply.

“I—I’ll have the stable boy ready the horses,” he murmured. He left your side in a swirl of disturbed air, the slam of the door to his study cutting through the morning silence. You huffed. You supposed his abruptness was typical for his demeanor and not a reaction to some perceived slight against him. At least you’d have time to eat.

You plucked another scone from the kitchen counter. You strolled over to the window near the wash basin, looking out the window to examine the property. Just behind the glass lay the garden where the Duke had practiced his spear-wielding. Further on, you saw a well-manicured lawn, and even further––at the base of the hill––trees sprung up at the lawn’s border. The forest stretched as far as you could see, though in between the thick evergreen branches you were certain you spied a glimpse of running water. That must have been the brook the barkeep had talked about.

Satisfied with your cursory examination of the terrain, you turned back around to face the kitchen, leaning comfortably against the countertop. To your left was an array of fine china, and to your right sat a full shelf of exotic spices. You meandered over to the spice rack, selecting a small jar of saffron and allowing the weight of the glass to roll across your palm. That small jar was worth as much as three weeks of your income. Despite the luxury he lived in, you knew the Duke was far from selfish. After the charity gala, you had examined the donor breakdown. Wolffe had contributed enough to singlehandedly sustain the orphanage for at least a year. Your brows furrowed. Typically, you were quick to figure out these old-money types, but the Duke seemed to be a conundrum. He was quiet, but made use of the words he spoke. Intelligent, with a military background—you suspected that was how he obtained his scar. He was wealthy, but if he didn’t give so much to charity, he’d surely be one of the richest men in Coruscant—aside from the king, of course. As you returned the saffron to the spice rack, your fingers caught on a small leather-bound notebook. You pried it out from between the thyme and oregano, flipping back the cover to reveal pages of recipes in neat, structured print. You noticed Wolffe’s name under one of the more recent ones. You chucked to yourself—he seemed to be full of surprises.

Another glance out the window revealed two horses––one black and one white––stationed just outside the garden walls. You darted out of the kitchen to the front door, almost startled when the Duke emerged silently from his study to walk at your side.

“Do you ride side-saddle, my lady?”

“I do,” you offered, curtsying slightly as he opened the heavy oak door and motioned for you to exit.

The white horse had already been fitted with an elaborate leather saddle, nicer than anything you had ridden on in your life. Hell, you rode bareback most of the time. You turned to Wolffe, whose lips curved into the beginnings of a grin. You smiled in return.

“Can I—” you motioned to the horse.

“Be my guest,” he replied.

***

Taglist: @peacefulwizardfox @nelba @marvel-starwars-nerd @a-lil-perspective

[lesyah]

moshang childhood friends to lovers au - final

Hello! here is a fic that was posted to my twitter. it has songs to go along with it from my twitter. If you’d like to look at the songs for each part, or just check out my twitter (where I have threadfics and other twitter fics not posted here), feel free to do so!

final [age 22]

Out of all the things Shang Qinghua had gone through over the past three and a half years, this was somehow the worst. He wasn’t sure why this was the one thing that had him on the verge of a breakdown. It seemed somewhat inconsequential compared to the other moments throughout his college career. Other moments like when he was truly on the verge of dropping out, or when he felt so lonely he thought he’d snap in half. He was able to cope with those things. But for some reason, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

He stared at the program in front of him, gaze faraway and his mind even farther away. All the sounds around him seemed to muffle. He had only picked up the itinerary to double check the time to tell his mom. He realized, in a split second, that Mobei Jun was also graduating. He knew this, in theory, but he never really thought about it.

A painful feeling bloomed in his chest. Mobei Jun was graduating. He was graduating university. He was graduating and Shang Qinghua wouldn’t be there. Shang Qinghua was graduating and Mobei Jun wasn’t going to be there. He blinked a few times, the realization settling in, grabbing his heart like a vice, and squeezing until his eyes pooled with tears.

This was the first milestone they wouldn’t be a part of for one another. They’d done all of the rest together. Mobei Jun had been there for all of it, and Shang Qinghua had been there for him in turn. He had expected this to go on for the rest of their lives. He didn’t necessarily think they’d share the same milestones (though he wished), but he at least thought he’d be there for them. 

He had always imagined Mobei Jun being on the other side of the room, a silent support, when he inevitably felt anxious about this huge change in his life. Now, he was going to have to walk across a stage, receive congratulations, hug his mom, hug Shen Yuan, smile in photos with his friends, and Mobei Jun wouldn’t be there. Even worse, Mobei Jun would walk across a stage, receive congratulations, stand with his father and uncle who wouldn’t hug him, and he’d hover with his friends, and Shang Qinghua wouldn’t be there for it. He wouldn’t get to hug him in lieu of his family. He wouldn’t be able to support him when he inevitably looked at the door, hoping his mother would walk in.

Shang Qinghua set his program down, pressed his face into his hands and wept. 

[“The person you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message.”

“Hi Mobei, it’s Qinghua. Um… You’re probably busy getting ready, so don’t mind this. It’s nothing important. It sucks we graduate on the same day, so I can’t go to yours. I wish that I could. Even though I can’t come, I just wanted to at least call you and let you know that I’m really proud of you. Don’t let your dad or your uncle bully you today, okay? I hope you have a good day. I, um…I miss you. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Hi! It’s Shang Qinghua. I can’t take your call right now, but please leave a message and I’d love to call you back!”]

“Have you thought any more about that job?” Shen Yuan asked, lightly pushing Luo Binghe’s hand away, where he was trying to dump more food into his bowl. “Binghe, stop. That’s yours.”

Shang Qinghua leaned back against the seat, letting his own food cool down as he thought of how to answer. It was just the three of them, thankfully, otherwise it would have been impossible to be honest. In fact, he was a little thankful that Luo Binghe was there. Luo Binghe would be kinder about it than Shen Yuan. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

Shen Yuan looked up at him. “What do you mean you don’t know? It’s an amazing opportunity.”

“Yeah, and it’s also really far from home.”

Shen Yuan looked at him. Luo Binghe was also looking at him, but more in interest than criticism. 

“Isn’t it exactly what you want to do?” Luo Binghe asked, taking a small bite of his food. “It’d be worth it to move far away, right?”

Shen Yuan looked back at his food, eating a huge bite of noodles in frustration. “He doesn’t want to move because of Mobei Jun,” he said, annoyed.

Shang Qinghua didn’t meet either of their gazes.

Luo Binghe was the one to speak next. “But…Do you know if he’s coming back?”

Shang Qinghua’s chest twinged. “No, I don’t know. That’s why I don’t know if I’m taking the job yet.”

“You’re really gonna determine whether or not you take your dream job based on whether or not Mobei Jun moves back?” Shen Yuan snapped. “Can you honestly tell me that you’re not setting yourself up for failure? Why did you switch schools? Because you made the mistake of following him to his school in the first place.”

Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but wince. He looked down at his food and picked at it. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to prioritize yourself for once!”

