#“what’s your nationality? I’m a drunkard”

[no1frogfan]

His perfect Sunday ft. Ukai

Ukai Keishin x gn reader

Word count: ~600

Tags & warnings: fluff, alcohol (wicked hangover), + 1 ass grab

Note: Soft (and hard) for him. Predictable.

Keishin groans, turning around in an attempt to elude the beams of light sneaking their way into the bedroom from the edges of the blinds.

When he can no longer avoid the sun, he cracks his eyelids open and reaches up to rub the sleep from his eyes. The blurry bedroom slowly comes into focus.

His arms are sore as he brings them back down, a reminder of whatever he got up to last night, he can barely remember. His mouth and throat too feel parched and raw when he swallows. Pure muscle memory was the only thing that gave him the wherewithal to make it back to the apartment this morning, stumbling in and locking the door behind him.

His eyes land on the glass of water beside him and he gulps it down in a rush, ignoring the drops that dribble out of the corner of his mouth and land onto the sheets. More awake now, he inhales the heady aroma of coffee and freshly-cooked rice wafting into the bedroom. A grunt escapes him as he pushes his body up to sit at the edge of the bed. The movement makes his head spin and his stomach lurch unpleasantly.

He knows he can’t drink like he used to anymore, but he sure as hell tried to relive those younger days with Naoi yesterday. Both of them wanted to celebrate the beginning of another season, hopefully one that will see their teams face off at nationals again just like in previous years.

At least he doesn’t feel the familiar pounding of a morning-after headache. You’d cocked an eyebrow when he assured you that you didn’t have to worry, he doesn’t drink like that anymore. But you knew him well enough to be incredulous. He was grateful for that when he fumbled his way to the kitchen after getting home, gulping down the bottle of Pocari and two tablets of ibuprofen you’d left out for him, knowing he actually doesn't drink like that anymore, but that he definitely would drink like that if he was out with Naoi.

So, even though he feels like shit this morning, it’s because of you that he doesn’t feel like absolute fucking dogshit.

He shuffles to the kitchen to find you at the stove. A song plays quietly from the speakers and you’re humming along, dropping cubes of tofu into a pot, dappled sunlight dancing across your arms and legs as you sway to the music.

He’s starting to feel better already.

“Morning drunkard,” you murmur affectionately as you pour him a mug of coffee. “When’d you get back?”

“Way too late,” he rasps, gulping down a mouthful before immediately spitting it back out.

“FUCK that’s hot.”

You roll your eyes. “You always do that.”

“Warn a man next time,” he grumbles, grabbing a towel to wipe up the counter.

“Do you seriously need me to tell you that coffee is hot?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he leans against the refrigerator door, his stomach gurgling as he watches you stir what smells like miso soup. “Thanks for leaving the stuff out last night babe.”

You wave off his thanks. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute. And you know you’re getting too old to drink like that, right?” You tease, lips quirking playfully.

“I’ll show you old…” he growls, putting his mug down with a clunk and reaching out to grab a handful of your ass. “C’mere, I’m starving.”

Your laughter rings out as you obediently switch off the stove, sidling over to wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest against him. “And what do you want me to do about that, old man?”

Keishin wastes no time giving you an answer.

If only every Sunday could be like this one.

[poptart-cat-78]

The Hunt Club and the seven deadly sins.

Okay, I’ve had this analysis/conspiracy/ theory(?) before I just wanted to post it here on Tumblr. Since I don’t see a lot of people do deep dives into this series, and I’ve already made lots of memes and fanart, why not make these “theory” posts as well huh?

WARNING FOR SPOILERS

Anyway after watching multiple let’s plays of The Beast Within (and playing it myself), I began to notice how each of the Hunt Club members implement a specific sin into their interpretations of the Clubs Philosophy (which, according to the Baron, is to “Embrace your Inner Nature”). So I’m going to try to analyze each of the Hunt Club members and which sin I think they embody, starting from the most obvious to the least obvious.

1.) Herr Priess = Lust

The most obvious in my opinion. He talks about being an “entertainer” and how he “loves women, the bait and the hook. How he “prefers pleasure, not murder” (when Gabriel asks about the “instinct to rip somebody’s throat out”). Him being Lust likely explains why I want to spray him with pepper spray and not go anywhere near him. Honestly the grossest character in this game and HE shouldve been the one to perish lmao.

2.) Baron von Zell = Wrath

You COULD say that he embodies Envy but considering his behavior throughout the game, he’s DEFINITELY more Wrath. I mean how would YOU feel if your ex turned you into a werewolf, ditched you and started flirting with some stupid American who just happened to befriend said ex?

3.) Herr Hannuman = Sloth

He’s a drunkard who’s the least threatening member next to von Aigner. He basically doesn’t do anything throughout the game so I had to equate him to Sloth.

4.) Herr von Aigner = Gluttony

“Look at me, I love to eat and I love to drink. If I could make that a nation religion. I would” This quote is basically all I needed to equate him to Gluttony

5.) Herr Doktor Klingmann = Pride

A little harder to pinpoint, but since he SPECIFICALLY has Gabriel call him “Mr. Dr. Klingman” in German and he’s pretty proud of his research on wolves, I’ll equate him with the sin of Pride

6.) Xavier = Greed(?)

Gotta admit, he’s a hard one to pinpoint. The only two sins left are Greed and Envy. I equated him to Greed just because I don’t see von Glower being the sin of Greed (as Ill explain his next).

7.) And finally,the Baron himself, Baron Friedrich von Glower = Envy

Now why did I pick Envy for von Glower? Easy. One, it’s the last sin left. Two, could you imagine having to live an immortal life as a queer werewolf man who was also nobility? Having to hide your true self for all those centuries? I imagine the poor guy was envious of those who could live “normal lives” without the fear of being exposed.

Whats also interesting about this analysis is that there are seven members (including Xavier) and seven sins. Idk if that was a coincidence or intentional but Jane Jension is a genius. I hope you enjoyed this analysis!

[notyonatto]

Thinking about the tags I left under the post on the Carlisle boarding school that stole Native youths. Both my grandmother and grandfather are mixed Native and Irish but have no language (Irish or their respective Native languages), no Native culture. My grandmother has some Native stories and some medicines, but that’s all. My grandfather has nothing. My grandmother’s mother was Eastern Band Cherokee, and and she was stolen as a child by the US government then sold off to a terrible drunkard Irish man three times her age. I remember her. I spent much time with her as a child. My grandfather believes his mother was from Blackfoot Nation, that’s what she always told him, but we have been struggling to figure out exactly which band and where she was originally from before she was stolen. I do not know as much much about her and am still trying to learn more.

Anyway, this post is mostly directed at white people with Native ancestors. My whole life, I have come across other white folks who proudly proclaim they’re partially Native. That’s fine, I am too. But that’s typically where it ends. It’s simply a fun fact. It’s simply something you cash in when trying to show off your unique ancestry to a group of people. But never is it a reflection on colonization. Never is it a reflection on why you have that ancestry. Do you not wonder? How come only a handful of your ancestors are Native? Have you truly investigated your ancestry, or are their lives and experiences simply fun party facts? If you loved your ancestors, you would learn about them. Honor them. Respect them. And part of that for me has always been to fight for the modern justice of Native peoples. I cannot change the past colonization in my ancestral line. I cannot go back in time and protect my great grandmothers. I cannot change the evil things that happened to them, but I can honor them and their legacies of loving their children, loving their grandchildren, of teaching me tenderness and joy when I was a little toddler forming my first memories. And I can honor the strength they must have had to find the space in their hearts to still be capable of tender love despite the suffering and loss and grief they endured. How does one honor that? For me, it is transforming that love into activism. Having those uncomfortable conversations with your family, with other white people. Standing up for injustice, educating yourself, donating to organizations that work to aid modern Native poverty, revitalize Native languages, celebrate and encourage Native art, and uplift Native youth. Uplifting Native voices while making sure not to speak over them.

I do not consider myself to be Native for a myriad of reasons. Phenotypically, I am white. I’m pale and overall look quite Irish American, down to a certain pudginess I’m sure my Irish ancestors are proud of-good for surviving those awful winters. Culturally, I was raised homeschooled in strict conservative Christianity (i do not associate with that religion). And in many ways, I honor my European ancestry- I celebrate Samhain and am pretty connected to Irish-Appalachian culture (fiddles and moonshine and “fuck corporations” type shit), I have many European family recipes from my mom’s side (entirely European American). But I would be utterly and sourly remiss to omit my Native ancestry. And while I struggle to ever consider myself partially Native (maybe if my grandparents were given the chance to learn their languages and cultures, I’d feel differently), I refuse to forget my great grandmothers and their siblings. After all, my first memory was in my mawmaw’s back yard in the mountains. She is my first memory. It was spring, and she had prepared a little Easter party. I found a painted egg, and she clapped and cheered for me, hugged me. My first memory on Earth is of her, and it is light, joy, and love. And I will honor her by transforming that love into activism. For everything she endured and everything her people continue to endure.

So I ask again to all my followers who are white but have some Native ancestry. Do you honor your ancestors, or are they just party facts?

[filmista]

Casablanca (1942)

“Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.”

‘Casablanca’ a film we’ve all heard of even when we hadn’t seen it yet, open any book on film history, go through any list of best films ever made lists and it’s likely to make an appearance.

People that have never seen it know entire quotes from the film and have iconic images of the film in their mind, it’s that ingrained in our collective memory and that beloved.

 ‘Citizen Kane’ is considered the best film Hollywood has ever made, on a technological level but ‘Casablanca’ is considered Hollywood’s best entertainment. At that time, studios usually pumped out film after film, with no intention of making the best film ever.

But it seems that sometimes by pure luck and coincidence; the right people come together at the right time and place and a brilliant unforgettable film is a result; ‘Casablanca’ seems to have been the result of such an instance, everything about the film works, if there were a recipe for a great film, ‘Casablanca’ throws in every ingredient.

It has a simple (sometimes even seemingly impossible) but entertaining and suspenseful storyline, two great actors, giving it their all and in the roles that introduced them to the world, beautiful imagery, brilliant and in this case very significant use of music.

But still there were other great classic films, why is this the one that even people that have no clue about classic films and don’t like black and white films usually end up liking?

The story, which by now is pretty well known revolves around Rick, the cynical American manager of Rick's Cafe Américaine in Casablanca during the Second World War. Initially, we don’t know who this mysterious figure is, where he comes from or what he has experienced, but we soon notice how gloomy his outlook upon the world is. 

He tolerates both actions of the collaborating Vichy government in his bar, as well as the private affairs that resistance people have to deal with, with only one golden rule: he doesn’t stick out his neck for anyone, always putting himself and his own safety first. 

Indirectly Rick comes in possession of a couple of letters, signed by De Gaulle, which offer the carrier an indisputable, irrevocable passage to Lisbon, from where it should have been relatively easy to take a boat to America. 

These letters serve as the McGuffin of the film: the object that everyone is all about, and that everyone wants, that sets the plot in motion, but ultimately is of little interest and has little meaning overall. 

 For example, we are required to believe that letters signed by De Gaulle and won’t be questioned by the Vichy government - you don’t have to be a history expert to realize that this is unlikely. And even if the signature would normally be sufficient, the Nazis were not known for taking that kind of business very seriously if that meant that they had to let a pivotal figure in the international resistance go free. 

That pivotal figure is Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid), a Hungarian resistance hero who, together with his wife Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman), enters Rick's Café in the hope of escaping to Lisbon and then to America. But Rick and Ilsa have a shared past, consisting of Paris, champagne and the song "As Time Goes By".

One of the reasons why 'Casablanca' still works so well for a contemporary audience is likely because the film transcends all genres. There is a lot of humor in it, but it’s not a comedy, it contains a huge amount of drama, but it’s not a full-fledged tragedy either.

It’s also a highly romantic film and a piece of propaganda that fulfilled a very pertinent function in 1942: convincing Americans that it had indeed been a good idea, even a necessary to get involved in the war. 

That idea becomes very clear in the final scene when Rick finally says goodbye to Ilsa and thus sacrifices his own feelings for her and doesn’t get to be with the woman, who’s probably the love of his life; all  in favor of the greater good - Laszlo, the great resistance hero, needs her and the world needs Laszlo.

"The problems of three people are not very common in this crazy world," Bogart tells her, and in fact summarizes the dilemma of the American people at the beginning of the war.

Apart from the political agenda of 'Casablanca' at the time, the film is in the first place one of the greatest love affairs that cinema has ever seen, and together with 'Gone With The Wind' one of the most famous.

The scenario, written by the brothers Julius and Philip Epstein, provides much of the driving force behind the romance, but it’s the performance of Bogart and Bergman that do the heavy work - adding credibility.

Legend has it that the script was not finished during filming and that Bergman didn’t know with which of the two men she would get on the plane and fly towards freedom at the end. Curtiz then advised her to play it "a bit in between"

The result is that the confusion on her face, the doubt she has to play, is in many cases real. she perfectly conveys a feeling of helplessness and powerlessness that brilliantly matches her role.

Bogart, in turn, has just about all the good lines in the film, and with his witty cynicism, he effortlessly outshines the rather characterless Laszlo. The nominal hero of the film, the flawless, brave resistance man who was locked up in a concentration camp and managed to escape, is the most boring character of the entire film because he is so straightforward.

Laszlo is in everything an impeccable figure. Nothing is more annoying than that - we want to see Bergman with Bogey on the plane, when she doesn’t in the end, it's frustrating for the audience - but it's also a guarantee that Rick, at best, won’t change. 

If Bogart had flown away with Bergman, he would have himself become the boring hero. He would have thrown his last bits of cynicism overboard, everything that made him the irresistible Rick from the rest of the film. As it is, we see him disappear into the mist, perhaps with one of the best scenes in film history: "Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

With all that - the politics, the love story, the performances - it remains difficult to define why 'Casablanca' is such a permanently popular film. I could mention the dialogues - 'Casablanca' is one of the most 'quotable' films ever, with gems like: "Here's looking at you, kid," "Play it, Sam, for old time's sake", and many others. 

Of all productions from the forties, 'Casablanca' is one of the least outdated. Of course, the special effects are laughably naïve in comparison to those of today, and of course, there are certain parts of the story that would be done differently today, but the pace is still there, the humor still works and the romance pulls you in any way, whether you want it to or not. 

It’s a very frustrating activity to write a review of 'Casablanca', because no matter how many aspects you name, no matter how many explanations you try to come up with for the continued popularity of the film, the feeling remains that you just keep scratching at the surface, and each time there are more elements, even more, stories to tell.

The cinematography, which is very functional, but regularly does absolutely beautiful things with shadows and continuously films Bergman from the left, in a hazy way, to make her softer and more beautiful, and two musical themes: the song "As Time Goes By" and the Marseillaise, which infuses the whole film with emotion. 

Watching 'Casablanca' is returning to a very specific time in the film industry and the world and discovering that it’s a good place to spend some time every once in a while. 

- When I said I would never leave you...

- And you never will. But I've got a job to do, too. Where I'm going, you can't follow. What I've got to do, you can't be any part of. Ilsa, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that.

[trueshellz]

OMG I HAVE A IDEA can u do Osamu, kuroo, sakusa with a S/o who is drunk and when the haikyuu character tries to help her/ take care of her she’s like “I have a boyfriend” and acts defensive even tho he is her bf? (Idk if this makes sense but I think it’s so cute)

Thanks for the request babe! Totally makes sense, I promise.

Osamu

You were our celebrating your promotion with your work colleagues, unfortunately Osamu had to work late at his shop and couldn't make it for the beginning, only coming in near the end. Your friends had decided to start working their way through the cocktail menu and by the time he arrived you were pretty much away with with fairies.

"Babe, why did ya drink so much? Yer gonna be hungover as hell tomorrow."

Osamu sighed as he half carried and half manoeuvred you to the car. By the time he arrived, you were on your 12th drink and he had to grab you off the table and fling you over his shoulder before you started a dance party.

"Excuse me, you... are v'ry pretty...but I have a boyfriend. He's g'na kick your butt."

Osamu snorted as you pointed your finger in his face. Your eyes were closed as you walked and you were carrying your shoes in your hand. The jacket to your suit was slung over his arm as you both walked and he held your handbag in his hand. He couldn't help but laugh as he saw you now, this morning you had looked all put together as you left for work with your hair pinned up and suit pristine. While you looked gorgeous even now, the tidy professional had been replaced with a messy drunkard.

"Really now? Well, I just wanna make sure ya safe. I'll drive ya home to yer boyfriend. Okay?"