Shang Qinghua didn’t respond. He took a bite.

Luo Binghe was quiet. “I don’t know, gege, I kind of understand what he means.”

Shen Yuan looked over at him. “What? You’re saying you would give up your future for me?”

“No,” he defended, also not meeting Shen Yuan’s gaze. “It’s not like that. It’s not that simple.”

“How do you think that makes me feel, Binghe? That I’d be stopping you from doing what you want?”

Luo Binghe sighed and put his chin in his hand. He swirled his chopsticks in the broth in front of him. “But you’re what I want. What’s the point in having a job that I like just to be miserable in every other way?”

Shen Yuan looked at him for a moment, a complicated expression on his face. He looked like he was not about to let that conversation go, but was going to save it for just their own ears. He looked back at Shang Qinghua. “Are you really miserable?”

Shang Qinghua took a bite of some rice. “What gave me away?”

Shen Yuan said nothing. He looked down at his own food and began to eat. The rest of their celebratory meal was eaten in silence.

His mother was being a little overbearing. She was trying to hold onto him now that he was finally slipping away. She hadn’t tried to hold onto him his entire life, but now that he was finally going, she was ready to try. A part of Shang Qinghua thought it was a pretense. That in order to make herself feel better, she should cry and hug and reminisce about how much she loved him and how much of a good child he’d been. It only felt suffocating. 

When she finally went to bed, Shang Qinghua went to his old room and looked at the boxes on his floor. He packed away a few more things he’d be taking with him when he fully moved out. He didn’t have a place yet, and he still didn’t even know where he was going, but it would be easier for both him and his mom to have his things packed up. That way it wouldn’t be a surprise when the time finally came.

Shang Qinghua sat on the floor in front of one of those boxes. It was full of haphazardly thrown in memorabilia, all without a category that could go into its rightful box. It was full of random things he’d kept through the years, random photos, random toys he didn’t want to part with. 

He pushed himself away from the box. It was a box full of Mobei Jun, and Shang Qinghua was more and more averse to thinking of him at all.

He left his home, only bringing a light jacket. The summer air was just warm enough to not need anything heavier. The street he walked down was quiet, but he could hear the sound of the electrical wires crackling overhead. It was soft enough to not be distracting, and loud enough to help drown out some of the loudness in his heart.

He arrived at the park in what felt like a few moments, for this was a worn path, and a known journey. At the end was a familiar sight, with an intimate familiarity with the way the shadows from the moon would bend around each park bench, around each dark lamppost. Even more familiar, even more known, was the figure lying in the small patch of grass at the end.

Shang Qinghua’s heart lurched as he neared. Mobei Jun did not move when he approached. His eyes were somewhat blank as they stared up at the sky. Shang Qinghua laid down beside him and pillowed his head on his arms. The moon was right overhead, and cascaded them in white light.

“You’re here,” Shang Qinghua murmured, voice warm and desolate all at the same time.

“I thought maybe you’d come,” Mobei Jun said back, a similar cadence. 

“How’d you know?”

“Because I wanted to come, too.”

Shang Qinghua smiled a little. He removed one arm from beneath his head and set his elbow on the grass between them. He kept his hand raised in the air and waited. Mobei Jun reached out and grabbed it. He lowered their hands to the cool grass, and the blades tickled along Shang Qinghua’s hand.

“What’s next for you?” Shang Qinghua asked. His eyes tracked the movements of the clouds—a practiced habit. Much of his life was habitual, and he was discovering that anything beyond those learned habits was immensely painful.

“Not sure,” he said honestly. “I’m open to anything, to going anywhere. I just…want to want it. Whatever it is.”

Shang Qinghua nodded. He understood that. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing next?” He asked. He turned his head to look at him.

With his gaze, Shang Qinghua felt like another moon entirely stared down at him, lighting him up from the inside out and revealing all of his secrets. An unnamed desperate feeling welled up with the question. He felt afraid. He was afraid of knowing what his options were and not knowing at all what to do with them. “No,” he whispered, voice weak. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

Mobei Jun squeezed his hand. “It’s ok. You will.”

“I don’t feel like I will.” He could already feel the hysterics welling up. “I…don’t know what to do. About anything.”

Mobei Jun’s thumb brushed along his soothingly. “Qinghua,” he said. “Qinghua, it’s ok. You don’t have to know right now.”

Shang Qinghua squeezed his hand back, like he was trying to keep him from running away. It was all very loud, and he was very out of practice. He hadn’t had Mobei Jun to help him come down when he got like this for a very long time. It even felt like he had forgotten how to listen to Mobei Jun’s soothing voice and his calm demeanor. That scared him even more. He felt untethered, like a balloon full of helium, with nothing to keep him down. 

Mobei Jun released his hand and rolled onto his side to prop himself up on his elbow and look down at Shang Qinghua. The loss of his hand made him feel like he was about to float away forever. But Mobei Jun reached down with his other hand and grabbed onto Shang Qinghua’s again. He brought Shang Qinghua’s hand to his own chest. “Qinghua, breathe. It’s ok.”

Shang Qinghua looked over at him. “Is it? It doesn’t feel like it.”

Mobei Jun looked down at him, face even, heartbeat slow. His hand tightened on Shang Qinghua’s, and pushed it more firmly to his chest. He said nothing. 

Looking at his face, Shang Qinghua counted the heartbeats, and tried to think of nothing else. Instead of calming down, however, the desperation in his chest only morphed into another kind of panic. “Mobei,” he said, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt. “Mobei, I missed you.”

His hand flexed around Shang Qinghua’s. “I missed you, too.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered, almost frantic. “I never knew what to do.”

Mobei Jun began to look sad. “Me neither.”

Shang Qinghua began to cry. He rolled onto his side the same time Mobei Jun shifted, and they pulled each other into their arms. Shang Qinghua pushed his face into his chest and clutched into the fabric of his jacket. It was such a relieving feeling, almost painful in the way it pulsed through him. 

He only felt more afraid. Letting go would be so much harder, so much worse, now that there was no guarantee there would be another time for this. In that moment, he realized one thing: whatever happened, it would have to be final. Either he held onto Mobei Jun forever, or he let him go and never held him ever again.

Shang Qinghua felt a cold dread fill his gut. “Mobei, I need to tell you something.”

Mobei Jun’s arms tightened. When he spoke, he sounded afraid, like he was thinking of the last time Shang Qinghua had said those words. “What is it?”

Shang Qinghua shifted slightly, holding onto him tighter. He allowed himself one moment to savor it, just in case. He felt the way Mobei Jun’s breath expanded in his chest, the way his heartbeat could be felt from how close they were, the way his hair was long enough to fall down his back and tangle in Shang Qinghua’s fingers. He savored the way Mobei Jun held onto him like he would protect him from the world, and the way every embrace had only brought respite. 

“Qinghua,” he said, somewhat fraught. “What is it?”

Shang Qinghua shut his eyes, drifted a hand up to brush through the knots in his hair. “I love you.” He let the sound of it settle into the air around them for a moment, and though he hadn’t noticed before, he suddenly became aware of the sound of grasshoppers chirping, and the sound of the wind rustling the leaves in the trees. “I love you in every way I possibly could.”

Mobei Jun was silent and still for several moments. 

“I love you in the way that I want to be with you forever, never too far away and always close.” 

Mobei Jun pushed forward slightly and rolled Shang Qinghua onto his back. He lifted, propped up over him on one elbow, his other hand pillowing Shang Qinghua’s head. Shang Qinghua looked at his face once, but couldn’t take it. He looked away. “Qinghua,” he breathed. 

He blinked a few times, face flushed. “I mean it. Don’t ask me if I’m being serious.”

His hand shifted to caress the side of his face. He brushed his thumb along his cheek. “Qinghua,” he said again. “Look at me.”

Shang Qinghua really didn’t want to. He met his gaze and it was almost painful with how embarrassed he felt. He only felt more embarrassed when Mobei Jun did nothing but stare down at him. “What do you want me to look at you for? I’m so embarrassed.”

Mobei Jun dipped and pressed his lips to his cheek, soft and cool from the night air. “Why embarrassed?” He asked quietly, lips brushing against his skin. He pressed another kiss further down his cheek. Shang Qinghua’s face was on fire, and the grip he still had on Mobei Jun’s jacket only tightened. “What’s embarrassing?” He kissed further down, inward, towards Shang Qinghua’s mouth.

“Because you’re my best friend,” he whispered. “And you’ve been my best friend since I was a child. And—And I’m in love with you.”

Mobei Jun lifted slightly and hovered over him, only an inch away. “Still don’t understand what’s embarrassing.” He lowered, so their lips brushed when he spoke next. “You’re in good company, Qinghua. I love you, too.” 

He kissed him, gentle and calming, the same way he was about everything else. Shang Qinghua’s eyes stayed open for a moment as his brain tried to catch up. But then he found himself clutching onto him tighter, eyes slipping shut, as his hand caught in Mobei Jun’s hair with the grip. Mobei Jun winced slightly, then let out a soft laugh against his lips. 

Shang Qinghua loosened his grip to not pull on his hair, but only moved to cradle his face closer to his own. Mobei Jun tilted his head to the side, pushing further in to kiss him open. Shang Qinghua pulled back to breathe when he realized he had forgotten to do so ever since Mobei Jun kissed his cheek the first time. He kept his eyes shut, not wanting to wake up if this was a dream. He was breathing heavily, hands still on Mobei Jun’s face.

Mobei Jun was undeterred and pressed a light kiss to his open mouth, then to his bottom lip, then his chin, and down his jaw. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he whispered, breath washing down his neck. He kissed beneath his ear. “For so long that it seems odd that I’ve never told you. Why haven’t I?”

Shang Qinghua opened his eyes and the moon stared back at him, like it had seen everything. “I don’t know. I wish you would have. But it’s not like I told you either.” He swallowed, eyes scrunching shut when Mobei Jun kissed back up his jaw. “You meant too much to me to lose. That was why I didn’t tell you.”

Mobei Jun pulled back to look down at him. “You wouldn’t have. Even if I didn’t feel the same way. You mean too much to me to lose, too. There’s nothing you could do or say to change that.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes filled with tears and he tugged him back down. Mobei Jun went pliantly, pressing their lips together again. He shifted over him, so his knees were on either side of his waist. He held Shang Qinghua’s face, kissing him so gently that it felt like kissing a cloud. Despite the gentleness, he still managed to coax Shang Qinghua open with it, and as soon as he opened up, Mobei Jun swept inside, head tilting to the side for a better angle.

Making an embarrassingly small sound in the back of his throat, Shang Qinghua wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him down. Mobei Jun went, shifting onto his elbows to hover over him. He pulled back for a moment, a quiet, wet sound hanging between them. Shang Qinghua looked up at him, felt his heart lurch, and pushed himself up to kiss him again. Mobei Jun’s lips turned up as he indulged for a few moments longer.

He pulled back and held his face again. His thumb came up to softly brush against Shang Qinghua’s bottom lip. He pulled down on it slightly, looking a little entranced at his red, kiss-bruised mouth. “I love you.”

Shang Qinghua let out a breath, like it was forced out of him. He reached up to grab onto his shoulders. “I love you,” he whispered, as if he was trying to convince him. 

Mobei Jun smiled.

“You asked me what my plans were,” Shang Qinghua said, swallowing as he stared at the hollow of Mobei Jun’s throat. “And I really don’t know. I don’t know what I want or what I’ll do, but I do know that I’ll only be happy if you’re there with me.”

Mobei Jun bent to press their foreheads together. His voice was quiet, so quiet it felt like a feat that Shang Qinghua could hear him at all. “I’ve never really known what I wanted to do. The only plan I’ve ever had has been you.”

Shang Qinghua felt his insides collapse a little. He tugged him down and pressed his face into his neck. Mobei Jun hugged him back just as tightly. They stayed that way for a long time.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Unjust

Prompts: Prompt for ya if u like! Ur so talented, big fan of your stories!-->>> Arthur is forced to come to grips with how little Merlin's life matters to society when Uther refuses to even discipline the nobles who beat him, dismissing Arthur with the words that will change how he sees the world forever; "Stop being so dramatic, he's only a servant. I'll get you a new one." - anon

The last fic you just wrote with h/c and merlin's duties as a servant WAS SO GOOD AND SO PAINFUL. Could we get a sequel? Maybe the knights trying to deal with the aftermath or the first time it happens again and Merlin trying to figure out what's something he's supposed to tell Arthur about v. actually his job? I don't know - anon

Ah yes more of these bois always

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: implied/referenced abuse, uther is an absolute gobshite, merlin gets hurt quite bad

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 2624

Arthur thought it couldn’t get worse.

Couldn’t get worse than Merlin looking at all of them with a completely serene expression on his face and telling them he’s been abused since the second he set foot in Camelot. That he could look at all of them and be absolutely sincere, calm, almost resigned about the torment he’s been put through.

Couldn’t get worse than Merlin being confused when all of the knights immediately protested, that yes, Merlin, this is systematic abuse, that has been allowed to pass unseen for too long, that there are no consequences for things like this but damnit there should be. That Merlin, somehow, knew that this was wrong but didn’t call it abuse.

Couldn’t get worse than Merlin looking at him, right at him, and telling him that Arthur has abused him, since day one, and that he doesn’t feel it’s his place to stop him. That Arthur has been complicit and has helped people abuse him because he thought Arthur didn’t care enough to help him realize that it was wrong.

No, Arthur thought they were past the worst of it.

Now Arthur tells Merlin bluntly that he’s not supposed to be the servant to any visiting knight. He’s supposed to walk them to their chambers and leave, right then. There will be other servants who will help them get settled the rest of the way. One will see to the bed. One will see to the food. One will see to the armor if, and only if, it is requested. Merlin will not spend a second more around the knights than he has to.