You sighed dreamily, leaning into him as you waved your arms around. "'Samu is so lovely. So handsome... he works so... so... hard too." You straightened and pointed your finger in his face, mood now fierce. "But! He's v'ry strong too. He used to be a volleyball player. I miss him wearing those shorts. His ass looked so good."

You held one hand up in front as if squeezing something and your boyfriend couldn't help but shake his head. He had to force himself not to laugh at your words as he put you in the car. Buckling you in, he cushioned your head on your discarded jacket and stroked your hair behind your ear. Your eyes had drifted closed, head lolling on the window as he drove you both back home. As the streets drove by, he could see you from he corner of his eyes. You looked so cute and peaceful propped up on the door and he couldn't help but reach over and caress you face.

As he peered over from the corner of his eyes, he couldn't help but smile at how fierce you defended yourself. He knew you'd never stray, you weren't the type to cheat on him. You were still mumbling about your 'boyfriend' in your drunken haze when you both got home.

As he tucked you into bed, placed some painkillers and a bottle of water on your cabinet. Removing your skirt and tights, he placed them in the wash before pulling down your bra and hanging it on the wardrobe. He knew you would complain in the morning about having wires poking you in the chest. As he climbed into bed, he felt your arms curl around him as you settled onto his chest, your hands patting his ass.

"So pretty 'Samu."

Kuroo

It was your birthday and you were our celebrating with your friends at a local bar. The whole thing had been a surprise, with a huge cake and the venue booked out for the whole night. Between the food and cake, you had drunk your body weight in alcohol while dancing with your friends.

"Tetsuro, come and take your girlfriend home. She's falling asleep."

Glancing at you, he saw your head flop onto the bar as you sat with girlfriends. The shoes you came in had now been discarded on the floor next to you and your hair was down from the ponytail you had put it in. He walked over and scooped you up bridal style.

"Put me down!"

Your words were accompanied by a smack on his arms as he put you into his car. Kuroo laughed as you tried to struggle out his grasp, wiggling to get out.

"My boyfriend is gonna beat you up."

"I'm sure he is kitten".

"Don't call me that. Let go of me!"

Shaking his head, Kuroo opened the back door and slowly put you in, trying his hardest not to smack your head on the roof of the vehicle. Something that proved difficult when you started to move around again.

Bending down and leaning on the door, he reached across and tied your seat belt.

"Look. Let me get you home safely and you can go see your boyfriend ok? I'll even call him now."

You held your pinky finger up to him. "Promise?"

He shook his head and matched his finger to yours, curling it and touching thumbs as you always did. "Promise." Watching as you nodded your head, he closed the door and drove you home, the journey itself was interesting as you kept shouting at him. Tell him he was going the wrong way (he wasn't), telling him you were hungry (he grabbed you some fries and chicken nuggets) and then telling him he was being a pervert for looking at you in the rear view mirror (which he totally was, obviously).

Parking the car and carrying you inside, he shook his head as you started stripping off between the front door and the bedroom, complaining it was too hot. As he trailed after you, he picked up your dress and bra from the floor and put them in the washing basket. Reaching the bedroom, he saw you flat on your face passed out asleep on the bed, looking adorable as hell.

"Baby."

You groaned at him, swatting him away.

Rummaging through his drawers, he grabbed a t shirt and held you up to pull it over your head. While you were hot now, he was well aware that you would be cold in the middle of the night, your feet often blocks of ice as you slept in bed.

Pulling the sheet down the bed around you, he put you in bed and climbed in after you. Immediately you latched onto him, arms and legs tangled with his almost pushing him off the bed.

"Baby, we're gonna fall out the bed."

"I love you Tetsu."

"Love you too kitten."

Sakusa

Sakusa wasn't fond of going out much, it was too loud and everyone was drunk. He didn't like being here and really wanted to go home but you had organised a party for him celebrating his win at Nationals and he didn't want to upset you.

Most of the night had been okay, you had invited a sufficient number of people and chosen a restaurant he approved of. The dress you wore was beautiful, something you had bought with him a few weeks ago. Looking over, he couldn't help but smile seeing how your face lit up when you waved across the room at him. He knew people looked at him odd, you were the opposite of him in every way. Where he was quiet and reserved, you were bubbly and cute, something he loved about you. No matter how you were feeling, you were always positive and smiling.

By the time it got to 1am, Sakusa realised that he hadn't seen you for a while. He had been sitting with his teammates, under your explicit instructions to socialise, but he couldn't see you anywhere. Excusing himself, he walked around to see you chugging champagne from the bottle as you sat in the corner of the bar, your bare feet were swinging and you had discarded your jacket.

"Honey, you're going to be sick."

"Mmm. Nope."

"Honey." He tried to reach over and take the bottle from you, knowing very well that you would be hungover as hell tomorrow. Champagne and you for some reason didn't end well.

"My boyfriend says it's ok."

For a second, Sakusa stopped and then realised what had happened.

"It's me, love. Kiyoomi. Your boyfriend."

You peered at him, eyes narrowed as you scanned him from head to toe. He looked like your boyfriend. Was dressed like your boyfriend. But why would he be here? Omi hated stuff like this.

"My Omi would never come here. He doesn't like places like this."

Shaking his head, he wiped his hand down his face and stepped closer to you. "Your Omi was forced to come here by his girlfriend. And unfortunately he has a huge soft spot for loud and pushy girlfriends."

You shook your head vehemently. "Nuh uh."

Sighing, Sakusa pried the bottle way from your hands and placed it on the bar away from you. Grabbing you by the hips, he tugged you down and picked up your shoes before helping you to the car. Kiyoomi hadn't drunk much, he didn't like the feeling of being out of control especially in public, so he knew he would be driving you both home.

Placing you in the car and driving you home, he helped you up the stairs and put you carefully on the sofa as he locked the doors and checked everything before opening the covers on the bed for you. When he returned back to the living room, you had fallen asleep with your head back.

"Tsk you're going to hurt your neck that way, love."

Picking you up bridal style, he placed you on the bed before having a quick shower. Not wanting to dirty the clean sheets, he took your tights and dress off before pulling one of your tops over your head. Taking your hair down, something that would annoy you otherwise, he turned off the lights and pulled you close.

"Omi..." You mumbled into his chest.

"Yes, love?"

"This guy tried to hit on me. But I told him I had a boyfriend. He left me alone after that." You nuzzled closer and Kiyoomi smiled as he thought back. "Bet he knew who you were. My strong boyfriend." You patted his chest lovingly.

"Good night love."

"Night night, Omi"

[thatphatoven]

At the Beginning

 Diluc x Fem! Reader; Anastasia inspired Au

The lost Princess of Fontaine, with vague memories, journeys back to her homeland with the darknight hero trying to discover her past.

Chapter one

AN; This series will set place when Diluc leaves the dawn winery after his dad's death. I apologize if the information is inaccurate or the characters are out of their personality. Also, I used google for translation for some French, so if anyone wants to correct me, feel free. 

Word Count; 2,488

Unedited 

Like a mystery, the night held infinite uncertainty. The blanket of stars provided the comfort of light to bystanders bustling in the streets. Boisterous waves of laughter mingled with the notes of the viola, while at the same time, the patter of feet dances amongst the cobbled pavement as constant jeers chant words of ambition.

A short and stout plump man clambers on the wooden bar table, raising his pint of beer. "Vive la Fontaine!" He bawls. The swarm of drunkards mimics his gesture, laughably heaving their beers. Everyone adores the late-night festivities of celebrations. Conspicuously for a certain Princesse. All classes of the hierarchy were divulging on her 10th birthday. The common folk paraded in the streets, as the aristocrats partake in the Château. One devotee perched away from the horde, gripping his pint considerably tight. Resentment filled this man to the brim. His eyebrows creased at the carefree atmosphere while his teeth clenched vigorously. His unsettlingly deep brown eyes leered at the ripples of his beer. The Tavener in duty glanced at him, wary of his movements. "Are you not enjoying the night, Monsieur?" he questioned. The cloaked man remained mute, desire to be alone with his brooding. Having enough of the repulsive atmosphere,  he pushed the tankard towards the barkeep while fishing out a couple of mora before slamming it against the hard surface.

The barkeep raised a brow at the mug, filled to the brim untouched. "What a waste," he thought, his pupils trailed on that particular individual crashing into other patrons, not until he reached the knob of the entry, but only to slam it vigorously. Not one person wavered at his little act but happily drank more to feeding their drunken state. Outside the Tavern, least people loiter around the city streets. Only the occasional hidden couple is kissing in a dim alleyway as some hasten their journey back to their cozy homes.

Fog swarm the night while the chilly air nipped his skin. In a straight line, rows of oil lamps lit up the murky mist. He begins his stride of pace out of the precinct, and after turning and turning, this section of the city became less active. Only sealed up windows and abandon property lived here. He was passing an unkempt park, with rust and weed growing on the deteriorating swing set. There assigned next to it was where the citizens worship their God. A once tall, beautiful structure is now a decaying building with the statues nation archon, sat in the middle of the courtyard as vines grew on the idol. The wind whistled loudly, fabricating a frightening aura to his personality. Trudging up the cathedral's steps, he swiftly entered the church, in the process of ramming the heavy entree.

Crash.

Shards of a porcelain marble bowl were scattered on the flooring. The heel of his leather shoe crunched against the broken pieces as he stationed himself in front of the altar. Pope Marquis Puissant. A once righteous man was loyal to Fontaine's  God, now castaway for betraying the regality and abandonment of faith. A wicked man, they call him. Instead of the common holy word of the Archon, he was preaching of Ursa the Drake. A draconic creature that wasn't a God. That dragon, though it held an intense amount of power, enrapturing his attention. The local faithful became weary of his sudden turn on his faith which his reputation took a turn. Fewer attended the mass and begged the crown to disown him as a Pope. It was a late Sunday morning when the priesthood strips his power as a Vicar. In a rage, he stormed the Palace ground. "You're all nothing but halfwits blinded by power!" pointing at each, and of them, he cursed words of unpleasantries. "You wait, like this poor country excuse of a God, justice will be served."

Ever since then, he took shelter in a deserted church. Where there in the middle of the stone tablet laid a delusion. The Tsaritsa must have pitted the vengeful man, even if he's not part of the fatui. He will gladly serve two Gods. Now on the night of the beloved nation princess, Marquis will commence his revenge scheme, starting on the birthday girl.

"Higher Papa!" a giggle of chortle escape the young girl's lips. The man twirling her oblige, raising her higher in the air to the beat of the ensemble's melody. The puffy maroon gown fitted around her petite body, while the style of her long white hair swayed with every movement. The (e/c) pierced her fathers, carrying mirth of cheekiness. Sitting on the throne mirrored with the same features of the Princess sat a kind queen, with soft eyes smiling at the ridiculous scene of her daughter's ambitions. "Look at my beautiful Granddaughter." grey-haired, tied in a tight bun with a crown, sat snugly on her head. The Grand-mère watched the ballroom flock in high spirit. However, it was the girl that danced with her Father that held all that energy. "Have the Ragnvindr's arrive yet?" she questioned, looking at her daughter. "Not that I'm aware of Mother, but you should stop inquiring for rare alcohol from Master Crepus." "It's not my fault that the family makes splendid wine" The elderly woman hid her smile behind her gloved hand. "Besides, it's the offspring I'm after," they watched (y/n) grinned at her son-in-law, ruffling the girl's hair. "A charming man, with a charming boy. Don't you agree?" The queen let out a sigh at her Mother's antics.

"Grand-mère!" a small cheer escape (y/n). Pulling the layers of cloth, she began to hurry to the pair leaving her Father on the dance floor. Spreading her arms, the elderly accepted her hug and began smothering with small kisses on her round cheeks; her granddaughter laughed. "Look at you, my little lumière. All grown up," she squished her cheeks together, holding tenderness behind her blue eyes. "Now that I'm ten, you're going to teach me how to play poker! Right?" Tiptoeing closer to her, she held the throne seat, giddy of the thought. Her Mother stared at the child and Grandmother in disbelief. Chuckling nervously, she patted her hair. "Maybe wait until you're coming of age." (Y/N) pouted at her answer, leaving her explanation unreasonable. "But I do have a little gift for you instead." Grabbing the tiny Princess's palm, placing a red leather ring box. In a rush, the child swiftly opened the present. A gasp emitted from her. "Oh, Grand-mère! It's beautiful!" (Y/N) cried. A simple golden chain sat in the cushion, with the same colored ore boldly gleaming in the middle. "Together in Fontaine," reading out loud as she deciphers the cursive writing.  The two grinned at each other as her Grandmother help put the necklace together around her. "When you wear this, think of an old woman who loves you very, very much." (Y/N) nodded at her words, directing her attention to the lockets words—hugging her once more.

"Your majesty," a rich and velvety tone interrupts the tranquility. "Master Crepus," the aging regal announced. A tall, aristocratic gentleman with charm greeted the family. His attire consisted of a simple charcoal black two-piece suit, and the tie he was sporting matched his fiery red hair. A handsome man he was. "Finally declaring your arrival, it seems." she teased. (Y/N) gape at the lord, intimidated by his scarlet hooded eyes. "Apologies, I was struggling to convince my son to attend the party." Crepus sighed. "Is this the boy you took in? Kaeya was it?" The ensemble's melody began a new tune as she glanced at her associate.

“attentive as ever, your majesty." The older woman smirk at his reply, "when you reached a certain age, you recall every little detail." He let out a deep laugh only after he shakes his head. "Diluc was the one who managed to drag him." "Ah, the little Crepus did it?" "Indeed, he promised that he wouldn't abandon him during the party."  Their eyes trailed over to a smaller version of the man, who was currently dragging a bashful blue-haired boy across the room. "That little ball of light does have his ways."

(Y/N) fidget on her spot, feeling increasingly uninterested in the adult's discussions. Aware of her actions, Crepus near the girl and kneeled. "Happy Birthday, your highness." Only to pass his present for her. She lightened up at the gift and hugged it."Thank you, my lord." she smiled at his action while showing a missing tooth in the middle of her teeth. "You must be bored just listening to us old people talk," he spoke. Standing straight, he called to the pair of boys. The bubbly red-haired boy was the first to respond, pulling his brother behind him. The Grand-mère scanned Crepus prized possessions; the boy replenish with enthusiasm did take after his Father. The same color hair, all down to his features. While his adopted brother next to him possessed blue hair and sapphire eyes. Though it was the eyepatch that caught her attention, she raised a brow but didn't question. It was like comparing them to the sun and moon.

"Your highness," The boy greeted as his brother mimic his actions muttering the same sentence. "This is Diluc and Kaeya" Crepus put both of his hands on both children's shoulders. (Y/N) looked at them with awe; she has never come across with blazing hot and cold calm hair.  She ponders wanting those colors rather than her dull white hair. "It is an honor to be in your presence," Diluc address. "My, what a sophisticated son you raised." The women applaud. "That's Diluc for you." The group laughs at the small tease. The bold child reached the girl and stared. Uneasy, she dug her hands into the gown, afraid to look at Diluc. "You have pretty eyes," he said, still gazing. (Y/N) blushed at his compliment. "I like you and your brother's hair!" she returned—Kaeya observes behind his adoptive Father's legs, envious of his brother's daring personality. As the two new friends converse, he felt the older man nudge him towards the pair. "Don't be shy now, Kaeya."

As Kaeya approach the Princess and his brother, the girl let out a gasp. "Your eyes have stars!" she inspected closer, now flusters with her bold move. She kept rambling on waves of compliments towards Kaeya. Diluc giggled at the discomposed Kaeya and band in with more teasing. The child lifts his dark hands in defense, trying to calm them. Maybe it was better to stay back at the lodge.

"What's under your eyepatch?"

Kaeya stiffens at her direct question. All of a sudden, the air thickens, and the ambiance of unsettlement quickly replaces the mood. "(Y/N)," her grandmother warns. At once, she felt guilty at her grandmother's tone and the dismal Kaeya. "It's nothing," he whispers. The reflection of his face that the marble flooring held became more interesting. "I'm sorry." tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. She feverishly struggles to hold back the tears, surprising the two boys. "Ah, Princess, don't cry," Diluc reassures, hastily stop her tears with his tie. "But I made him sad! What PrincessPrincess does that to her people!!" Shutting her vision, and her gloves gripped tightly, feeling the harsh material. Diluc looked at both disheartened children; at that moment, he suddenly felt restless. "It's alright, Kaeya doesn't mind that question, right?" looking at his brother for support, he nodded at his words. Then softly smiling at her. 

"Don't worry," he whispered.

The girl gape at him then mirrored his smile. Childish laughter once again replaces their sadness. "Princess, even though we live in another nation, the Ragnvindr's will always aid you," Crepus informed. "Yes! Kaeya and I will be your royal knights when you visit Mondstadt." Diluc hooked his arm under Kaeya while puffing his chest proudly. (Y/N) clapped her hands at his proclamation, "But Diluc were not knights yet." his older brother stiffen. "Maybe wait in five years."

The night crowd with freedom. Not one complained or did the fun died down. The triplex of kids, hanging around each other, and befit on being close friends. This night was the most fun the little Princess had as she watches Diluc tease Kaeya again. However, the night holds infinite uncertainty.

An instant gasp and the shatter of a wine glass caused a halt in the ballroom. The music ceased as a gust of wind expelled the chandelier candles. The cloaked man sauntered his way past the frightened crowd, clapping his hand in slow motion. He let out a deep laugh, approaching the family that strips away his power. "How dare you return to the palace!" The king spoke brashly, pushing his daughter behind. (Y/N) shook in fear, watching the mad man plastered a demented smile at her. "But I'm your confidant," he exclaimed. "Confidant? Ha! You are a traitor to Fontaine!" "Get out!"

"You think you can banish me? Pope Marquis Puissant!" he steps closer to him, hiding his delusion in his cloak. As (Y/n) was watching, she felt a slight tug pulling away from them. Diluc stood in front of her, furrowing his small brow. "By the holy power given by the Tsaritsa and Ursa, I'll banish you and your family with a curse!" The chamber gasp at his comment. "Mark my word I will not rest until I see the end of the Rousseau!" Bring out his power; he directed his attack toward the king. A shriek was let out from the queen as he shut his eye tightly, anticipating the attack.

"(Y/N)!"

The Grand-mère cried, flinging herself out of her throne. All eyes direct their attention towards Diluc; he didn't feel the girl's hand. Turning around, she was gone. "What did you do to my daughter!" Her Father roared. Marquis laughed and grinned, not saying a word. "Guards, get him!"  he ordered to the once holy man. Laughing again, more mist gathered quickly in the ballroom; as the guard's closed onto him, fire circled his figure, preventing them from entering.  The blaze grew quicker; Crepus felt Kaeya stiffen in his arm, watching the delusion in Marquis's hand. The windows exploded in one motion, making the room more in a frenzy while the wind blew harsher.  Diluc, in rage, ran towards him. "Diluc, no!" Crepus warned, however, as he passed the flames and mist, he was gone.

The only ashes and embers replace his spot. Marquis was far gone, along with the Princess. "Quickly close all the borders! I don't want anyone leaving Fontaine!" The distraught Father ordered. " I want every house to be searched, every church, alleyway and caves checked!" "Whatever you do, find the Princess and Marquis!". Tears of despair escape the Mother and Grandmother crying for the kidnapped daughter.  Diluc silently stood there watching the embers die down.

The once festive night took a turn into a nightmare.

[starstruck-shima]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬. (𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢)

“Even gods can’t help but stop to catch a breath.”

Notes: fem reader.

There were many things I wondered about.

After so many years of living, so many eons of asking questions without answers, I simply stood in the middle of a dandelion field, surrounded by crystal flies--Like a fool.

As I gaze upon the starstruck sky, what would lie ahead of me now? I was but a directionless being, with nowhere to go. My kin were gone, separated by walls that spared no mercy, not even to the birds. Now, all that remains of such were merely ruins of old. Its as if I’ve completely lost my purpose--no longer a protector of Mondstadt, no longer worthy of the long lifespan I was blessed with--Just a being of pure element, lost and astray.

It was there when I first felt the wind glaze over me so softly, and it was the first time I met you. At that moment, I felt a moment of rebirth. You were so kind, glazing upon me with such hazy eyes, and I felt so out of place. You, the ever glowing saint, an archon of the new world, and me... a soldier with no master.

I couldn’t even muster up words, for I was ashamed. Ashamed of what you’d think of me. So I did the bare minimum, for a being with heavy debt to Mondstadt itself. I ask for my punishment. “I lower my head to you. Please, set me free.”

His response however, shattered my expectations. With little to no hesitance, his reply flew like the wind. “That is for you to bring upon yourself.”

W-what? My eyes felt like saucers, as my throat ran dry. What did he mean by that? Freedom, retribution, I deserved none of that. The sin I hold upon myself by serving Decarabian is too much for a simply apology. It’s a burden I must carry.

“(Y/n) (L/n),” I rise my head to the call of my name. “--Former soldier of Decarabian’s. But most importantly, a lover of Mondstadt.” His hands outstretched to mine, and for some reason, it was as if I was naturally drawn to him. I knew his name, I knew who this was. Barbatos. It seemed that it wouldn’t take long for me to realize that no matter what form he took, he was still the same inside.

Archon, elemental being, bard. No matter what, Barbatos was Barbatos, and he gave me the ability to see truly for the very first time. That my freedom was in my own hands. 

“Then, with the freedom you’ve given me...

Let me vow to protect Mondstadt, for as long as I live.” It was going to be a very, very long time. I knew that. But I shall do this with the freedom I have granted myself. For the good of the four winds, of the nation I loved, and Barbatos, this is the vow I will stand in for as long as the wind howls.

...And that was how I ended up with this total drunkard of a god for the rest of my days.

Should I have begged even more for my execution? Probably. But would Barbatos still spare me? Most likely so.

“Dandelioooooonnn~~” his words were slurred, like he was riding a merry go round of booze. “Why won’t you let me touch you? Hey, come here~~”

“--That is unnecessary,” our friends watched as we bantered, me dodging Venti’s barrage of physical affection, and Venti... still trying no matter what. The traveler, who sat opposite of us, could only stay bewildered at the story, and the stark contrast of its two main heroes today.

“S-so, this is the fierce warrior who was granted the mercy of Lord Barbatos?!” Paimon’s mouth was agape. She stops for a breath, before carrying on. “You m-mean, (Y/n) once KNEELED to Venti?! Not only that, but the Barbatos in that tale feels so different than the Barbatos now!”

“It’s like watching an old married couple.” The traveler adds on to Paimon’s speech, still in disbelief. “So, that was how you met?”

Pushing away Venti’s hands, I try my best to keep a straight face. “Yes. The tales you hear the townsfolk tell to their children are partially true. however. the one Venti and I have told you tonight is how it really went down.” I chuckle at the thought. Who knew our first meeting had such an impact? “Though I’m glad it’s been teaching the kids a good life lesson or two.”

As my eyes trail back to Venti, I was hit with a softness, the same softness I felt after my adrenaline rushes were over, and when I knew everything was safe. I was pretty sure the traveler noticed my fondness too, but it’s alright. It’ll be our little secret. “Say, traveler. Let me let you in on a hymn of the bards of Mondstadt.”

“No matter how far the wind blows, everything stays,” I shift a bit at Venti’s weight, finally letting him rest on my shoulder. He reeked--though that was to be expected. “Right where you left it. Everything stays, but it still changes.”

I hope the traveler knew what I was talking about. In any case, the feel of Venti’s hand in mine, and the way he looked at me with such gentle eyes even whilst intoxicated proved such phrases to be true. We’ve gone through change, we’ve become different people. Once a warrior, once a rebel, now simple folk of Mondstadt, learning how to love like the people do. Once on different sides, fighting for the same freedom, and then--as the same wind blows, our relationship with each other slowly differed.

“So~” Paimon started to speak again, this time in a mischievous tone. “How did you two fall in love?”

Unexpectedly, I threw out a hoarse chuckle. Love. Such an unexpected experience that had befallen me. The truth was, I never expected it--at least not during my days of serving Decarabian. But as the times past, and when nations grew, I began to realize quite the consensus. The Mondstadt I protect now is still the same, yet things are different now. I didn’t need to devote myself to endless servitude, to slice monsters in half--because there was barely the need for it nowadays. Mondstadt’s people are capable of protecting themselves, and perhaps that was what Venti wanted me to believe.

“And then, perhaps that was when he grabbed the opportunity and freedom to woo me.”

“Ho ho, and it worked!” I roll my eyes at Venti’s sudden jab. Geez, what a childish god. “She used to be so serious. “I will protect Mondstadt!” “I will devote my life to it!” “No threat will ever pass you, Barbatos!” And then she’d run off to the wind, flipping her hair and acting all cool.”

“--But give her a flower and a song and she’s all red like an apple! Ahahahaha!” I wince at the embarrassment, quickly shutting his mouth. The traveler and paimon seem amused at the sudden revelation, and this was when I realized that it was probably best to do some damage control before my dear lover would be sleeping on the couch tonight.

Bidding the two and the bartender at Angel’s Share a farewell, I shoulder Venti, making sure to guide him deftly through the streets of Mondstadt. As we pave through the mostly empty surroundings, I start to feel warm--almost proud of the new Mond of today. How long as it been since the people were granted freedom? Since I had been able to stop and see the fruits of the labors its people who fought for it grow? It’s a nostalgic feeling, really.

“Heya, (Y/n).” It seemed that Venti noticed my silent musings. I hum a response, with no expectations whatsoever. If it was a question about how far we were from home, surely that--

“Marry me.”

I nearly ran into the pavement there and then. Marriage? To Barbatos? To Venti? To the man I knew as my lover? Wait, of course the person you’d get married to is most likely your lover. Then, why am I still so flustered? Why is it that with this man, everything felt so different and new? How is it that he could make such a mess of me, yet make me whole?

“Hey, why are you so quiet?” He pouts, adorably I might add. I still stumble to catch my breath. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind... “We’ve been together for so long, we’re pretty much just giving rings to each other. Come on~”

“Geh... When you put it that way... can’t you take this seriously?”

I felt a sudden drop--a different feeling place itself on him, and all of a sudden, he vocalizes many, many words. “I have! I’ve consulted the church, I’ve looked at all kinds of rings and other things you might prefer for proposals, and I’ve been thinking about it even in eons of slumber! I want us to be happy, (y/n), but most importantly, I want you to be happy, so regardless of your acceptance, it’s fine if we stay by each other’s sides, right?”

My breath hitched. Tears were threatening to prickle my eyes. Of course he’d be  so thoughtful, yet so playful too... don’t tell me. “I don’t want you to propose to me while you’re drunk, Barbatos... but you’re actually sober, aren’t you?”

“Ehe.” He chuckles, before getting on one knee, a small crystal core presented on the palms of his hands. “So, is that a yes?”

I couldn’t contain my smile. No matter how red my face was. A chorus of giggles rang through the night sky, and as Venti hovered over to my head to place the crystal core on my hair, I accepted his proposal.

[mightysteelix]

Late-Night Discoveries

For those of you, who still remember, I promised a fic to celebrate 100 followers on Twitter (find me there under the name @writerofchub). Bad news: it took longer than expected. Good news: it ended longer than expected, so I hope you enjoy roughly 7K words of Natsu being a glutton and Gajeel absolutely not being into him.

Final warning for weight gain and belly kink. Don’t like, don’t read!

Gajeel grunted. It was his first day at the college, and the damn elevator was busted! He carried his things many stories up, cursing under his breath the architect, the heat, and life itself. When he reached his room, his top was so drenched with sweat that it hugged his enviable pecs and built shoulders. Sighing, he opened the door. Finally done with the shitty day!

Nope. The dumber than a brick designer had split apart a wonderful room. The halves shared a front door and a claustrophobic hallway but separated in cramped, mouse-sized cells. God, why? He’d take any roommate over that fucking box!

“Black Steel? What are you doing in my room?”

A chill ran down Gajeel’s spine, and he turned around. Before him stood a shorter man but just as impressively muscled.

He had spoken too soon.

Out of the entire world, the fucking Dragneel was his roommate! Gajeel growled. Forget the thin wall! The opposite corners of the campus would not keep them far enough.

No, it was a new year. He could have matured over the summer. And sloths could have learned to run, Gajeel’s mind supplied.

“That’s my line, Dragneel. Seems the administration thinks we’ll get along smoothly.”

The pink-haired bastard dragged a red suitcase past him. “Why, because we beat your ass at the Nationals? That reminds me,” he grinned, “aren’t you forgetting something? One bet from the last year?”

His smirk was wild, unabashedly cruel. If only Gajeel could smash his head! No, new school, new him. A mature guy who avoided trouble. Unlike Dragneel. “I’m not calling you Salamander. Is there a stupider nickname?”

“Hey, it’s better than Black Steel!” Dragneel grit his pointed teeth. “Unless you’re too pathetic to follow on your word?”

“Fine…” Gajeel breathed in, and—“Salamander.”—he spewed the word. One day, and he already wanted to strangle his roommate. How would they handle an entire semester?

Somehow they survived. With their different schedules, they avoided each other to the absolute minimum. A few sparks flared up when Gajeel entered while Dragneel was leaving for his parties—but they only growled.

All for the better; Gajeel was too busy for the shitty runt. Why the hell had he chosen engineering as a major? He spent hours scanning the textbook, holding it sideways, baring teeth, but the information did not make more sense. Gajeel pressed a finger to one line, focusing on it, and blinked so, so slowly while the text merged into darkness.

He rubbed his eyes. No time to sleep! Could something distract him for a moment? Anything to take his thoughts off the paper brick weighing on his desk.

The universe must have felt extra generous because his door creaked open. Light crept in from the hallway, along with the faint stench of cheap beer.

“G’night-hic! G’night, Gajeel!” Dragneel came, his cheeks flushing red with booze. The drunkard had switched the rooms. An argument incoming in three, two—

Never. Dragneel crashed onto the bed, practically moaning in relief. Fuck, Gajeel did not want to deal with that; his night was a fall enough without a drunk bastard in his room.

“Do you have any idea what you are doing?” he growled.

“Nap,” Dragneel replied with a lethargic yawn. “Need to-hic! sleep sometimes.” He smacked his lips, his hand rubbing his belly. “You missed an awe-hic! awesome party. Cool people. Wonderful drinks and-hic! snacks.”

“Yeah, I see.” Dragneel has never been modest—hell, the guy did not believe in shirts! And now he was sprawling like a cat on the bed, his bloated gut in its naked glory. It protruded forward, tight and round like a ball. Damn uncomfortable, too, judging from Dragneel’s short, pained expression whenever he pressed a palm into the skin.

Did Gajeel fall asleep? Was his brain punishing him for the stress? No way that scene was real. So, could he not indulge a bit? “How much did you eat?” he asked, sitting on the small bed.

Natsu groaned and rose a tired hand, counting on his fingers. “Chips-hic! nachos, pizzas…” His other hand pressed into his belly, digging out a sickly pant. “Lucy doesn’t-hic! have room for the leftovers, so I kinda finished-hic! everything. Mostly.”

Fuck, he had made a pig out of himself. Had he not stopped gorging when his belly began expanding? Was he too drunk to care? Gajeel knew the rumors: Dragneel could eat a fast-food joint out of place, Dragneel threatened to eat opposing teams. Measly slander, he had thought. But seeing the gluttony in person, he had to admit: it was the real deal.

Which made it worse. “Couldn’t anyone, maybe, have taken it?” Hell, if Dragneel was so shit-faced that he entered the wrong room, he could not remember the night tomorrow, could he? Nothing wrong with some playing around.

“Don’t-hic! know. Nor care. I wanted to eat it all, and Lucy let me.” Dragneel grinned. “And that after all-hic! the beers!” He smacked his belly, a proud smirk on his face.

Gajeel still hated the guy’s guts but had to give credit to where it was due. “Impressive. Honestly. You must be worse than a balloon.”

“Nah,” Natsu shook his head. “Worse than a-hic! bomb. And I’ll burst-hic! open at any moment. Wanna touch and see for yourself?”

That had to be a fucking dream. No way the real Dragneel would be in Gajeel’s bed, bloated like a prize pig, boasting his greed. No way the real Gajeel would accept. But the lack of sleep had done its part; he put a hand on the swollen belly’s crest.

Damn, the skin was stretched pretty intensely. Gajeel rubbed the stuffed mound around the belly button—the peak of Dragneel’s gut—feeling its size. Bubbles of air sloshed inside the fleshy, gurgling mass.

“Hell, you’re good at that.” Dragneel fucking moaned while Gajeel tended to him. “Keep…” A hiccup tried to rise out of his mouth but lodged in a throaty cough. He thumped his chest a few times, then grinned sickly. “Press with all your-hic! power,” he said through clenched teeth, “right now.”

Gajeel knew where it would lead. He should have ended it there. Hell, he should not have started. Because now he could not stop. He wanted to hear Dragneel’s burps, to keep playing with his belly. His fingers thrust down, pushing a small cavity into the tight ball.

“Hic! That’s the-” Dragneel did not finish his sentence. His face twisted in a wicked smirk, his forehead furrowed in discomfort. The tank of a gut gurgled, the bubbles climbing up. He arched his head backward, an explosive torrent of gas escaping through his throat. “That’s-hic! the spot,” he moaned, his tongue licking his lips. “Did you catch that?”