Merlin looks a little afraid when he tells him that and Arthur can’t stop himself from taking the man into his arms and asking him what’s the matter.

“They’ll be angry,” he mutters, studiously avoiding Arthur’s gaze, “they’ll be angry I’m not staying.”

“Then they can come and talk to me.” Arthur brushes Merlin’s hair out of his face. “But they don’t get to harm you.”

Leon enforces it the first time a knight decides no, he’s going to get upset when Merlin leaves. Leon’s temper does not flare often, nor does it flare particularly high, but he’ll never forget the way Merlin rushes to his side and tells him he swears Leon’s eyes flashed red for a second. Leon tells him later that he…persuaded the knight to be grateful that there were servants here to help him at all.

He makes sure to be nearby the next time, just to see Leon slam the knight against the wall.

Leon bustles Merlin down to the armory, passing it off as the need to clean the weapons, when Arthur knows full well it’s an excuse to hoard Merlin to themselves and keep him safe.

Sometimes Elyan takes it a step further, comes between whatever knight thinks it’s a good idea to accost Merlin in the armory and tells them back off. He makes a show of Merlin knowing exactly where all the weapons are and exactly how often one of them will come down to find him. Merlin returns to Arthur’s chambers after the first time with a soft ‘you’d really come look for me?’ Arthur doesn’t quite cuddle him to sleep that night but they don’t move from the hug for a while.

Percival, of course, turns the protective hug into an art form. The man is huge, certainly much larger than the average knight, and watching him glare at someone over Merlin’s shoulders is quickly turning into one of Arthur’s favorite past times. He’s no stranger to the way Merlin will sometimes scoot closer to someone when he’s feeling overwhelmed, but it’s something else to see Percival almost mold into shape when Merlin’s by his side. A soft word in Percival’s ear and you couldn’t drag him away.

Lancelot is never far from Merlin’s side. Merlin jokes one day that he and Arthur have some sort of alliance or pact; one of them is never allowed to be further than a few paces away from him if the other isn’t around.

“That’s not true, Merlin,” Lancelot chuckles, nudging his knee with his foot, “the two of us don’t have that pact.”

No, Arthur smiles privately to himself, the six of us have that pact.

And sometimes Merlin can’t come to Arthur. That knowledge still burns when he remembers it, but it makes sense. Arthur holds a position of power. Arthur has—whether he feels sick with regret or not—contributed to Merlin’s abuse. Arthur is not always there for Merlin the way he needs to be. But Lancelot is.

And when Lancelot isn’t, Merlin always has Gwaine.

Arthur is not too proud to admit that he and Gwaine butt heads more often than they don’t, certainly when it comes to Merlin. But where Merlin’s safety and comfort is concerned, they never fight. It is Merlin who dictates where he feels the safest, whose side he wants to stay at for a while. It is Merlin who decides where he will run when he’s upset. They never fight about it. It’s always concern—what can they do to help? When was the last time he ate? Does he want to talk about what happened? Merlin notices it the first time Arthur accidentally walks in on him lying in Gwaine’s arms and there’s nary a barb tossed between them before Arthur is softly asking if he’s allowed to stay too and Gwaine tucking him into the embrace alongside them.

“Did you two finally learn how to get along?”

“Only for you, Merlin,” Gwaine says quietly, “only for you.”

And yes, there are absolutely nights where Merlin shakes more than he usually does or one of the visiting knights makes the mistake of cuffing him where they can see and they all end up piled into Arthur’s chambers. After the knight’s been humiliated on the training field by every single one of them and blacklisted from any future tournaments.

Merlin doesn’t always ask for them, but when he does, everyone drops everything. That’s the unspoken agreement. Merlin so much as sniffles and their afternoon plans are dust. Arthur will never forget the day Percival swept into his chambers with Merlin in his arms, the other knights in a guard of honor as Merlin threw his arms around Arthur’s neck.

“Shh, shh,” Arthur murmurs, lowering them to the ground as Leon tells the guards to leave them be, “you’re safe, I won’t hurt you, you’re alright.”

That’s a promise.

So yes, Arthur thought it couldn’t get worse.

As always, leave it to his father to make everything worse.

Merlin is missing. Arthur strides out of his chambers before the guards even realize the doors have been thrown open. Merlin is missing and that’s all that matters. His armor clanks loudly in the hallway and the other people jump to the side to get out of his way.

Good.

He knocks on the door of Gaius’s chambers. Gaius looks at him like he’s just grown another head. It doesn’t matter. Where is Merlin?

“I thought he was with you, sire.”

Merlin is missing. He leaves with strict instructions to find him whenever Merlin turns up. He stalks to the armory and runs into Elyan and Percival. Where is Merlin?

“Haven’t seen him,” Elyan mutters, already rushing off, “I’ll ask Gwen.”

Percival falls into step behind him as they hustle down the corridor. Leon comes out of one of the halls and immediately assumes a position on Arthur’s left.

“What is it, sire?”

“Where is Merlin?”

Leon doesn’t say another word. If all the guards decide to flatten themselves against the wall as the three of them go by, that’s their business.

They find Gwaine muttering curses as he storms toward the tournament grounds.

“Where is Merlin?”

“If the way Godefroy was looking at him is any indication—“ and they’re already seeing red— “then we need to move.”

No need to tell them twice.

Arthur leads the charge down to the door. He throws it open and all the training knights freeze. He glares around at them, looking for Merlin, Merlin, you’re not Merlin.

“Godefroy,” comes Leon’s clipped voice, “where?”

“This way.” They turn to see Lancelot stalking toward the training ground, the other recruits parting like smoke as they storm forward.

Arthur feels it before he hears it.

Smack!

The other knights are caught in the maze of weapon racks as Arthur darts through the armory.

“Stupid, worthless boy, needs to be taught a lesson.”

Smack!

The wounded yelp makes him push faster. He rounds the corner and—

Godefroy. On top of Merlin. His hand raises to smack him again. Merlin on his back. Hands up. Defending but not defending enough.

His teeth are not bared.

His expression is resigned.

He does not spit in the knight’s face.

The knight moves to strike him again.

Not on my goddamn watch.

“Get your hands off him,” Arthur snarls, the blade singing as he pulls it from the scabbard, “get your hands off him!”

Godefroy looks up. “He’s just a servant, he needs to be disciplined properly.”

“You must not have heard me—“ why is he still too far away?— “I told you to get off of him.”

Godefroy rolls his eyes but complies, because Arthur is the prince and his word is law but that doesn’t mean the knight has to agree.

Merlin doesn’t move.

Arthur snarls again, readying his sword for an attack only for Godefroy to stand there, not readying himself for the blow.

“How dare you strike him,” he spits, “how dare you raise a hand to him.”

Godefroy says nothing.