Speechless, Gajeel nodded. Who had not? The fucking thunder of a belch must have shocked the entire building awake. And his sense had thrown the towel for tonight because he shamelessly asked, “Can you do it again?” Without a reply, he pushed his palms into Dragneel’s gut. The spot was now looser, a bit relieved, so he drew hands down, seeking the familiar groan.

“Do we-hic! Do we have to?” Dragneel wiggled like a dying worm. “I-hic! feel like I’ll puke my guts any moment and…”

“Pfft, don’t tell me the might Dragneel is giving up after one burp. I bet I can do better.” Gajeel bit his lips. Was his idea worth it? “Do it, and I’ll call you Salamander till the term ends.” He had battered away his pride, hoping that Dragneel was on the same wavelength.

And that was the right action. The pink bastard’s grin became wider than his stomach, and he gave the churning organ a proud, sloshy smack. “Natsu. Call me Natsu, and I’ll show you how much noise this bad boy makes.”

“You better give a good show, Drag- Natsu.” Gajeel punched him gently at the taut orb, getting a sickly groan in response.

“Don’t stop the rubs, and I’m your man.”

Gajeel did not need to be told twice. Hell, he did not need it once; if Natsu had refused, he’d…

Nо, a different person, a new beginning!

His hands pressed over another red stretch of skin. The belly was so full, so obscenely taut. It was too easy to imagine Dragneel in the middle of the crowd, chugging a can after a can to wash down the greasy snacks. His gut pushed out further, heavier, complaining and cramping, but he was too much of a glutton to stop. Not until he had cleaned the entire party out of its food.

“Fuck!” The thought made Gajeel horny, his rising erection visible in the tight pants. His hands slipped, and he pressed harsher, compressing the immense mass of food inside Natsu’s overworked stomach.

“Hey!” he screamed, scowling, teeth digging into his lower lip. “What are-BUUUURRRRRRRP!” The bed rocked at the mighty belch. Someone might have slept through the previous one. But this had shaken everybody awake and left them confused about what was happening. No one would know about the greedy guy with a fucking loud stomach. “Warn a-hic! a little the next time!”

“You feel better, don’t you? What’s the matter, then?” Gajeel crossed arms before his prominent pecs. “I could have left you alone.”

“Doesn’t give you-hic! a right to handle me like a trash bag!” Dragneel made his hand into a fist and rose to hit Gajeel.

At least he tried, but his stuffed stomach wanted to stay still. He struggled, panting and wiggling his arms, yet his gut was an immovable ball of pressure. The pink bastard looked green at the gills as if he’d throw up on Gajeel’s bed.

He had to bear another blow to his pride. “Fine, I’ll apologize,” he grunted. “Any other wishes, Your Majesty?”

Natsu calmed a little, his grumpy frown softening. “In that cupboard-hic!” He rose his hand and pointed to the drawer where Gajeel stored his spare notebooks. “There’s gotta be an open pack of chips. Bring it-hic! here.”

Did the idiot still think he was in his room? Why? Gajeel did not want to burst his bubble; then, their night would end right there, and for some fucked up reason, he wanted to keep it going. “You sure eating more is a good idea? With that in the way?”

He glided a hand over Natsu’s gut. Lair, he grunted at himself. It was an awesome idea to help the guy glut himself more and more, his gut blowing up like a fucking balloon. They had freed some room in the taut ball; why leave it empty?

His pants squeezed his growing erection.

“Why-hic! not?” Natsu looked at him as if he had grown a second head. “When I’m hungry, I-hic! eat. What’s wrong with that?”

Gajeel wanted to bang his head on the wall—after a long, cold shower. “You can’t be fucking hungry! You look like a literal ball.”

“Yeah, but-hic! that ball has room for more! The same thing!”

Gajeel’s entire body tensed to stop him from jerking himself off. It was a one-time thing! And yet, it was shaping to be a long night.

Whatever was up there, it hated Gajeel’s guts. His fucking thing with Dragneel should have ended then and there. Once the drunkard fell asleep, he carried him to his room. The morning after, no one mentioned anything. They returned to their growling, non-existent relationship.

Not that Gajeel hoped for a change! Even if that jerk off was the best, even if he got stiffer than a board whenever he heard Dragneel belching in the next room. Nope, nothing at all!

But one night, the pink bastard returned. Then again. They become something. Belly rub buddies? Natsu would enter in various states of drunkenness and fullness, then they would forget it in the morning. And bit by bit, their relationship softened. Yeah, they shouted at each other all the time, but it was better than an odd growl here and there.

Not only their relationship went through a growth, however. All the binges had to go somewhere; Natsu came back plumper and plumper. Nothing impressive at first—less prominent abs, less defined biceps. But the more his stomach capacity upped, the faster his weight skyrocketed.

It was as clear as day with his absolute refusal to wear real clothes. His lowest pair of abs melted into a nice beginner belly, begging to be pinched. His pecs rounded out; a gentle layer of fat coat them. The muscle kept them firm, but it would not stay so for long—not with the countless parties. The pants strained around his ass: the start of a bonafide bubble butt, soon to grow into a flabby mass. Only his arms and legs showed some trace of his former fitness—and even they had softened up.

The bastard must have realized that he was blowing up, right? Gajeel stood tense by the wall like a goddamn pervert, waiting for him to mumble about his shrinking clothes and strained pants. Instead, he got only labored breathing, grunting, and hopping.

Natsu’s pants were too tight to button.

Gajeel’s breathing stopped. He imagined that jiggly ball flopping up and down. Would Dragneel suck in as far as he could, still no trace of abs, now a proper fat gut? Would he prob his chub as if it was an alien object, dig fingers in the lowest part of his belly and jiggle it? Would he lie in bed and pull jeans over his fleshier hips, try to fasten them under the new gut?

Argh, no, no, no! Gajeel was into guys who packed it away and hyped it up. But fucking Dragneel out of all people? Besides, their thing—whatever it was—was not a real connection. The pink bastard could not look after himself properly and needed someone to help him. It was not like he would burst into Gajeel’s room and offer to hang out.

The sounds in the next room died. What? Before Gajeel could wonder, Dragneel crashed into his room with such power that the cheap door creaked. “Yo, Black Steel!” His round middle was still wobbling. “What size are your pants? Mine don’t fit around this ball of lard—” he loudly slapped it “—and since you’re bigger, yours could work.”

He knew. And did not care.

“Can’t you buy some like a normal person?” Gajeel tried to avert his gaze from the tubby guy.

Natsu was in his room, wearing only his fucking briefs. Not that they had much life left; the waistband hugged him tightly, digging in the flab. And the damn ex-jock did not stop drumming his fingers over his recent gut.

“Can’t,” the pink bastard replied. “I need to get to Lucy’s party tonight. Need something better than these—” he pulled the strained band and let it snap back, his soft middle shaking. “Plus, they’ll snap when I give my best unless they have some extra room. Hey, I got this!” He grinned. “Wanna come with me?”

“How large are you getting?” Gajeel muttered, his eyes glued to the small mound of chub. It was sagging a little, a tiny overhang hiding the top of the band.

“Don’t know, don’t care. Larger if there’s food around.” Natsu toyed with his hang, squeezing the roll over his waistband. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Was the little fucker doing it on purpose? Gajeel wanted to press Natsu to the wall and wipe the smirk off his face.

Damn, how did the bastard wrap him around his little finger?

“The pants are in the wardrobe,” Gajeel growled. “Take them and leave.”

“Not happening!” Dragneel fucking glomped him, wiggling like some stupid puppy. His little gut bobbed up and down Gajeel’s muscular arm, hugging the beef.

He felt hot skin, a little sweaty, much softer than the former lean muscle. His lips dried. “I’m not some party animal like you! If you haven’t got the memo, some people must study!”

“It’s not fair!” The pink bastard pressed himself closer to Gajeel, his flabby middle rubbing over his abs. Fuck, did Dragneel understand the meaning of personal space “You help me whenever I crash into your room but can’t have fun even once? That’s it! I’m dragging you there!” He dug heels in the floor and pulled, his red face scowling with effort.

“Hell, I’m not fucking invited!” Gajeel stood his ground. Wait, did Natsu mention their late-night thing? His brain crashed for a moment, enough for the chubby guy to slam him on the floor.

“Pretty please?” The jerk did not realize that their crotches were pressing into each other, nor that Gajeel was already fucking hard. “Lucy won’t make a fuss, plus her girlfriend brings tons of booze and snacks. I can’t finish it alone. But with you to rub my belly, it’ll be a breeze!”

The image came as clear as day. Dragneel, in Gajeel’s pants, because his did not fit, chugging and gulping and burping. Everyone would see, everyone would know. And Gajeel would be there, encouraging him, pushing him to glut himself more.

“Put on the pants,” he grunted, “and lead the way.” One party would hurt no one, would it not?

Gajeel had hoped for a big house—multiple stories, a backyard at least. Should the party kids not have a place to invite their friends when mommy and daddy left home? No, that Lucy lived in a cramped flat, a tad better than the dorm. To make it worse, she had gathered the entire semester. Her flat burst at the seams with people whom Gajeel might have met once. He hoped to stand in the corner and weather the blasting music, but the squiggling sea of shoulders pushed him into the middle of the crowd.

Who had decided that rubbing elbows with a bunch of sweaty strangers was fun? They all wiggled their butts and arms, mocking a dance, and laughed with their shrill voices. Maybe he should give up and go home to sulk; hell, he had told Natsu that parties were not his thing. No one would miss him if he left early, right?

Someone patted his back. Fuck, another chatty drunk?

“See?” Natsu shouted in his ear over the buzz of the people. Gajeel relaxed. A familiar face, at least. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Nice, my ass!” He squeezed the party-goer in a tight grasp. Soft belly sprawled over his tight abs, only Gajeel’s thin shirt keeping the men apart. One hand dug in Natsu’s softening sides; the other fisted his messy pink hair. “There are a bunch of people I don’t know, my ears are bleeding, and—” ‘You haven’t eater a morsel!’ almost rolled off his tongue.

“Hey, not my fault you’re so stuck up!” Dragneel wiggled, his fat gliding over Gajeel as he pressed closer. Damn, was the entire party going to watch him get hard? “Plus, I know the perfect way to make people notice you. See, that bastard Gray bet I can’t drink two six-packs at once. Wanna help me prove him wrong?”

Gajeel did not want any attention. But with a scowl, he released his grip. “What do you have in mind?” It was something embarrassing that only a shameless glutton could think up. Not that Gajeel was any better; no result scared him enough to stop.

“Follow me!” Natsu screamed again, and although he clung to Gajeel, his voice barely broke over the background noise. He started breaking his way through the crowd, elbowing people left and right. “Make way! The star of the party is coming!”

Swearing under his breath, Gajeel walked through the opening before the people closed the way. He avoided swinging legs, wiggling arms, and awkward dancers. His movements almost synced with the music—some cheap pop song—and he froze in place. Fuck, he was not having fun! Nope! He glanced; the crowd thinned around him, leaving a circle, and everyone’s eyes were on the pink guy in the middle.

“Took your sweet time,” Natsu said, then shouted with hands around his mouth. “OK, people, are you ready to see how this beast deals with the bottles?” He sat on a chair and smacked his belly, which rolled forward over the waistband of Gajeel’s pants. “See that big guy here—he’s gonna pour all those beers into me. You better cough up the bucks when I finish them all, Gray!”

One black-haired dude tried to say something, but the crowd drowned him. The noise hit the apartment like an earthquake. Every-fucking-one was looking at them. They would remember Gajeel as the guy who helped the greedy son of a bitch glut himself.

Should he try to make it out? He could fight the crowd and slip through the door. But it meant leaving Dragneel to fend for himself. It would break whatever connection they had. No more midnight distractions, no more random company.

It hit him like a brick to the face; he shook, almost falling to the floor. He had grown to care. And he would hate disappointing Natsu.

“Don’t drop out on me, understood? I’m not helping a loser, Salamander!”

Natsu flashed him a gleaming grin and a thumbs-up gesture.

“Then let’s start the show!”

Gajeel flicked the first can’s ring, foam hissing around the opening, and poured it into Natsu’s open maw. The glutton chugged it rapidly with a loud slurping sound. His tongue slopped the beer, pushing it faster in his throat. The music had stopped; they were the night’s main event.

The drink ended; Gajeel raised the can above his head and smashed it, his arm bulging at the strain. “Ready for the next?”

Natsu sighed contently, fingers drumming over his fleshy tank. His flab rippled, still loose. “I was born ready! You simply keep pouring!”

With a nod, Gajeel grabbed the next drink in the pack. The people began cheering louder, their faces red with excitement and alcohol.

“Don’t back out, Salamander!”

“You can do it!”

“Show the beer who’s the boss!”

The gulps began settling down in Natsu’s gut. It rolled forward, filled with the drink. The smirk did not wash off his face, even though his swallowing slowed sightly, even though his chugs did not bob his neck as often. Sometimes, he licked his lips and cleared messy brooks of the brown liquid, then purred like a content house cat. He was so happy with only sitting on his ass and taking all that was given to him.

Fuck, why were they in public? If Gajeel poured the drinks in private, he would have rubbed Natsu’s belly by now. How did it feel? Still soft, but more strained, more resilient to touches? Would the pink bastard groan and squirm under Gajeel’s touches, beg him to be more gentle? Would he be sloshy and bloated, his belly without the slightest give? How much pressure would he take before he made a titanic belch and shocked everyone?

“Stop for a moment…” The ex-jock gave out a strained whimper, like out of Gajeel’s imagination. He almost let himself growl, ‘Not a chance’ and almost upped his speed.

But that was reality. And he did not want to make Natsu puke his guts on the girl’s floor.

“What’s the matter?” Gajeel asked, an open can in his hand. “Planning to throw the towel?”

Natsu shook his head. “Me, giving up? In your dreams, Black Steel!” He put a fist to his lips, gulping down a round of discomfort. “Just needed to breathe. How much more is left?”

Gajeel glanced at the two packs. Eight crunched cans littered the floor, the one in his hand being the ninth. “A bit more until the half of the second pack. You can keep going, right?” Fuck, they had gotten so close! How large would Natsu be with all that volume of beer in his belly?

The audience kept their stares locked onto Natsu’s gut, worry clear on their faces. (Expect for a smug, grinning black-haired dude.) Gajeel did not blame them; the belly pushed a good few inches forward, bloated and perfectly round. It dug into the belt buckle; fuck, was he already outgrowing Gajeel’s pants? How much was that for sheer size? And no wonder if he was stuffing himself to the gills at every party! Hell, how was not he twice as fat already?

Natsu laughed, slapping the side of his taut middle. It wobbled a little, making a few wet gurgles. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m not backing out! I still have room!” His face tensed, small wrinkles forming at his nose—but the eager public missed it.

“Yeah, you’re insatiable!”

“Beat Gray’s smug ass!”

“Finish it all, no backing out!”

Someone began chanting loudly, punching the air. “Salamander, Salamander, chug, chug, chug!” It spread through the crowds like a wave, everyone repeating it at the top of their lungs.

“You know what to do, right?” Natsu winked, leaning back in the chair. “Can’t disappoint them now. Fill me up, whatever it takes.”

Whatever it takes: Gajeel gulped hastily, rubbing his hands together. His bulge was visible; tomorrow he would be the campus’ hottest new gossip.

Then he had to make today worth it.

“And if you end too full?” he asked quietly. His self-restraint was running out. He hoped the pink bastard was on the same wave.

Natsu scowled at him as if there was no stupider question. “You’ll free some room. You know how.”

Oh, fuck. They were throwing dignity to the dogs. Just the way he wanted it.

Gajeel took the next can and poured it into the greedy mouth. Each gulp was strained, louder, and slower. The bulge traveled down Natsu’s throat, creeping towards his bloated gut, then fell with fizzy pop. His belly was rounding out, pressing onto the belt. The buckle dug into his skin; whenever he swallowed, it wobbled, groaning at being stretched more. The prong clattered, clacking metal against metal. Natsu’s breathing grew heavier, almost a pant. He rested after every beer, his hands squirming around his gut, as round and tight as a ripe watermelon.

“Hey, Salamander! You aren’t backing out now, are you?” Gajeel’s face was burning, sweat almost breaking on his forehead. Why was he giving up now? Still, maybe it was for the best; if that beast had kept chugging, he would have done something fucking stupid, like…

“Hey, Gajeel.” Fuck, that was the drunk Dragneel voice. Fueled by tons of fizzy alcohol, it barely avoided falling into a slurry of hiccups and burps. The sober Natsu was shameless. In that state, he was a disaster. “Rub my belly.”

In public? Gajeel’s voice froze in his throat. The greedy bastard would not take ‘No’ for an answer, nor get it through his thick head why he should stop. Feeling full was the ultimate high for him, the consequences to be damned.

Gajeel put his fingers on the taut orb. It was like a balloon, so overfilled with liquid. Slow, measured motions warmed the stretched, red skin and pushed the air bubbles in his belly. Natsu’s belly churned out a soft purr, almost hypnotizing. Gajeel lowered his head, putting an ear to the tight tank. Was everyone eyeing him as if he was a fucking animal? Even that risk was not enough to chill his eagerness.

From up close, the sounds were louder. Natsu’s stomach roared like a dragon: a sick, overfed dragon. It must have hurt like hell, but the greedy bastard could not care less. “Better now,” he grunted. “Move on.”

One beer remained in the pack. “Time to push this tank to its limits, right?” Gajeel rose and patted the fleshy gut. The liquid sloshed around the bloated stomach, making it respond with a sizzling sound.

With a smirk, the glutton nodded and opened his mouth.

The final stretch was the hardest and the heaviest. Natsu, as tense as a wind-up toy, clenched feet. His body shivered—perhaps with stress, perhaps with joy. His spherical gut surged forward, inflating slowly, and the belt was sinking in the fleshy mound. The aluminum crunched as Gajeel squeezed every drop into the greedy beast.

“Done!” he growled and threw the crumpled can on the ground. For a moment, no one dared speak.

A groan came out of one man. “I guess I owe you twenty bucks. Just t-”

He did not finish; Natsu groaned, fucking grinned, and hefted his taut, oversize belly. It flopped a few times as if rubbery, a deep sound bubbling into it. A bass, animalistic belch exploded out of his lips, making the chair rattle.

“Now-hic!” he said, dragging a hand over his lips, “we’re done!”

After that, Lucy took charge of the situation. Damn, where had Dragneel found himself such a girl? She helped Gajeel get Natsu on his legs and had already called a taxi to drive them to the dorm. It was an enormous challenge to take him up the stairs, his bloated belly making him almost immovable. But finally, they got to Gajeel’s room.

“We-hic! sure showed him, huh?” Natsu groaned as Gajeel dropped him onto the bed. “Man, I wish I could see-urp! Gray’s face!”

His gut was fucking huge, so strained that it had not exploded by a sheer miracle. Even though he was burping all the way home, it remained tight, harder than a rock. Natsu still let out a belch after a belch: light and wet, reliving little of the packed tension. After the build-up, one larger would burst out and shake the fucking bed.

“Was it worth it?” Gajeel was sitting on the bed’s edge, his hand trailing down the sphere of Natsu’s belly, feeling how taut it was. Damn, he could not fina a bit of his pudge!

No wonder the guy was blimping up so quickly; he glutted himself to hell at every party.

“You’re-hic! asking?” Natsu smiled contently, licking his lips. “I got to-hic! pig out, beat Gray’s smug-hic! ass, and earned twenty bucks! Totally worth it!”

Gajeel pressed down stronger, pushing a blast of air out of Natsu’s gut. “And what about the poor soul, who’s stuck caring for you, dumbass?”

The pink bastard grit his teeth, green coloring his face. Fuck, had Gajeel gone too far? If he had to clean vomit from the floor… But only a loud, titanic belch left Natsu’s mouth.

“Hey, careful now-hic! Are you trying to kill me here or something?” Natsu leaned forward to grip Gajeel’s hand. His gut gurgled again, uncomfortable to be pressed, and he belched straight into his caretaker’s face. “Fine, I’ll give-hic! give you half the money. Deal?”

“Keep them all,” Gajeel growled, his hips twitching. Everything Dragneel did made him hornier, hard to the point of madness. He lacked the willpower to resist it anymore. The pink bastard had better stop it soon! “You’ve earned them. I just poured the beer into you like you were some balloon.” A big balloon, greedy to grow more.

Fuck, why was Gajeel doing it to himself?

“Big thanks for-hic! that.” Natsu let Gajeel’s hand drop onto his belly. “Couldn’t have-hic! done it without you.”

“Doubt it,” Gajeel kept digging his grave. “If you keep pushing your limits, one day you’ll end up as a true black hole of gluttony. Nothing might fill you anymore.” He would love it, grin and push his stomach beyond any limits. And Gajeel would be always there to help and encourage.

“Really?” Natsu’s eyes lit up, and he thumped his stomach with pride. “What are we—” a hot, long belch cut him “—what are we waiting-hic! for?”

Gajeel wanted to bang his head against the wall. Or, much better, bang Natsu and be done with it.

Fuck, did he really consider that? That settled it; he was a hopeless case.

“Do you think about something besides food? Like, at least once per day?”

Thought strained Natsu’s face. He wasn’t the brightest bulb, even without a ton of alcohol in his system. It would not surprise Gajeel when he said—

“About-hic! you. When I’m too stuffed and I can’t-hic! wait for the belly rubs. But mostly about food.”

Gajeel’s face went redder than the sunset. His body froze like an ice cube. Did the bastard just fucking confess? No, he had to change the topic. Now! “You’ll get huge like that,” he blurted.

“Yeah, and?” Natsu closed his eyes, his hand rubbing his belly. “Gluttony feels too good to-hic! stop, even when it hurts like-hic! hell. I’ll-hic! get even bigger, it seems.” His fingers reached for the strained buckle. “Hey, speaking of-hic! that, mind if you take this-hic! tight thing off?”

Gajeel nodded, slipping the belt out of the loops. He tried to pull the prong out of the hole. It clacked but did not open. Fuck that stupid piece of metal! “Just wait a moment!” he growled, then squashed the taut, fleshy gut. It compacted a bit, gurgling, and gave him room to work. Damn finally! One flick of his fingers pried the buckle open, the next unbuttoned Natsu’s pants.

Natsu groaned, half relieved, half in pain. “You could have-hic! warned me, asshole.” With each breath, his belly surged higher, rounder, then shrank back. “Let me-hic! prepare.”

“Didn’t think the pants would be so tight.” Gajeel massaged the peak of the tight, warm sphere. It sizzled, dealing with the alcohol and the bubbles. “Or that you’re so full.” The sickly noises rose out of the beach ball and another belch—wetter and quieter—came out of Natsu’s throat.

“What, my-hic! grunting didn’t set you off?” Natsu shut his eyes close. “Asshole. Why am I still-hic! hanging out with you?”

“Because I give the best belly rubs out there?” Gajeel drew hands over the crest of his belly, moving closer to the softened pecs. The muscle kept their shape firm, but they appeared flabby, slightly perky. “Because no one else can stand you when you’re so damn drunk and needy? Because only I will pour a drink after a drink into your gut and watch you inflate like a fucking balloon?”

“Got me-hic! convinced,” the pink bastard replied. “Wanna do it-hic! again? But with more-hic! beer? Or some food? Push this bad boy until-hic! it can’t take a bite more?” He patted his belly, pushing a short burp out.

“You look like you’ve crossed that line.” Gajeel pressed a palm into the bloated mound. “Don’t tell me you want more food.”

“Why-hic! not? With you here, I’ll-hic! blow past my limits. Way past them. Don’t you want to help-hic! with that?”

Oh, yeah, Gajeel wanted. He gasped, a hand rushing to cover his lips. “Have you any idea how fat you’ll get?” he asked, hoping to change Natsu’s mind. The guy was going to be the death of him. “Really fat, I mean. That belly will turn into a real beer gut. And those pecs—they’ll soften into perky moobs. Don’t get me started on that tight butt.” He shifted his hips, the tip of his cock springing out of his underpants.

Fuck, just perfect! He jumped out of the frying pan and straight into the fire.

“Even-hic! better.” And the bastard flared it up further. “Everyone will see what a-hic! what a glutton I am.” Natsu moaned in his drunken daze, hands firmly onto his belly. “Can’t wait until I’m so fat that I can’t button your pants-hic! too,” he giggled. “Wanna huge? I’ll-hic! show you huge!”

Gajeel rubbed his hips one against another, trying to get some secret friction to his dick. Was it possible? That Dragneel was into the same things as him?

“What, do you-hic! need to jerk off?”

Fuck, had the pink bastard noticed? Gajeel’s face colored red. He did not dare move his head a millimeter. Please, Dragneel had to have some fucking shame remaining, did he not? No one sane would ever ask that!

“No-hic! idea what’s getting you horny, but if you want to rub one out, do it. I’ve heard you-hic! in your room all the time. Nothing new-hic! to me.”

“It’s you, fucker!” Gajeel screamed, and his mouth remained open. No. Way. His body was shaking with feverish heat. He wanted to jump off the bed and flee, but his body froze.

“What-hic! What do you mean?” Dragneel probed him, and Gajeel could imagine him. The pink bastard was licking his lips, planning to torment him to hell and back.

Hell, he had sunk to rock bottom. Why not dig his grave there! “You make horny. When you eat like a pig, or belch, or get fatter.”

“When you rub my belly?”

“Fuck, especially then. When I first touched it and found some softness—” Gajeel bit his lip and shifted his position, now facing Natsu. “I might have jerked off that later. Many times.”

“What are you-hic! waiting for?” The bastard grinned and drummed on his belly, the sounds echoing in its sloshing depths. “Now you’ve got the-hic! real deal!”

“You mean it?” Words took too much effort when one’s brain was frying itself. Gajeel panted as he unzipped his pants, dragging them down to his knees, then pulled down his underpants. “You don’t see it as weird? Me, jerking off to you eating like some fucking wild animal?”

Natsu burst into laughter. “An-hic! animal? If you think that-hic! now, you’ve got-hic! lots to see! I won’t-hic! stop soon. You want a-hic! fat man—you’re getting the-hic! fattest man. Are you in?”

Gajeel licked his palm and hastily pumped his cock. “As if I’d leave you to look after yourself alone.” He put his other hand on Natsu’s belly, drawing over it. “Who else will make sure you stay full and plumping?”

“You-hic! better make good on that promise!” Natsu slapped his gut, and another belch came out of his lips. “I want to fell-hic! stuffed all the time! With you rubbing my-hic! gut!”

Panting, Gajeel’s hand moved to Natsu’s moobs, clutching the soft flab, and he shot his load. “Don’t sweat on that. I won’t leave you a small fry.”

Before Gajeel opened the door, he had already expected what he would find. The groans had hit him the moment he reached the floor—damn those thin walls—and he sped up. His gluttonous boyfriend needed help.

“You came,” Natsu whimpered, lying on the bed. His overstuffed belly, looking like a ball stuffed under the skin, weighed him down. He rubbed it lazily with one hand, fingers sinking into the persistent layer of flab. “I’ve been waiting for so long!”

Dragneel was the same greedy, needy asshole who crashed into Gajeel’s room at every opportunity. He came late at night, his belly mercilessly engorged after another party, and collapsed on the bed, begging for belly rubs and groaning. His whimpers could make a rock cry; Gajeel had no chance.

He sat next to his boyfriend, planting hands on the taut orb. “Where does it hurt the most?”

Natsu moaned, his body shivering. “Everywhere,” he panted. “It’s so good that I have a softie like you to care for me.”

“Hey, who are you calling a softie?” Gajeel pouted. “Have you looked in a mirror?”

“Yes, and I like the results. But we can do better.” Natsu’s chubby fingers slapped the side of his gut, the impact spreading across its lard. “Are you in the mood for another feeding once my belly deals with this?”

The pink bastard had taken becoming insatiable to heart. Sometimes, they spent an entire weekend stuffing him. When the glutton said he had room for more, Gajeel would bring out a family-sized pack of snacks, a huge takeaway, or an extra-large bottle of soda. They filled that belly so much that Natsu was taking more and more food to feel sated.

“You want to eat again?” Gajeel squeezed Natsu’s flabby roll. “Becoming a real greedy pig, huh, Dragneel?”

The endless gorging hit his belly the fastest. Wearing belts had become out of the question; they dug into his fleshy gut, cutting it into two large rolls. His pants stretched to fit around the round, saggy orb. Whenever he moved from one party to the next, it jiggled, straining the struggling button. The shameless fucker still went out shirtless, displaying his prominent belly to the world.

“Just how I want it.” Natsu patted his mark of pride. “Also,” his voice dropped lower, falsely sheepish, “we need to go clothes shopping. I kinda burst my last pants open.”

Gajeel’s throat dried. A trip to the mall, stuffing Natsu on fast food and then making him wear all kinds of small clothing? Dragneel in public was impossible to deal with. He patted his fat belly, rubbed it when he overate—or asked Gajeel—and let out content belches without concern.

“What about tomorrow?” Gajeel asked, and his fingers pressed into Natsu’s bloated stomach, making him purr. “I think I can free the entire day for you.”

[ruershrimo]

genshin impact x reader: the inventor and their traveller, part 4- freedom and youth

features kazuha

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drunkards

notes: projecting??? nono not here pfft no what are you on about

taglist: @apyrose

series masterlist

“-I’m telling you, papa!” you pleaded, clamping your hands against each other above your forehead, your gaze fixated on the ground. “Those two are trusted samurai who can protect me, we’ll be safe! A-and, I’ll also be able to be friends with them that way!” you continued, attempting with your level-best to convince your father to let you go.

Your father merely grinned at you as you rambled about the benefits of travelling with kazuha and tomo.

“Please, papa, please?”

Though the minute was just as short as it usually was, it felt like eternity incarnate. The deafening silence paired with the painstakingly sloth like hourglass on your father’s table drove your mind into thinking that its “eternity” was almost tangible.

Please say yes, please say yes.

“Sure-,”

Woooo!

“You should be able to take care of yourself. I should really be letting the bird out of the nest by now,” your father chuckled with the supposed wisdom of a sweet old man (even if he wasn’t that old yet).

He strayed closer to you before engulfing you in a wide, snug hug and lovingly pressing his lips on your forehead. Your face lit up as he uttered those words, the corners of your lips subconsciously twisting up as your eyes seemed to have a hitherto never-seen-before bright glint to it.

“Just let me meet them.”

Oh no.

You tried your best to hide your bright “yes” change into a gloomy “no” as you endeavoured to maintain an innocent happy-go-lucky expression mid-hug like a fool who just took beginners’ acting classes.

Drafting up a plan for this adversary would take a while…

“Ok, so-!”

“What’s the plan?” tomo inquired excitedly.

“Well, I’m planning on making an invention,” you proudly smiled with the beam of a kindergartener showcasing their crayon masterpieces while pointing at the little diagrams that adorned the makeshift board next to you (courtesy of kazuha and his unexpected knack for making things out of scratch). “Look at these drawings here. What can you see?”

“Scribbles?” kazuha chuckled at your rushed drawings in the nicest way one could, scratching the nape of his neck.

“Yeah, they look like the scribbles of a drunkard,” tomo joked from his spot among the viridescent blades of grass.

“All wrong. They’re actually my grand plan.” you corrected them as you gestured to each drawing accordingly. “When we visit him, we’ll act totally normal, then I’ll give you an invention that can probably hide your visions with an illusion, and-”

“-Probably.”

“-that can probably hide your visions, and then we’ll leave as soon as we can.” you replied admonishingly, annoyed at tomo’s jovial antics. “I need kazuha to help us stretch out the conversation, what with all the poetic-ness of this guy and all.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but why don’t we try something else? I have confidence in your inventions, but I’m not sure if we have the money to get the materials required for it, and judging by how complex it sounds, it would probably take you hours to make it, while we’re supposed to meet your father tomorrow,” kazuha sweetly suggested, his voice saccharine.

If in the right quantity, it could probably give you diabetes.

“But it would be helping the nation’s economy!”

“Tomo and I are criminals…”

“-And, well, I don’t take that much time to make inventions anyway! I’ve been getting quicker at it!

“Hmm…” tomo hummed, then smirked like an over-confident light novel side character. “Why don’t we dress up in disguises?”

“Oh, please don’t tell me you want us to act like we’re in a light novel,” expressed kazuha, who was running his fingers along the bridge of his nose in utter disapproval.

“It’s a good idea, though!” you cheered. Like a light novel!

“Oh, I don’t know how I’m going to be able to handle the two of you,” kazuha jested sarcastically, his sighs followed by the joined harmony of laughter created by the two of you.

You wished for this moment to stretch for an eternity. It would be a better eternity than the Raiden Shogun’s, you thought. It felt like the world was nothing but kazuha, tomo and you; you, tomo and kazuha. Perpetuity was present, if just a little, in that small bubble of a memory, a moment, a future. You wanted to preserve this, something you thought you would never experience again and something you thought could only occur with you present at that particular time, for you knew the waters between people could crash like hell incarnate. You thought -or you finally understood- that if time were to pass you and your true friends by, the memories that were left would be enough to keep you youthful, to keep you staying like smiling, stupid “young adults” forever.