“Are you too much of a coward to defend yourself?” Arthur hefts the sword. “Are you?”

“Arthur,” comes a steel voice from the other end of the hall, “what is the meaning of this?”

He turns.

Uther strides toward him, looking down his nose the way Arthur looks at the muck on his boots. “Surely you have some explanation for your behavior.”

“He hurt Merlin,” Arthur growls, gesturing at—oh, Merlin, why are you still on the floor?

Uther scoffs. “I understand being possessive of your property, but really, Arthur, there’s no need for such childish behavior.”

“Childish—Father, he hurt him.”

“So?”

So?

So?

Fucking so?

“He’s just a servant,” Uther says, waving a dismissive hand, “stop being so dramatic. I’ll get you another one if Godefroy breaks him.”

Godefroy steps around Arthur, looking far too smug, and leaves.

Arthur stands there, panting, as his chest roils with anger too deeply buried to come out as anything other than agony.

This. This is why Merlin didn’t believe him.

Distantly, he hears the other knights rushing down the corridor and he turns, sheathing the sword and crouching, all but ripping off his rough gloves to cradle Merlin’s head in his hands.

“Merlin,” he calls softly, “Merlin, can you hear me?”

Merlin nods, his eyes still a little dazed.

“Good. Try and sit up. Lean on me if you need to.”

By the time Lancelot rushes forward to fall to his knees beside them, Merlin is propped up against Arthur’s shoulder, his head far too red for his liking. Gwaine mutters another curse as the knights spill protectively into the hall.

“Merlin,” Lancelot calls, “Merlin?”

Merlin shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he corrects, taking Merlin’s hand, “it’s really not.”

“It’s better me than someone else.”

Arthur buries his head in Merlin’s neck. Because Merlin’s right.

How many other servants have had to go through this? How many people has the mighty wheel of Uther Pendragon crushed underneath its weight? How many times has he turned the corner into a hallway where someone was beaten just for being a servant?

Merlin has him. Merlin has the knights. Merlin has Gaius. Merlin will be protected because they know about Merlin.

Who don’t they know about?

“This stops,” he grits out, “right now.”

“You can’t stop everyone,” Merlin mumbles, still slumped against Arthur, “you can’t, Arthur.”

“I’m the Crown Prince of Camelot,” Arthur says, holding Merlin tightly, “if I decide that there need to be consequences for actions, there will damn well be consequences.”

There are.

Merlin is shuttled back to his chambers with Lancelot and Elyan. Gwaine and Percival return to the training grounds with twin looks of determination. Arthur and Leon go straight to the steward.

The steward blinks up at them, clearly taken aback by the question. “I’m terribly sorry, sire, would you mind asking one more time?”

“The servants,” Arthur says, “how many of them are mistreated? How are they mistreated? I want to know.”

“Well, sire…all of them.” The steward fiddles with a stack of paper, moving it aside so he can lean on his elbows. “They do not have…there is not the power to protect them the way there is to protect you or the knights.”

“And how do we give them that power?”

“Come again, sire?”

“They are people,” Arthur says firmly, Leon’s unwavering presence at his side, “they are people and they should be treated as such. How do we ensure that happens?”

“W-well, sire,” the steward says slowly, “any large reforms would need the consent of the King. But there are…there are smaller ways that we can arrange for their treatment to…improve.”

“Such as?”

The steward looks at him strangely. “Forgive me, sire, but…I did not expect this behavior from you.”

Arthur shifts in the chair. “Perhaps I’ve been refusing to look for too long.”

“It is an admirable shift, sire.”

“It’s common decency. Now what do we do?”

Some knights start finding it hard to run into servants in the hallways. Some knights don’t receive chambers with proper insulation. Some knights are beaten down on the training ground over and over. Some knights find it impossible to stay.

Some knights figure out what’s going on quickly. Some knights have kind words and soft questions and thank-yous. Some knights start to push back when they see another knight be too brash, too rough, too callous.

Some knights get it. Some knights don’t.

Those that don’t either leave fast or learn faster.

Godefroy finds himself the training dummy, pelted with arrows, clubs, staffs. The other knights find he has grown cocky over sparring with whatever servants have been dragged out to the field and do not hide their interest when Leon offers to help him regain some of his prowess.

He never gets within five feet of Merlin again.

Uther is beside himself, wondering where all his servants have gone, where all his knights are going, and why no one else seems to be the least bit concerned about it. Arthur smiles privately to himself as he watches the steward explain calmly that if he wants to know what’s going on with the servants, perhaps he could try talking to them.

“After all, sire, servants are people too.”

[phoenixblack89]

Fera Ingris

Chapter 1 - Dealing with Dixons

It's finally here people! Eekkk! It'll be up on A03 later when I turned my laptop on. Been teasing this for soooo long.

My wonderful tag list:

@lilythemadqueen @boondoctorwho @darylsgirl @autocon23 @browneyes528 @fandomsaremykryponite @writingdeadangel

"Yer take care of yourself lass, don't worry about us."

Phoenix sighed at the man on the other end of the phone, twisting the silver rosary he had given her for her birthday many years ago. The world had changed dramatically for them all since that day. Their history bloody and violent and God sent. 

"Are ye listening lass?" 

"Of course, I'm listening! It's you who isn't! I'm on the way to Atlanta now!  As in I'm already in Georgia! I can't let you three rot in there when we've got things to do!" 

"Lass, we can take care of ourselves. Connor wants to know if ye got our package?" He asked, she stifled a laugh at the noise of the pair fighting over the phone she could hear. 

"Yea I got it. Haven't opened it yet though" she replied, the bike's engine growing colder under her. "What's in it? You guys shouldn't be sending anything. You're lucky Duffy and Dolly got it t' me before I left Boston."

"I know lass but ye need t' keep those safe fer us." She smiled hearing her other friend's voice, clearly having won the battle for the phone. "Look things are getting bad here. You're safe now but things are gettin' weird, we'd never forgive ourselves if anything happened to ye. I love ye too much" 

"I love ya too, you idiot! I'm gonna get you all out. We have a mission! I've got a bag full of your stuff right here on my bike, your clothes, coats, guns." 

"Aye. What?! No? Yea. Let me say goodbye a' least?" Phoenix knitted her eyebrows, hearing the man talking to someone else. A prison guard maybe. "Lass we have t' go. I'll call ye back when things settle aye?" 

"Yea. Just tell me where you are at least?" 

"Sorry lass I got to -" 

The line suddenly died on her and she frowned, shaking the phone and seeing no signal. She ran her hand through her short dark red hair and started the bike up, speeding quickly towards Atlanta and her boys. 

                                                      **********

The sun shined through the thin, flimsy material of the tent, shining directly down into the sleeping pairs eyes. The short, spiky, dyed haired young woman groaned and threw her arm over her face. She sat slowly and yawned. She'd had that dream for weeks, wondering what had happened to her friends. 

Had the prison been overrun by the monsters that lurked in every corner? Were they dead? Or worse... Had they become one of those things? 