They were your first true friends.

“Papa, I want you to meet akira and haruto!”

“Are you sure this one is a samurai? He looks so… soft and maple-themed,” commented your father as kazuha giggled quietly in his brown hat, kimono and haori (he initially thought that they could wear different outfits to not look suspicious, but who has that much time to find clothes so similar yet so different anyway?). “Huh, strange. He reminds me of autumn even though his name is haruto.”

“Y-yeah, I know, right? Ka- haruto was actually named that because his- uhm- his parents really really liked spring!”

“I see,” your father nodded. Was he acting like a dense fool for your sake or just because this was his natural response to… “things” like these?

“And- and, uh- akira is this, uh, very amiable man! He’s also a samurai and, uh, yeah! So, we’ve all become friends!” you stuttered.

“Hi, sir!” tomo exclaimed cheekily, his voice as earnest as a soldier.

Acting in order to hide lies and secrets was not your forte.

“Well, haruto, you must know the way of the sword, right?”

kazuha nodded.

“So who taught you about it?”

“His fa-!”

“My master.”

You nearly sighed. Thankfully, kazuha was there to save the day. However, if tomo answered that question for his friend, that must have meant that they were very close, you thought.

You wanted to be close friends with them as well.

“I see.” your father started once again, “Akira, what about you?”

“I’m self-taught!” tomo grinned, his voice exuding full confidence.

You weren’t even sure if that was true or not. Good acting, tomo.

As your father poured out each of his interrogatory questions, an answer followed. You thanked Celestia above for tomo’s godly acting skills.

“Alright, I think we’re done here. Kiddo, I’ll tell your mother about this and I guess you’ll be all set by tomorrow?”

“Yep!”

“Alright, make sure you pack all of your things by tonight. Don’t do things at the eleventh hour.”

You embraced your father again as he patted the back of your head.

“All grown up now,” you heard him proudly whisper.

“Phew, we’re finally done!” tomo exhaled, taking off his disguise like a snake shedding its skin.

“Your outstanding skills in acting were unbeknownst to me, tomo,” kazuha praised.

You concurred, “Yeah, I almost thought you weren’t acting too!”

“Thanks-!”

“Halt! Under the Almighty Shogun’s orders, you are under arrest!” bellowed a man in a violet uniform. A Tenryou Commission guard; a tyrant’s lackey. She was the reason why you and your family were trapped in Inazuma. She was why you could never return to your birth country anymore.

Only they had visions, maybe you could bail them out- wait, you’d be an accomplice to their crimes.

Oh no.

Tomo smirked as kazuha grew serious.

“Quick, run!” kazuha blurted out, ever so gently seizing your wrist with his bandaged hand and pulling you forward.

And although you felt terrified for your life, this sensation proved to be something you enjoyed. Adrenaline flooded your veins as you glanced forward, away from the ground and what was behind you. It was as if you had to choose between the life in front of you- with kazuha and tomo and a feeling of liberation- and the life you had always been surviving in. You wondered if kazuha and tomo felt like this everyday. Freedom seemed so close you could taste it, and all you needed to do to attain it was to run forward and take more steps. These footsteps would illuminate a new path for you, a path that included freedom and not family-imposed imprisonment; a path that included life and not only survival.

So you ran, just like before, with your newfound fervour and the life in you restored.

The wind blew around you and the sky was clear. The grass danced beneath you and the sun was smiling.

You did not look back.

Freedom is finally close to me

And youth, it’s always had me-

I’ll keep it, unseen before

I want it to have me more

Hitherto and forevermore, me.

[steepgan]

someone dear (ii) - d. ragnvindr x f!reader

PART I - PART II - PART III

diluc pov... im practicing writing for this fic im writing so sorry if its BAD... also TW BL//D ..!! hmm i definitely drew inspiration from pride and prejudice while writing this LMFAOOO um <3 sry jane austen for ruining ur book >,< also i did not edit this either um.

Diluc had always known that [Name] was committed to money, if not her job. He didn’t know why. It was obviously something very personal to [Name], and he didn’t have enough time to meddle into his employee’s affairs. If he questioned her about it, she might’ve felt compelled to tell him. Or she’d request him to pay her for the secret.

He was more than willing to give [Name] a little money. She was a hard worker as well as a young woman of excellent tastes. Given her personality, he would have thought her as a bartender for Cat’s Tail—a rival of his with excellent drinks that was taking Mondstadt’s wine industry by storm. But [Name] was here, working diligently with the same old grin on her face.

There would be some days where she’d request the bard to play a somber song because she thought it was fitting for her mood. Diluc’d overheard her complaining to Charles about getting a cut on her hand from picking up shards of glass.

She worked so frequently that Angel’s Share wouldn’t be Angel’s share without her. Perhaps she’d been saving up for something big, like a trip. Diluc could see her roaming around the seven nations with no clear destination. She had a wanderer’s soul, really. If she ever left, would Diluc be able to find a replacement?

Certainly he would. 

[Name] was just a worker, and it was Diluc’s duty to see to it that he had excellent employees. And if she was good and brave, then the rest of the city could be good and brave.

“Charles,” Diluc called out. The Abyss Order was still at large. Tonight he’d roam the city streets to keep the people safe. “I can take tonight’s shift for you.”

The bartender bowed graciously. Days off for him were very rare.  “Thank you, Master Diluc,” he said before casting a side glance at [Name], “although have you thought about taking [Name]’s shift instead? She’s been working lots lately…”

[Name], who’d overheard them, lifted her head up from the cupboard beneath the bar she was cleaning. She hit her head on the counter and wobbled over. Scratching the crown of her head, she chuckled nervously. “Oh, I’m all right! I’d be happy to work a little extra anyway.”

Diluc furrowed his brows. It’d be better if he had the tavern to himself so his identity wouldn’t be exposed. Unfortunately, [Name] was such a good worker that she’d seen him come back into the tavern after a good fight one too many times. Firing her was out of the question because she did her job well, and it would be terrible of him to get rid of her because of his bad blood with the knights. 

However, [Name] didn’t really care, which was good. He didn’t give that raise to her for nothing. Diluc said, “[Name], are you sure?”

“No worries, Master Diluc,” she said. 

And then it happened to be that night where Diluc stumbled back to Angel’s Share with his arm noticeably limp and his black clothes damp with blood.

It was just [Name] sitting at the bar, flipping through a magazine of catalogs Diluc couldn’t be bothered with. His arm was searing with pain—to the point where he could feel nothing at all. Numbness. It wasn’t too bad; he’d dealt with worser injuries. 

He considered himself lucky enough to find Angel’s Share in the first place, even with the lanterns lighting up the road. Diluc had to avoid all the usual patrols of the Favonius Knights. 

Diluc was blinking through sweat, trying to register the bright lights of inside the tavern. Everything was so spotty and brilliant with gold explosions. He shouldn’t have decorated the inside so lavishly. [Name]’s head jolted up at the sight of him. Had she been falling asleep on the job? How unprofessional… but there were no people in here, so Diluc didn’t care.

With the decorations so shiny behind her, she looked like a fancy chandelier. Like the one at Dawn Winery. So shimmery. 

[Name] rushed to Diluc’s side. “Master Diluc? Are you okay? You’re—you’re severely injured!”

“I’m fine,” he gritted out.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not the end of the world, is it?” Diluc snapped. [Name] was taken aback. He sighed. “Sorry. Just leave me be. I’ll go upstairs and—”

His world started spinning. [Name] caught him.

She looked frantic. “I’m not the best at wrapping up wounds, but I know a trick or two from Lisa!” Diluc’s disdain must’ve shown because [Name] immediately added, “I know she’s a part of the knights, but healing is healing. Let’s get you to the bar.”

[Name] was probably curious. She might’ve wanted to know what Diluc was doing out at night and how he’d gotten himself injured. Diluc tugged himself away from [Name]’s grasp. “No,” he said. He could heal himself. He could handle it on his own. “I got it.”

“Let me do this,” she insisted, “temporarily.”

Diluc had always been alone. He worked on missions by himself. He protected the city of Mondstadt by himself. The Knights of Favonius were no good, really. It was up to him alone. Just Diluc. It's always been just Diluc. It was just Diluc when he left the knights, and it was just Diluc when he insisted that Inspector Eroch take his father’s death more seriously.

“I’m okay,” he said. “Leave me alone. Pretend you saw nothing.”

I’m injured, he thought. I need medical assistance. I know some medicine. No, I don’t. There’s painkillers upstairs. Yeah… painkillers upstairs.

[Name] made up her mind and grabbed Diluc’s good arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re very hurt. And I know you told me to leave you alone, but you look like you’re in pain. I can’t do much, but at least let me help you just for a second.”

No, I’m doing just spiffy! Diluc wanted to say. But that wouldn’t help his case. He’d gone through worse alone. An arm cut was nothing compared to his past. This wouldn’t kill him, but it hurt so, so bad. He’d live, though, and as long as Diluc had all his limbs intact by the end of the day, he’d still protect Mondstadt.

[Name] took advantage of Diluc’s internal struggle to sit him down at the bar. She ran to the back to grab supplies before coming back out. She dropped a pair of fine scissors, swore, and then picked it back up. [Name] forced Diluc’s coat off of him, tossing it aside.

Diluc had seen [Name] eye his nice coat from time to time, and he had half a mind to give it to her just for fun. But she paid no mind to it now. Blood was smeared over his arm.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “It matches the color of your hair.”

“Thanks,” he said. The pain spiked. “I don’t suppose you want financial compensation for taking care of me.”

She shook her head. [Name] is good and brave, Diluc had thought then. She snipped a certain length of a linen bandage she’d brought out from the back. “I’m still working within work hours. The usual pay is enough for me.”

Diluc had a lot to say.

“But I’m not the best at wrapping wounds,” [Name] admitted. “Promise me you’ll see a professional after this. Hopefully one of your personal assistants?”

“Okay,” he said.

“This might sting,” she warned. She dabbed a clean cloth into alcohol before wiping it gently over his arm. She held his arm gently, her cool hand keeping him steady while she cleaned away the germs and infection. Compared to the searing pain of the cut, the alcohol was nothing.

I don’t like this, Diluc thought. [Name] knows too much. I’m no longer alone. I don’t like this at all.

The night was silent, only filled with [Name] working with her limited materials to patch Diluc up. It was awkward, and the tension was as thick as burnt steak. 

For his pride and for the livelihood of Mondstadt, [Name] could not know that he was protecting the city at night. She was too friendly with the knights. She talked way too much. She could accidentally spill Diluc’s secrets. This was not good.

“Have you ever thought about working at the winery itself?” Diluc proposed. If firing her wouldn’t do the trick, then maybe sending her away from the city would.

[Name] looked perplexed. “Why?”

Diluc tried to imagine [Name] as a maid at his winery, keeping the interior clean. [Name] could drag a drunkard outside no problem, but could she clean the fine, delicate decorations that made the inside of the winery so neat? Could she be happy working there? Frankly, Diluc couldn’t imagine [Name] as someone who’d enjoy working at the winery at all.

“You wouldn’t make a good maid,” he said out of the blue.

“What?” [Name] furrowed her brows. “I’d make a great maid. I’d be the best maid ever.”

“Prove it,” he said. “You should work at the winery. It’s a bit of a distance, but I could pay for your travel fare.”

“Same wage?”

“Same wage.”

[Name]’s fingers held the bandage as she began to wrap it around his arm. She worked quickly with the skill of a bartender who had plenty of customers and little time. Her touch danced over his skin, and he was fighting the rising urge to blush.

“Thank you, Master Diluc, but I’m okay. I like working here. I’d imagine it’s more fun,” she said. “If it’s the same wage, I might as well enjoy being here in the city while working.”

“You care about fun?” Diluc was surprised. Given the last six months, he thought all she cared about was small talk and money. “All right, then.”

“I can’t believe you got hurt,” she said. [Name] almost sounded mad. “It’s not so bad to ask others for help when you need it.”

You should be mad at me for other things.

“I can do things alone,” Diluc said. “I don’t exactly need anyone, really. This is just a one time thing. I could  have healed myself on the second floor, but you had to interfere—”

“Master Diluc,” [Name] said, “I don’t know what failed you or who let you down, but we do need people.”

Diluc was growing cross. His ugly pride poked his chest. “I know that.”

People needed each other! It was how civilizations came about, and it was how empires fell. That was why he protected Mondstadt. That was why he prowled the streets. He did it because the people needed someone competent, and he did it because the knights would let the people down just as they did he. 

People needed him. 

“Dependency isn’t bad,” [Name] further added. “One day, you will find people who helped you, and you will help them in return. It’s only natural to need people, Master Diluc. We all need people. We all need company.”

“Too much dependency is—” The pain ran up his arm.

“Well, of course,” [Name] said. “Independence is a good thing, too. It’s highly sought after. Maybe being a lone wolf is exactly up your ally, Mr. Diluc, but the idea of a lone wolf is somewhat of an oxymoron. Wolves always prefer to travel in a pack.”

Do I really want to be alone all my life? Diluc thought. “I guess you’re right,” he said instead. “You have my thanks.”

“You pay me,” she pointed out cheerfully, and Diluc’s heart panged.

“[Name].” The words left his mouth before he could even think. “Why do you work so hard? Is there something you work toward?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “Being financially stable has always been a dream of mine. As well as putting enough food on the table and buying all these nice clothes.”

Diluc was surprised. “No family?”

“I do have, but they’re in Liyue as of now. We talk occasionally, but I like to live my own life how I like it.” [Name] nodded. “If I work for anything at all, I’d have to say I work for myself. I like working here, and I work because the journey is just as fun as the destination. A cozy retirement is not worth enjoying if one didn’t work hard to get there. Is there someone or something you work for, Master Diluc?”

Many gods ran through his mind. Deities upon deities. Alters upon alters.

“Mondstadt and its citizens,” Diluc responded. “The knights are the definition of inefficient. I clear up a few enemies on the streets sometimes”— he’d realized he essentially spilled his secret hobby to [Name]—“but it’s nothing big.”

“Take pride, Master Diluc,” [Name] said. Had she figured it out? Diluc felt small underneath her working fingertips. “I take it you’re a nocturnal vigilante?”

Diluc swore internally. “I suppose.”

“So did you choose the name Darknight Hero? You’re the talk of the town.”

It was good that the people were romanticizing his adventures. It gave them a sense of peace and normalcy. However, the name was absolutely atrocious. “I don’t like that name,” Diluc said.

“What do you prefer they call you, then?”

Preferably, nothing. Diluc did not do this for attention. He was supposed to be one with the shadows. But [Name] made him feel seen. He felt exposed to some terrible light.

Diluc had to remember that [Name] was an employee under him. She was one of the many citizens he had to protect. She shouldn’t be wrapping up his arm like this. Diluc should be writhing in pain alone upstairs with [Name] none the wiser. 

Her touch was soft. Her fingertips barely touched the surface of his skin. Her hands were no longer cool but warm and alive. She took care of him so gently that Diluc forgot he was a weapon and felt like a cherished object.

For someone who claimed she wasn’t proficient in wound-wrapping, she did a decent temporary job. Of course, a visit to Diluc’s private doctor was still necessary. 

Though her company was nice, Diluc was accustomed to flying solo.

“You must really love Mondstadt,” [Name] said. “You’re a very good man.”

Diluc opened his mouth and then closed it.

[Name] finished wrapping his wounds. The bandage was snug around his arm, and Diluc found comfort in its presence. It was far too bad someone would take it off later to properly inspect Diluc’s cut. “Well, that's about it for my medical expertise which is ultimately none.”

“Thank you,” Diluc said. 

“I would advise you to return to your winery, but it’s nighttime, and there’s monsters prowling about,” [Name] said. “I don’t doubt your athletic abilities, but you’re hurt. You should maybe eat something and rest. Early in the morning you can leave.”

[Name] was in no position to tell Diluc what to do. Diluc was her employer, her—Diluc looked at the time. [Name] was technically done with work. Technically speaking, Diluc wasn’t the boss of her as of right now. 

And Diluc knew that [Name] was simply offering suggestions. Good suggestions. His pride as a hero told him to refuse and make the trek back to the winery by himself. But his reason pulled him back to her. 

“Would you like something to eat, Master Diluc?”

“All right.”

Soon, Diluc’s arm was noticeably better. After consulting a legitimate professional, Diluc took great care of his arm and trained it back to health. His days were moreover the same after that. He swept the city streets and night and returned to his winery every so often, as he couldn’t let sales go down while he was playing hero.

Though, what kind of hero gets injured? Diluc thought to himself bitterly.

[Name] had called him a good man; well, of course, he was. The knights were anything but good and competent. But was he a good hero? What sort of hero spat swears and curses at the knights? What sort of hero harbored a deep, festering hatred for the very institution that supposedly protected the people?

She was the only one who’d touched him like that. She touched him so softly when wrapping him up that Diluc felt more a man than a hero. It wasn’t good. Diluc needed his priorities straight. He was grateful for [Name] and for that night, and this new feeling of gratefulness was lodged in his throat.

He’d offered to financially compensate, but [Name] turned the offer down. She was weird. She salivated at the thought of money, but when Diluc put more money on the table, [Name] refused to eat.

Diluc was not used to feeling owed to anyone but himself. He had a feeling that he’d feel more gratefulness to others in the future, and that scared him. If they were as stubborn as [Name], then how would he pay them back?

Did he need to pay her back? Was it only natural for people to rely on each other? Did he always have to be alone? Could he really move forward without the feeling of solidarity?

It was all right to be alone. But it was not so bad to rely on other people once in a while.

Some days, he’d see [Name] feeding a dog leftovers through the window of his tavern. She’d be crouched over, whistling and patting the ground to get the dog’s attention. The dog would wag his tail delightfully and trot over to her. And Diluc had half a mind to warn [Name] about infection, but the dog seemed awfully fond of her.

Then there were some days where she was so happy that you could clean the tavern free of charge. While money was a prospect to her,  she seemed to act on her own whims and happiness. If that happiness was to clean the tavern without pay, then she would.

She was strange. An enigma. She was the most magical a human being could get.

Diluc and Charles were once sitting at the bar while [Name] was dusting the nooks and crannies of the stairway, humming to herself.

“She ought to be happier more often.”

Charles raised a brow at Diluc’s words. Could the impassive Diluc be feeling love? “Why?”

“So she can clean my tavern for free more often.”

“Sure, Master Diluc.”

PART I - PART II - PART III

[dog-day-morning]

The word of God tells us we shall suffer for the cause of Christ, he who seeks a greater reward must attain a greater faith. Unto whom much is given that much more is required. You wanna eat that whole caramel cake, you crave that sweet tea, you pursue that woman in a nightclub hoping to get her in a compromised position, face down tail up because face it, we're not willing to bow down to the will of God, but we’re so happy, and ready to give in to that round mound of doo doo brown. The 3 Hebrew boys Meshach, Shadrach, and Abednego went into the fiery furnace defying Nebuchadnezzar's declaration to worship him. These men had the inspiration, strength, and courage to say, even if He doesn't deliver us, we know that He can. That kind of faith is called perfected faith. We can be lazy because we refuse to work with what God gave us before the day of calamity comes to devour us. Tribulation is kicking into high gear, and many of God’s people are none the wiser. There are people who were working 3 jobs before, and after this pandemic became a global concern who know what is on the horizon. You don't need an Issachar spirit to discern the times; read the Bible. He also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you say at once, ‘A shower is coming.’ And so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat,’ and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time? The gov't has pulled back on unemployment benefits forcing many to find a job. The 2 righteous servants in the parable of the 3 servants increased the wealth of their employer who trusted 3 men with different amounts of talents [money], and the 1 who didn't work diligently for his master inherited weeping, and gnashing of teeth. God invested in us, and He expected a greater return from this major investment. Jesus was the greatest financial venture ever made. The Father placed His faith in His Son who in turn gave Him many more sons that walk amongst us waiting for the Day of Judgment. This investment which supersedes all, but are intertwined will never decrease, and forever increase. The 144,000 isn't a spiritually inspired interpretation based on mine, and Mima getting the Holy Ghost or having an encounter with the Holy Spirit to speak in tongues. Sit down grandma, your Depends are leaking brown stuff that reeks of formaldehyde, and raw chitlins. God is looking for a righteous Nation to worship Him not themselves. These men, and boys who represent the 12 tribes of Israel have never been defiled by women, and hopefully not by men either. You lucky mother You can take the word literally or as a misinterpretation. Those who don't believe in the written word who believe that God's word isn't infallible aren't all to blame for this heresy. Those who originally interpreted the King James Bible added to, and took from are suffering for a misleading interpretation. The prophetic which God didn't let man corrupt altogether has pretty much played out verbatim. We may be dying to a world that is trying to kill our faith that God has no intention of doing until He finds His true worshippers, and He’ll never destroy one's faith in Him. Winter is coming and you and I must be prepared. We must live like today is our last without being caught up in fear. I'm suffering from a form of laziness called jackass. God shall supply all your needs, but faith without works is dead. The ant has the intuition to work throughout the Summer knowing that Winter is coming. A lot of these drones won't live to see the finished product. Ant mounds look like the Pyramids of Giza that secure the Queen, but where is the King? They serve the one who gives life that sustains the colony, she is their goddess, but what happens if the Queen dies? There's more than one Queen serving the colony who can breed an entire colony independent of one other. fulfilling their role while working together in unison with the others who all serve a greater purpose. This

is a major element that drives the Kingdome of heaven. Christ is just like His Father In the Kingdome that includes the Holy Spirit which they will pour upon all flesh again soon. There are no cowards or sinners in the Kingdome. The angels are not as drones, they are blessed warriors.

Revelation 21:8

8 But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.

1 Corinthians 6:8-10

8 Nay, ye do wrong, and defraud, and that your brethren.

9 Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind,

10 Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.

Alkebulan we need to wake up and get right. Black American's of the tribes of Judah, Gad, Reuben, and Issachar you need to aim at my forehead, and scatter my scatter brained grey matter all over the pavement. When Joe Biden told a radio podcaster if you don't vote for me you're not Black, he must be color blind. This vaccine that suspiciously looks like the Mark of Whodunnit. They can plant a microchip in your arm that can track your every move, financial transaction, and possibly your dreams while you sleep. Some Walmart stores are refusing to take cash when you check out; they only take debit, and credit cards. These are signs that we’re living in the End Times. The Last Days. I'm looking at this as a sign to get the hell outta this city, and decompose. What in God's name am I afraid of? Jesus took a beat down like a man on a mission.. You're not weak or simping if you gave your life for a people you fed, healed, gave sight to, preached to, taught them a new way to live, pray, love, told them about a Kingdome greater than Jerusalem, and you didn't kill anybody in the process knowing what they were going to do to your physical body in an almost retarded like bid to destroy their salvation. I've done none of that; my bad. Stop looking for men, especially zaddy to deliver us. “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” Some of us foolheartedly called Bill Clinton the first Black president when he's not, never can, or will be to me in any sense, Barack wasn't either. Thomas Jefferson, the third elected president, who served two terms between 1801 and 1809 was described as the “son of a half-breed Indian squaw (Black) and a Virginia mulatto father (Black).” Abraham Lincoln, the nation’s 16th president, served between 1861, and 1865. Lincoln had very dark skin, and coarse hair and his mother allegedly came from an Ethiopian tribe. His heritage fueled so much controversy that Lincoln was nicknamed “Abraham Africanus the First” by his presidential opponents and cartoons were drawn depicting him as a Negro. Warren Harding, Calvin Coolidge, Dwight David Eisenhower, and the scourge of the South Andrew Jackson were all n**gahs. I’ll see you come Hanukkah you self-hating black, Uncle Ruckus’s. I don't celebrate Thanksgiving, why should I be overjoyed about the genocide, and enslavement of God's people? Christmas is what it is. Hopefully you will celebrate this holiday season together fulfilling God's prophetic word. I can't unless you kill me. The Christmas holiday is as pagan as Joel Osteen is at scamming. David Duke, you might wanna go to ancestry.com, and take a DNA test. You might be 30% Swahili. By the looks of those big, gorilla nostrals you had before that rhinoplasty. You, and Bull Connor may be related to Idi Amin. Your biggest shame is your greatest blessing. Personally you can kiss the skid marks in the middle of my skid marks after I take a fresh dump. Conservative, political pundits, and wannabes whose names I won't mention, but one in particular who looks like he smoked 23 blunts in 15min. with no filter. Please keep him in California, and let him drown with his zaddy, and pancaked tail, bowed hipped women. Use your lips as a floatation device dude. These people are ashamed of the God who has blessed many, and plenty. These people suffer, hopefully not always, from the white savior or white zaddy complex. The truth isn't in any of them, that's why they're so adept at lying when making bold-faced statements before the public that opposes their previous opinion like people don’t have YouTube or google. I’ll Bing a factoid or Yahoo that mother to get the truth I may even pay for it, gimme a dollar. My inability to walk amongst men as a man has stagnated my propensity to live That's BS, my Apostle said something this past Sunday that's stuck on my forehead. YOU'RE LAZY!!! I am what I am, a pain in the rear end. This has gone on way too long. Sometimes

I feel as though God wants me to kill myself because the PO PO won’t. I would feel better if my natural family would stab me in the neck, not my back, with a piece of diseased, pork, spare rib from a boar hog, and let me die from a rare form of trichinosis. The people have spoken while I’m playing Jay, and Silent Bob. Father, get me outta here. Elohim, 9/16/2021

[jooniyah]

Fool’s Diamonds

Pairing: Park Jimin x Fem Reader

AU: Thief!Au

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Illness, angsty mentions of poverty, diamond mines, drunk character, character death, vague mentions of non con, suggested human trade, robbery, implied smut, general theme of mistrust and deception.

Word count: 6.39 K

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction and I do not condone any of the actions of the characters in this fiction. This is to be treated as pure fantasy, and should not be misconstrued to be demeaning the idols in any way. If any of the above warnings cause you discomfort, kindly refrain from reading.

Author’s note:  This fiction is set in a time when cell phones and social media didn’t exist. Nationalities are purely for fictional purposes, I bear no ill-will towards any nationality, nor am I xenophobic.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

The air was dry and felt like parched paper. You fancied you could break it into pieces just by extending your hand out. A bead of sweat rolled inside your shirt, running down your midriff. Gosh, it was so very hot. Why was it that July felt like Earth was having a fun time roasting all the terrestrial life on a barbecue? A strong cigar smell curled around you, worsening the situation, making you want to retch.

“I’m outta here, Billie,” you shouted, leaving the money on the table. The wet circles left by the beer mugs hadn’t even dried. “Money’s on the table.”

The tattooed girl nodded at you, hollering a hearty “Sure, darlin’. See ya around.”

The heat was reflecting off the road in waves. It wasn’t like you had chosen to stay there. With a drunkard for a father and a ruined mother, you had to stay back and make sure your father didn’t set the house on fire in one of his rages. You spat down, wiping the corner of your mouth. Father. You didn’t even know what real fathers did.

Wait, of course, you did. Real fathers worked to bring bread to the table. They raised their children and tried to get their babies to live better lives. They didn’t collapse by the sewer and roll around in their own puke. It was a challenge every night to find which gutter he had passed out in.

Your mother had worked her ass off to get clothes on your back. Forget college. You had starved on days when your father stole your mom’s daily wages to go and get his brains saturated with alcohol. Did you ever think of killing him? No. Well, maybe. Okay, a lot of times.

But the old woman was strangely attached to him. She went out and dragged him home if you said you couldn’t be bothered to go find him.

“Tis your dad, girl,” she would pant, dragging the wasted scoundrel by his shoulders. “You got only him to call dad, like it or not.”

You would huff and storm out of the room, not interested in getting lectured at. Well, there wasn’t a lot of rooms in your house. There was just a living room, a kitchen, and a bedroom. Your drunk dad would usually snore in the living room. Your mother would join you in the bedroom, where she would lie on an old ratty mattress. It grossed you out to lie on it, just imagine the times it would have seen your parents’ body fluids. Ew. You would lie on a pallet, trying to suppress the anger brewing in your heart.

Every other girl in the town had left, either to college or in search of better jobs. Some had married, just to escape the clutches of the banal town, which was tainted with general unease and distrust. No one was ever able to breathe freely. It was like the whole town was constantly on edge, waiting for something bad to happen.

And when you reached home, the bitter aftertaste of the beer still on your tongue, the cruel hand of fate had struck already.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

“Momma?”

You raced over to her side, trying to get her to breathe. Her lips were a deep blue, the eyes were rolling back into her head.

“Y/N.”

Her breathing was strained as if every draw of her breath peeled a little piece of life away from her.

“Momma?” You repeated dumbly, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Don’t go, please,” the saliva pooling in your mouth made you slur.

“Y/N,” she rasped, struggling to look at you. “Get—”

A spasm made her wince, and you watched helplessly, waiting for her to resume.

“Get outta this…” she swallowed, willing herself to finish her sentence. “… this town. Get out.”

Her eyes scoured the place, trying to see her husband’s form in the bright afternoon light. There he was, fast asleep, not minding in the least about his family or the fact that his wife was looking for him before her last breath.

“I’ll wake him up,” you said, trying to get up.

“No,” her voice was soft. “I been done waiting for him to wake up.”

“Momma,” you whined, voice laden with sorrow.

She shook her head, flashing a watery smile at you. “My baby,” her cold fingers clasped yours. “Get outta this place. Live your life, girl.”

You turned to stare in disgust at the man stretched in the doorway. “But him…”

She cut your words, whispering hoarsely. “No use, girl. He’s good as dead. You gotta go.”

Her beady eyes searched your face, relaxing when you nodded and sobbed.

“I love you, baby.”

Her chest stopped heaving.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

You were wiping hot angry tears off your cheeks, thinking what a waste your father was. He hadn’t even stirred when you shook him awake, screaming at him.

“Momma’s dead!” you had cried, hitting his chest as if it would get his brain hum-started. “You weren’t even sober, you fucking loser!”

When your mother had been around, you had kept a lid on swearing. But the dam broke, unleashing a torrent of suppressed anger spilling out of your heart in waves.

He had grinned dumbly, saying in a slurred voice:

“One less mouth to feed, then.”

You hadn’t meant to, but your fist came into contact with his nose, followed by a sickening crunch.

“You loser,” you shouted, going crazy at the thought of a world without your mother.

He shrugged, lying down on his side, supporting his head with his hand.

“My girl be takin’ care of me, I ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.”

You jumped to your feet, fingers trembling in rage. Your mother had lived and died, trying to support the scoundrel lying before you. But it wasn’t your cross to bear anymore. Your mother had been right, he was of no fucking use. He would simply leech off you and get drunk till his last breath. No, that wasn’t what your mother had wanted. You had to get out of the damned place.

But how? No money. No jewels. Nothing you could pawn off. Your father had already done that and drunk away all the little precious things your mother had ever owned. There was nothing to support you out in the wild, wild world.

You had a job at the local convenience store, but it didn’t pay much. It was your first job since finishing school. You had taken it instead of leaving the town, just to support your poor mother. There wasn’t much respite, but it did provide you bread when your father ran away with your mom’s wages.

You hadn’t saved a lot. But you needed leave the cursed town before it trapped you for life. Your mother had lived and gone to dust, working solely to keep you from dying of starvation. It was time to leave. To begin a new chapter elsewhere, where drunkards didn’t puke all over your foyer.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

“Billie,” you called, moving closer to her. “You got any jobs here?”

The girl pursed her mouth, shaking her head.

“Sorry, girlie. Ain’t got no jobs right now.”

You nodded in understanding. Fair enough. It was a rotten place, with not a lot of opportunities. It was a wonder that Billie kept running the pub after her old man died. It was evident that she wanted to leave the place. But like you, she had been tied to the town because of her sick father.

You were curious why she still hadn’t closed shop and left town for good.

“Billie, didn’t you ever think of leaving this place?”

She lifted a finger to be excused for a moment. She moved to pour out beer for a tall man who was standing at the counter. She pocketed the change, shouting “Enjoy your beer” at his retreating back.

When she returned, she wiped her hand on her apron, thrusting her tongue out carelessly.

“Well, I sure did, but this place ain’t got no other pub. And the money’s good the last couple o’weeks.”

You leaned in, interested.

“Anyone struck diamonds? Give me the juice, girl.”

She laughed, wiping the beer spills on the counter, nodding as she did so.

“Aye, there’s a couple guys who struck it rich. They’re comin’ and leavin’ big fat tips.”

She patted her pocket to emphasize her point. Billie was obviously in need of the money to keep the place running. You grinned, interested to hear more.

“Tell me about them.”

She handed out another mug of beer and pulled a stool to sit near you.

“There’s this guy from Russia, he been scouring for stones since last August. He bought a trench from old Mr. Hadley and started diggin’ two weeks ago. Big diamonds, you see,” she opened her thumb and index winger to show you the size, “Big ones. He been buyin’ drinks for everyone in the mine to celebrate it.”