She'd slept after her watch shift, which surprised the girl as she had been having a bad bout of insomnia for the last two weeks. Ever since... 

No, she thought don't think about it. 

She glanced at the young boy laid next to her and smiled. When Carl asked if he could sleep in her tent with her the night before she had been hesitant (mainly because Lori rarely let him out her sight) but Lori had said it was okay and she was not going to fight against the long-haired beauty. 

Lori had also said it would be good for her, get her to trust others again. And honestly the boy reminded her so much of her old friend with his boundless energy and smiles. 

A gentle tap to the roof of her tent set her senses on guard. She grabbed her long calf length boots and her Bowie knife and slowly pulled the zipper up. A sigh released from her throat as she squinted up at the crossbow welding man in front of her. 

"We goin' hunting or what?" He snarled at her, obviously still mad at the woman from their disagreement yesterday. It wasn't her fault. He had spooked her... 

Merle approached the dark red haired girl sat by the quarry lake silently. Something was up with her and he was determined to find out what. The sight in front of him worried him slightly, she was nervous and kept flicking her head around. Had she been bit? He was thankful the darkness of the twilight hid him somewhat as he watched. She hissed as she pulled the bloody bandage off her left hand, flexing it and hissing through her teeth. The soft sound of something hitting the surface of the water, made his heart thump. It wasn't raining so why did it sound like it was? 

He came right behind her and watched as she rubbed at the wound, it oozed blood and yellowish white pus as she gritted her teeth. Infection was setting in. Daryl called out his name from camp and the girl spun and noticed him there. 

"Ya shouldn't be down 'ere by herself girlie." He whispered, kneeling and gently taking her hand, examining the injury intently. "Now wha' we gonna do abou' yer hand? Yer can't take what I offered yer."

"Burn it again. Only thing we can do. Not like we can wander to nearest pharmacy, throw my hand on the counter and say fix it, is it?" She hissed as he prodded a sensitive spot, Merle chuckled slightly and helped her to her feet. 

"Nah but China is headed t' the city tomorrow. I'ma go too. I know my meds and I'll get yer what yer need t' be right as rain again, Lil sis." He said with a smirk as they climbed back up the slope to the camp. Daryl and Shane spun round at their footsteps and Merle smirked. Officer ass-hat was on one about something. 

"Phoenix! Where have you been?! We told you to stay in camp until you could fight!" Shane whisper-yelled in her face. 

"Easy there officer. Girl just needed a second by 'erself... Gets a bit loud round here." Merle defended her, placing himself between the well musculared man and the girl who seemed to shrink into herself. "She's fine. I was a watchin' her." 

"I bet you were Dixon." Lori said under her breath. Phoenix glanced at the woman with eyes narrowed. The majority of the camp thought the Dixons were rude, brash and shouldn't be there. Only Phoenix, Glenn, Andrea and Shane knew of the incident that had cemented the brothers in the camp's good graces, well in their good graces. 

Phoenix sat down at the small fire infront of her tent and sighed, her ears picking up on raised voices coming from the Dixon tent. It sounded like Daryl was majorly pissed about something and Merle was defending himself.

Isn't any of your business she thought ignore them.

She gazed deep into the fire, the heat warming her frozen limbs nicely. She hated the cold, not that it was cold but she felt like she was sat on a box of ice in just her underwear. She had experienced working in much colder situations, hell the Irish rain was colder than this. The sweat on her brow made her eyes ache and she closed them, leaning her head back.

"Ahh!" She shrieked, jumping up and thrusting her knife backwards towards whatever had grabbed her shoulder. A deep grunt sounded and her hand was twisted, causing her to release her grip of the blade's handle. 

"Ain't no need t' try t' gut me girl." Daryl growled, his gruff voice instantly calming the nervous woman. She sighed and held her hand out, Daryl raised his chin and regarded whether to return her knife or not for a moment. He relented at her raised eyebrow and dropped it into her left hand. She hissed in pain and clutched at her wrist. Quicker than she could pull away, he'd wrapped his hand around her wrist yanking her closer and pulling the bandage off her injury. He could see how raised and angry it look, grimacing slightly as it oozed at his poking. Tears of pain welled in her eyes as she grit her teeth, he grumbled under his breath and glanced over his shoulder at his older brother. Merle nodded and raised the half empty bottle of whiskey in a salute. "This why Merle is leavin' right?"

"Yea, told him he didn't have to." She whispered as he released her arm, her skin tingled at the lose of contact. Daryl ran his hand over his neck and bit his lip. 

"Ye need meds. Ain't happy a' him, riskin' his neck fer someone like ya." He groaned under his breath. Her mood soured and she shoved him away. He stumbled for a second and threw her a glare. "What the hell is ya problem girl?"

"Someone like me Dixon? Huh? What exactly do you mean by that?!" She folded her arms across her chest. Daryl's eyes flickered downwards for a second to how her arms pushed her breasts higher and more together. 

God she's gorgeous when she's mad he thought, his cock twitching in his jeans. He ducked his head and scoffed.

"Ya know what I mean, can't even hunt without hurtin' yaself." 

"Go away Dixon." She turned on her heel and stormed off up the bank, and climbing up the RV ladder to take watch. Daryl sighed and slopped off back to his brother, who was laughing, finding the whole scene hilarious.

                                                    **********

Phoenix nodded up at the hunter and pulled on her boots and grabbed her bow. She followed Daryl over to his tent where his brother was preparing to go into the city. Merle gave her a once over as she approached, his eyes narrowed at the bow across her back and the stains on the bandage around her left hand.

"Mornin' Firebug." He drawled as the pair stopped. She nodded and heaved her backpack tighter to her shoulder beside her quiver of arrows. "Y'all gonna be alright t' hunt wit' tha' hand?" He questioned, giving his brother a glance. Daryl gave Merle a hooded lidded look and nodded his head up. "Don't wanna waste my time if ya gonna drop down dead on poor Darlena 'ere."

The girl smirked and shoved the older man's shoulder playfully before flipping him off, striding towards the treeline.

"You watch 'er baby brother. She's one of us now."

"Hmm" Daryl said, glancing at the girl as she waited just under the cover of the trees for him. Merle gave a low chuckle and Daryl glared at him. "Stop."

"Come on baby brother, don't be like that." Merle stood and patted him on the shoulder. "Ya been pining after 'er for weeks now. Just give her some of the ol' Dixon charm. If ya even have any!" He barked out a laugh as his brother scoffed and walked away, joining the girl and disappearing into the woods.

                                                    **********

A low whistle drew her attention and she glanced in the direction of it. Daryl raised his hand and pointed off towards the copse of trees in front of him. Keeping her body low to the ground and her steps feather light she approached him. Her eyes darting out at the small herd of deer in front of them, they'd finally found them after two days in the woods. She raised her hand and pointed to the smaller of the two bucks. Daryl nodded and gestured he was going to try and get around them so if they darted he could take a shot. She nodded and crouched lower, using the shrubs to hide her. Daryl wandered away silently as she waited for his signal. 

A loud shriek pierced the air and the deer scattered. Daryl swore and took off after the smaller buck, Phoenix following him at a distance. 

                                                    **********

They stopped by a small creak, Phoenix dipping her hand into it and running it over the back of her neck. She felt like she was on fire, yet icy cold at the same time. The infection in her hand had well and truly set in, she needed to be careful or she'd drop and not get back up.

"We go a littl' further then stop fer the night." Daryl mummered beside her, wiping his soaked red rag over the back of his neck and down his face. She nodded, eyes staring off into the stream. He watched her carefully, the way her hair at the back of her neck was slightly curly, the way her ears twitched as if she was a rabbit or a deer hearing a predator. He found her beautiful and mysterious. A riddle he wanted to solve. He couldn't help his attraction to her physique either, the woman was beautiful. Not perhaps every man's wet dream but he found her incredibly sexy. 

He admired how she wore gothic, all black, metal studded and chained clothes despite the heat, her short dyed dark red hair, the regrowth hinting at sandy blond, spiked with sweat these days that cried out to be tugged as she was kissed, the slight thicker set of her thighs, buttocks and stomach, he much preferred a girl with a bit of weight than the skinny, almost starved look some of the women up at camp had; the ink he could spy under her clothes was calling out for him to discover exactly how many tattoos she had and why she'd chosen them. He had seen a glimpse of the tattoos on her by accident when he'd stumbled upon her at the lake having a quick swim and also when he'd found her in the woods. She kept herself well covered normally, she said she got sunburn easily. He could spy an interesting shaped scar across her collar bone when she wore lower cut shirts, not that she did very much now. 

Not since he'd saved her in the woods a week or so ago. 

He loved how well they worked as hunters together. She knew enough to track decently and was surprisingly quiet on her feet, despite the heavy metal covered, thick platform soled boots she chose to wear. They're only issue seemed to be that they butted heads constantly when not hunting, both taking verbal swipes at each other whenever they tried to have a conversation, sometimes she'd slap him on the arm; Merle finding it hilarious and entertaining to join in. Damn Merle, was his fault she got hurt in the first place. If he hadn't egged her on about her lack of hunting abilities, she wouldn't have been out in the woods by herself in the first place. 

He sighed quietly as she raised to her feet and moved away, eyes scanning the forest floor for the deer's tracks, finding them and leading the way.

                                                    **********

Daryl grunted as he lowered himself down beside the girl, who was turning a stick through the weak fire in front of her. The night was silent except for the light wind. He silently settled down against the log and took out of one of the squirrel for the pair to eat. Daryl made quick work of gutting and skinning the small rodent and shoved it on a stick to slowly roast over the flames. The girl's eyes drifting upwards towards the stars. She looked so peaceful that he didn't want to disturb her. 

"We gotta head back in the morning if we don't find the deer." She nodded and pulled her arms around her own shoulders, shivering slightly. "Come 'ere." He said, holding his arms open for her to settle beside him. Daryl usually hated touching others and being touched was a rarity for him but he'd made the exception for her while they hunted. It was simply for survival he told himself. If she got too cold she'd get sick and then the group wouldn't have a hunter when he and Merle left. And he'd feel that guilt all his life, the kids needed fresh meat so he was doing something for the group. Nothing to do with his stupid little crush. Nope, he was doing it for the group. She shuffled closer and wrapped an arm around his waist. Her head found his chest and she sighed, feeling the heat from Daryl seep into her cold bones. Daryl frowned, she felt hot yet she was shivering like crazy. 

That damn hand. 

He pulled her closer and ran his hand cautiously up and down her arm. She flinched at first then relaxed into his embrace. 

"Ya alright?" 

"Yea. Just cold." She whispered, her warm breath causing goose bumps across Daryl's chest. She blinked slowly, feeling sleep call her. The smell of Daryl's warm body lulling her, she had missed falling asleep in a man's arms. It was familiar and comforting. She felt safe, warm and protected despite the dead walking. 

                                                    **********

The sharp whistle drew her attention to the left. She nocked her arrow and let it fly, hitting the deer in the hind leg causing it to run. The two hunters had caught up to the deer earlier and were driving it towards camp. Daryl was in the rear urging it forward, while she made it turn in the right direction when it veered too far to the left. 

She spotted the steep banks that marked the outer edges of the quarry and smiled. 

Almost home.

Taking another shot to steer the deer towards the lower bank she smiled. The group would eat well tonight. She stumbled and shot at the hind leg again. The deer in one last desperate burst of energy slipped out of her sight but it was very close to camp. Wouldn't take long for them to catch up.

                                                          **********

Phoenix paused and braced her arms on her knees, Daryl whistled in question, asking if she was alright as he walked by her. She held up a hand in reply. He grumbled and walked away. She could hear yells and the sounds of stomping as she neared the rocks that hid camp. 

Daryl was knelt on the ground and looking over the deer. 

"Think we could cut around the chewed up part?" He said looking up at Dale and the others. Phoenix's eyes narrowed as she spotted a new face amongst the men. The group of men didn't seem to notice her as she joined Daryl at his side, subconsciously seeking his protection from the stranger. Fear made her heart pound loudly in her ears as Daryl stood. 

"I wouldn't risk that" Shane said quietly, Daryl sighed dejectedly frustrated he hadn't been able to feed the group more. 

"That's a damn shame. We got us some squirrels... About a dozen or so. That'll have to do."

"Oh my god!" Amy gasped as the head of the walker suddenly began to gnash its teeth. 

"Come on people! What the hell?!" Daryl exclaims as he releases a bolt through its undead head. "It's gotta be the brain! Don't y'all know nothin'?!" 

Phoenix smirked, shouldering her bow as she followed Daryl back into camp. She gave a glance over her shoulder at the group behind her, noticing the exchange of looks between them. 

"MERLE! MERLE! Get ya ugly ass out here! Got us some squirrel! Let's stew 'em up!" Daryl calls out, Phoenix swivelling her head to see where the elder Dixon was.

"Daryl, just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you." Shane called, his hands on his hips as the group avoids Daryl and Phoenix's eyes. 

"About what?" Daryl queries, pausing his march around the camp. Phoenix, instinctively, taking Daryl's back with a bad feeling in her gut. 

"DD... Hear him out." She whispers as Daryl narrows his eyes in suspicion. Daryl glances at her briefly before turning back to Shane. 

"About Merle... There was a... There was a problem in Atlanta." The former officer sighs, his hand reaching out as if to pacify the man. Phoenix grits her teeth and reaches for the gun hidden behind her shirt slowly, sensing this was not going to end well. 

"He dead? "

"We're not sure..."

OH shitttt Phoenix thought, slipping the brace of squirrels and her bow off her shoulder. 

"He either is or he ain't!" Daryl stated, his voice raising in anger as his face grew more dark. 

"No easy way to say this so I'll just say it." The newcomer said quietly, stepping into the discussion. 

"Who are you?!" Daryl asked, confused slightly as to what this stranger had to do with his brother's disappearance. 

"Rick Grimes." 

"Rick Grimes?!" Daryl spat aggressively, his face a mask to the hurt and anger underneath. "You got summit ya want t' tell me?" 

"Your brother was a danger to us all, so I... I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal... He's still there." 

"What the fuck!?" Phoenix snarled as her eyes narrowed at the newcomer. Her stance widening, readying herself for a fight. Daryl began pacing, his eyes meeting hers, she gave a barely there nod in agreement with him. 

"Hold on... Let me process this. You're sayin' you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there!?" Daryl growled as he paced, the woman edging towards Shane, out of Daryl's path to Rick. 

"Yeah." 

Daryl growls loudly as he throws his rope of squirrels at Rick, who dodges them easily. 

"Hey! Watch the knife!" T-Dog yells as Daryl pulls his knife. Shane dodges Phoenix and gets behind Daryl, quickly putting him into a chokehold. Phoenix steps up behind Shane, her own knife slipping into her grip, her gun giving a low click as she removed the safety and pointed it at the curls of Shane's hair. 

"Okay... Okay..." Shane whispers, lowering Daryl and himself to the ground. 

"You'd best let me go!" Daryl gasped, struggling to free himself. 

"Do as he says!" Phoenix snarls, her Beretta a mere breath away from Shane's skull. 

"Chokehold's illegal!" Daryl grunts, thrashing his legs. Phoenix lowers her gun to Shane's shoulder, ready to pull the trigger if needed. 

"You can file a complaint!" Shane laughs weakly. "Come on man. We'll keep this up all day."

"Like shite we will. I'll shoot ya first mate!" The red head growled as Rick kneels in front of Daryl and Shane, his head tilting to the side. 

"I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Do you think we can manage that? Do you think we can manage that?" 

Daryl grunts, ceasing to struggle, slapping his hand out to the side of him; silently signalling to the woman to stand down as Shane hums in question. 

"Mmm...Yeah." Daryl replies. 

Shane releases him quickly and steps away as the younger man raises himself to his feet. Shane's eyebrows raised as Phoenix pulls herself to her full height, him and Rick giving her a worried glance. She smirks and makes a show of putting her knife and gun back into their places. Rick turns to Daryl and rubs the back of his neck slowly. 

"What I did was not on a whim. Your brother does not work or play well with others."

"It’s not Rick's fault!" T-Dog interrupted, the large man stepping closer. "I had the key... I dropped it!"

Phoenix scoffed, glaring at the man. 

"Ya couldn't pick it up?!" Daryl questioned, his anger disappearing and being replaced by worry and anxiety. 

"Well, I dropped it in a drain."

"If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it don't." Daryl snapped as he shook his head, pacing in a small circle. Phoenix joining him at his side and glaring daggers at T-Dog. 

"Maybe this will... Look, I chained the door to the roof... So geeks couldn't get at him... With a big ass chain and padlock. Its got to count for something!"

"Hell with all y'all! Just tell me where he is... So that I can go get him." Daryl choked out, his voice cracking with tears as Phoenix gently placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"So we can go get him." She declared, daring anyone to argue with her. Daryl gave her a tiny up nod at her and squeezed her hand on his shoulder lightly. 

"He'll show you. Isn't that right?" Lori spoke up from the door of the RV, she looked to Rick quietly awaiting his reply. 

"I'm going back." He stated quietly. Lori sighed and walked into the RV. 

                                                   *********

Phoenix pulled on her long studded leather jacket and secured her axe into the specialised holster on her back. Daryl stood beside her silently, chewing his lip. The Brit have a slight wobble as she got lighter headed and Daryl's mind came to only one solution to a major issue between the pair.  

"Hey." 

"Hey DD. You ready to go get Merle?" She asked, bending to tie her boot laces.  "Yea... Ya not comin' though."  

"What!? You can't be serious DD! You need me with you so those picks don't leave you there as well!" She snapped back as he turned to walk away. 

"Daryl!" 

"Nah. Ya hurt. Too many geeks in the city fer ya axe. Stay here. Keep safe." He argued back, she growled in her throat and pushed by him. His hand wrapped around her arm in a bruising grip.  

"Dixon..."  

"Listen... Stay here. I don't... Just... Fuck." He hissed. "Merle will be pissed. Real pissed." 

"He'll of been baked in the sun ya mean! He is gonna be stir fried from the heat! He's gonna need someone to calm him down. He ain't gonna hurt me DD... He wouldn't hurt me." She sighed, her head beginning to throb. "I have to Daryl. I owe him one!"  

"Nah ya don't!" 

"Yes I fucking do!"  

"No. Ya stayin' here!" 

 "I'm going!" She yelled, hands on her hips.  

"No!" 

"Yes!" 

"NO! And that's final!"  

The pair continued to argue for several more minutes until Shane interrupted them, the pair literally chest to chest and needing to be pulled apart before fists began to fly. Phoenix huffed and stormed away into the woods as the man agreed with Daryl. Daryl glared after the fiery woman before stomping off to the truck, missing her turning back towards the camp and leaning against a tree with her arm crossed against her chest.    

Phoenix glanced at the truck Daryl stood in. She wanted to wish them luck but knew Daryl was still angry with her. He looked in her direction and nodded his head, a small smile gracing the corner of his mouth. She sighed and walked towards him, he knelt down at the open shutter and tilted his head towards her.  "Keep safe in the city DD." She whispered, gazing upwards into the man's sky blue eyes. He nodded and chewed his thumb. "Bring Merle back. Wouldn't be the same round here without that dickhead." 

"Yea. Be quieter fer sure." He chuckled, smiling fondly at the girl. Phoenix reached up and pulled at Daryl, forcing him to brace himself against the ledge as she hugged him with one arm against her chest. Daryl slowly relaxed enough to enjoy her closeness and leaned his head on top of hers.  

"Please come back." She whispered into his ear as he pulled back slightly, his eyes flitting around camp to make sure no one was witnessing the exchange.  He nodded lightly into her neck, his arm coming to loosely hold her waist. He breathed in her soothing subtle scent and closed his eyes to help him memorise thee moment, just in case. He cleared his throat and pulled away, feeling a certain part of his anatomy starting to stir. She smiled weakly at him with teary eyes and walked away.  

"Hey!"  

Phoenix turned slightly, the breeze making her hair wave over her face softly. Thee sun shining behind her making her hair look like flames licking across the crown of her head. The bruises and cuts across her face hidden in the shadows of her face and hair.  So beautiful Daryl thought, smiling slightly. His mind locking the sight into his memory as he stood and waved to her.  

"Stay safe!" He called to her, she nodded and waved back. Her cheeks tinting pink at his loud show of concern as she smiled softly.   

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