You whistled. The only thriving business in the town was mining. People came from all parts of the world to try their luck at finding the crystallized carbon rocks. Most of them returned broke, some fell sick from the dusty haze and polluted air. Some even died in vain, succumbing to the hot burning sun.

“And the other one?”

She giggled, letting you in on her little secret. “He asked if I wanna go to Ireland.”

“He’s asking you to marry him?” It wasn’t a surprise. A lot of girls in your town had gone and married potential miners just to escape.

She shook her head, grinning. “We were foolin’ around and he thought I was serious.”

Well, poor man. Billie wasn’t the type to settle down without roaming the Earth to her heart’s content. She was simply chiseled from another rock. She didn’t like being caged.

“Talk of the devil,” she whispered, wiping the counter furiously. “There’s Mr. Russia.”

You turned and eyed the big guy entering the pub, his eyes lighting up when he saw Billie. The people in the pub cheered when he entered, and he raised a big palm to accept the claps, smiling widely.

He strode towards the counter, catching sight of you.

“And who’s this lovely lady?” he asked, smirking in your direction.

“Y/N,” Billie replied, handing him his lager. “She works in the convenience store by the old railroad.”

“Pleasure,” he said, extending his big hand to you. When you shook it, the callousness reminded you of sandpaper.

“You haven’t left town yet?” he asked, sipping his lager casually. “I mean, I thought Billie was the only lass in town.”

You smiled. The curiosity was well-earned. “I’ll leave soon enough,” you replied, keeping the obvious eagerness from spilling into your tone.

“Y/N’s momma died, so she got nothing to stay back for anymore,” Billie said, looking at you with sympathetic eyes. She had been in the same position, and she understood.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, his thick accent bubbling out of his chest.

“It’s okay.” You looked at the time. “Ah, I gotta run, Billie. See ya.” Turning to the man, you dipped your head with a soft “Nice to meet you.”

He nodded chastely, watching your back as you scurried back to work.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

“Y/N!” the man hollered, “customer for you!”

You were at the back, checking the expiration dates and noting which ones to take back home. It was common in your town for salespeople to take items that were a day or two beyond the expiration dates. You stopped what you were doing and rose up to look over the aisle.

It was the Russian man. His face registered recognition, and he raised his hand to wave a small Hi to you.

“Yes,” you said, walking up to him. “How can I help you?”

He told you he was looking for some souvenirs to buy for his daughter back home. You led him to the small section that had girls’ trinkets and stuff like hair slides.

“These are all we have. You could try Miasie’s too. She might have some more accessories.”

He nodded, carding through the fake jewelry items. He whistled in a low voice.

“They look like real diamonds,” he said, pointing to a bracelet studded with stones.

“Zirconia,” you replied, taking the bracelet out of the plastic cover. You had to admit, it really looked authentic. It was a running joke in your town that the fake jewelry outshone the diamonds mined there.

“Maisie has a lot of Zirconia jewels, these are made by locals,” you said, running your finger through the stones. “

People who fared badly at the diamond mining expeditions returned home with Zirconia jewels to save face, to try and convince their people that they had in fact dug a few diamonds out. Hence the market for fake diamonds boomed, and a lot of locals thrived on it.

“I’d rather buy this, at the hands of the beautiful maiden holding it,” he said.

Was he hitting on you?

You nodded crisply, asking if he wanted anything else. He hesitated, looking around. “Is it- is it fine if I ask you out?”

There it was. Gosh. It was an endless game of cat and mouse in that town. For hundreds of young miners, there were only a handful of young girls, so the competition was crazy.

“I guess,” you said, hoping he would just get you a beer and call it a day.

“So, I’ll come and get you at…” he licked his lips. “…where do you live?”

You thought about it, thinking if you should just tell him to come to the store after all. But you got off work at 4, and you didn’t want him to see you carrying expired food back home. You wrote him the address, telling him to reach your home at 6.

He smiled and left, promising to call on you later that evening.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

“You gotta be kidding me,” you hissed when you returned home to see your father conversing with the Russian like old buddies.

The men snapped their heads to follow the sound of your voice, and there you were, holding an armful of stuff from the store.

“Y/N,” the Russian said, getting up to help you carry the items inside.

“Alexei! What are you doing here?” The time certainly wasn’t 6 pm. What the hell was he doing, cozying up to your father?

Your father grinned his sickly fishy smile. “Y/N, don’t raise your voice…”

“Shut the fuck up,” you said, cutting him off. You hated when the loser lectured you. “I wasn’t talking to you.” All the foodstuff in your arms dropped down with loud thuds.

Alexei stooped to pick up the small cartons. “Y/N, let’s not shout,” he was saying, when you swatted his arm away.

“You don’t tell me what I should do, not at my own house.”

He raised his palm in a gesture of peace.

“Why are you here? I told you to come at 6. It’s only 4.30.”

He looked over at your father, catching his lip between his teeth.

“Well, I was free and thought I’d pay you a visit…”

“When I was away at work?” you questioned.

Your father cut in harshly. “I sold you to him.”

His voice was blank, devoid of any emotion. The shocked silence prevailed undisturbed for a good five minutes before you found your voice.

“You what?”

Charging forward, you went flying towards the old man, when Alexei caught hold of your hips, holding you in place.

“It’s not what you think, Y/N,” the big man said, heaving in exertion as you squirmed and cursed out loud.

“Get your hands off me! Get your hands off me!”

He let go, but clasped your wrist instead.

“I just asked if I could take you with me to Russia. He said he didn’t have anyone to support him if you left, so…”

“So? So, you offered money to take me away? Who do you think you are?” Your voice was rising to dangerous limits. “Am I an object you can just buy? Fuck you.”

Your father was sober for like the first time in months, and then he went and sold you off to make money to drink even more?

“And you!” Pointing your finger at the old man, you screeched in anger. “You fucking sold your daughter to get drunk even more? Why didn’t you die instead of mom?”

“Enough, Y/N,” he shouted, getting up and smacking his dry lips. “You be goin’ with the Russian. It’s the least you can do for yer’ old man.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” You screamed, voice breaking and throat going dry from all the screeching.

“Now, now, Y/N, take a breath.” Alexei came nearer, whispering in your ear. “You want to escape this place; I offer you a pass. Why do you resist?”

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Billie widened her eyes in shock.

“Y/N! Are ya fuckin’ outta your mind?”

You shook your head, aware of Alexei watching you from across the pub.

“Far from it.”

She leaned down and lowered her voice.

“Girl, ya know what ya gettin’ yerself into?”

“Yeah, I know. Billie, he’s gonna take me outta this wretched town!”

“At the cost of what, Y/N? He’s married, he’ll probably sell you to another guy or worse he’d put you in a brothel.”

“I know.” You sipped the beer and swallowed the liquid before adding:

“I will be careful, Billie. He got strength, but I got brains.”

She scoffed. “Seems more like them brains evaporated in the heat, based on what nonsense yer talkin’, girl.”

You were touched by her concern. Being the only two girls in the neighborhood, it went without saying that she was like a sister to you. And if the most spirited daredevil of the town was worried about you, there really was a grim storm brewing for you.

“Listen, Billie. I’ll be sharp. I won’t get kicked into a brothel. You know me, girl.”

She considered your determined face, before giving up. “Well, if ya say that ya’ll be alright, it gon’ be alright I guess.” She looked over at Alexei. “When ya leavin’?”

“This afternoon. There’s a train to the capital. A ship’s leaving for his country on Thursday.”

“So, the three days until that…”

“He says we’ll stay and look around the capital until the ship sails.”

She curled her lips at you. “You got balls, girl.”

You grinned, smiling at her as you downed the rest of the beer. Both of you knew that you were never going to see each other again.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

“Want to go to bed?” the man asked, pulling you snug against his side profile.

“Alexei.” Your tone was curt. “Don’t touch me unless I say it’s okay to.”

Bitch. Well, he would break you in soon. He’d have you begging on all fours. Just wait till he got on that ship with you. There was no way he was going to wait longer than that.

“Apologies, I will see you tomorrow then.”

He withdrew to his own hotel room. You had arrived at the capital at 11 am. It was Tuesday. Three more days to go before you sailed to Russia with him. You had demanded a separate room. He had tried to reason with you, but you just wouldn’t hear of it.

Alexei saw you slam the door shut, standing on the verandah. He lit his cigar. Soon, he said to himself. Soon he’d have his dick inside that uptight ass of yours.

Your father had been surprisingly easy to bend. He had just said that he had struck diamonds when the old man folded like a napkin. He had honestly meant to gossip until you returned, but he quickly saw a delicious opportunity right before his eyes.

He had innocently talked about how it would be difficult for the old man if you left town, and soon enough, he had wrapped him around his little finger. He just gave him one of the smallest diamonds, the most unclear of them all, but the man danced like it was Christmas already.

“Take her, yes, by all means,” he had said, rolling the stone around in his palm. “The lass don’t have much savings, it would be damn difficult for me to get ‘er a man. Better you take ‘er. I’m happy.”

Alexei had been quite taken aback. The man really was willing to give up his daughter for a low-quality diamond. But hey, he had no qualms. He was getting the best looking girl he had laid eyes on, and soon enough he would trade you for money, or better yet, another girl.

He blew out the smoke, slowly imagining how your naked body would feel under him. Those pert tits, he could almost see them in his mind. He would make you take back every sharp word you had said to him since the day he bought you. He looked down, exhaling the smoke again. He would have to take care of the tent in his pants by himself. Until Thursday.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

“Jimin-ah,” the girl drawled, draping herself against his warm, shirtless torso. “Stay a bit longer.”

He raked his slim fingers through his mussed hair, clicking his tongue.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I have to go.”

She pouted at him, sticking out her lower lip. “When will you be back?”

He scooped her up, kissing the top of her head.

“Soon. Really soon, baby.”

He slipped his shirt on, shaking his hair free and arranging it again.

“Don’t stay up too long, I’ll be back tomorrow.” He kissed her knuckles, reluctantly letting her hand go.

“I love you, Jimin-ah,” she whined, gazing forlornly at his back.

He grimaced unbeknownst to her. He didn’t love her. And he most certainly wasn’t going to see her again. He rapidly exited the dingy hotel, not caring in the least that the poor woman would wait for him to return. Gosh, the extents a guy had to go to, to get a nice fuck these days.

Jimin didn’t really go to sex workers. It wasn’t his style. No, he was the playboy. He liked the thrill of seducing a woman, making her a gooey mess, making her tremble in anticipation of his touch. He was skilled at those games. But once the initial thrill was over, he didn’t have much to do with the girl. The longest he had been with a girl after sex was 3 days. He shuddered. What a whiny bitch she had been. Ugh.

He was strolling through the streets, scoping out potential targets. He was already hungry. He had to pick a few pockets soon if he wanted to sleep with a full tummy. The street was bustling with people. He eyed each person as he slowly danced through the crowd.

Park Jimin was a slippery thief. He had the agility of a panther stalking its prey. For anyone who looked at him, he would seem like an innocent baby-faced man in his early twenties. The air of childish charm made it very easy for him to fool people. He had to do nothing but stare wistfully at the street from the window of the coffee shop, and boom! He would have a kind-hearted unwitting girl wanting to buy him coffee. So easy.

His hand slipped into the loop of your handbag, and before he knew, you had clasped his wrist tight. Alexei went on walking before you, apparently not seeing the man digging his hand into your handbag. You didn’t say anything, walking on sedately behind Alexei, not budging an inch as Jimin whispered cuss words and tried to wiggle his wrist free.

When Alexei was beyond earshot, you hissed at Jimin angrily.

“What the fuck were you doing?”

He tagged along, unable to believe that he had been caught so easily. The cat burglar, caught in plain daylight by a woman? Was he losing his touch?

Alexei was still walking ahead, inhaling the aroma of fresh roasted coffee beans wafting throughout the pavement. You came to a halt, narrowing your eyes at the gorgeous man who was squirming under your grip.

“I- I was hungry,” He had decided to turn his charm tap on. Maybe you were one of those gullible women who would melt. “I’m sorry, I had no choice.” He hung his head in shame. “I lost my job, there’s no money for food…” His tears flowed easily. A corner of his mind wondered if he should take up acting. He could give those Broadway actors a run for their money.

You let his hand go, watching Alexei’s back warily. Digging into your purse, you pulled out an old currency note. It wasn’t much, but it was all that you had.

“Take this. Get something to eat.”

He accepted it silently. “Thank you, ma’am.” His hunger made him fold. Jimin knew that you could have called the big man to box his ears, and he admired your nerve.

His eyes scanned your persona, and his inner thief sang when he saw the chain and bracelet you were wearing. You were wearing what was worth his entire month’s fun.

“I’d like to repay you. I will return the money as soon as I can.” He watched you, simultaneously keeping an eye on the big man who had stopped to examine something in a roadside shop.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, touched by the man’s sincerity.

“No, I insist. I’d have become a thief if it weren’t for you.” He smiled inside at the soft expression blooming on your face. Damn, girls were so naïve.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Alexei was knocking on your door impatiently.

‘Y/N? Let me in!”

You feigned a yawn and opened the door just a little bit.

“What is it?”

He tried to pry the door open, but your resistance was surprisingly strong. “It’s Wednesday, remember the carnival I told you about? Come on now.”

You put on the best sick face you could, rasping slowly, “I feel so tired, Alexei. My head hurts. You go on. I’ll come with you in the afternoon.”

He tsked, annoyed at having to leave you behind. But he wasn’t foolish enough to leave you unguarded. He had slipped two enormous wads of cash into the bellboy’s hand as soon as you had arrived at the hotel. The bellboy and the man guarding the door would never let you set foot outside the door. You were as good as trapped.

“Well, okay then. I’ll come to fetch you for lunch.”

When you closed the door behind you, an audible sigh emanated from under the bed. Jimin climbed back into the bed, his naked upper body shining in the morning light. He was only wearing his boxers, and his toned thighs were deliciously on display as he wiggled his toes at you.

“Come on, Y/N,” he purred, voice heavy with lust. “I can’t have enough of you.”

You smiled at him, climbing into his lap like a kitten. His fingers carded through your hair as you watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He drew soft patterns on your skin, murmuring affectionate words and sighing happily.

His eyes were on the chain and bracelet you had carelessly left on the bedside table. It was making his palms itch. He had listened to you all night, patting your back gently as you told him all about the dilemma your father had put you in. Part of his brain had been focused on you, but the other had been drooling at the chain glinting on your chest.

“It’s okay baby,” he had cooed, “We’ll get you out of the guy’s clutches.”

You had made passionate love; it had been your first time ever. But that hadn’t stopped you from enjoying it. Billie the encyclopedia had given you lots of inside information, so much that you knew a lot more than playboy Jimin even did. Jimin had no idea he was fucking a virgin, so good was your theoretical knowledge.

“Jiminie,” you said, grazing your nail against his chest.

“Yeah, baby?”

“The ship leaves tomorrow. How can we escape before that?”

“I wish I had money to get you tickets for another ship, baby. But you know I’m penniless.” He held his breath, waiting to see if you would say the words he longed to hear.

“I don’t either, Jiminie.” Well, obviously. Think harder, airhead. “But maybe you can sell the diamonds and get enough money.” There you go, pea brain.

He licked his lips, waiting for you to reach for the jewels on the table. Wow, he was going to live a goddamn rich life. But his face scrunched up when you reached inside your bag instead.

“Baby, whatcha doing?”

You looked up at him innocently, extracting a little tied-up handkerchief from your bag. “Getting you the diamonds.”

His confusion dissolved when he saw you untie the kerchief, revealing a big pebble-sized diamond and a handful of smaller button-sized diamonds. Oh, he’d be damned.

You picked the big one, handing it to him. “Can you try and sell it? It’s of the best quality.”

He licked his dry mouth to life. “So many- so many diamonds?”

You laughed. “Alexei has a lot more. He gave me these to make me agree to go with him to Russia.” Alexei had no idea that you had stolen from his bag, but Jimin didn’t need to know that.

Jimin turned the diamond over in his palm. Fuck, it was the biggest he had ever seen. His mind was working on overdrive.

“Why not give all of them to me, baby? I’ll sell them all and bring the money.”

Like hell you would. You shook your head.

“No, it’s easier to sell one and get going. We can sell the rest as the need arises.”

Tight bitch.

He had to think of a way to purloin the rest of the lot later. For now, he would go with your plans.

“Sounds like a good plan, baby. I’ll get going then.”

You watched him dress himself up in a rush. He was so beautiful, naked or otherwise. So damn beautiful.

Jimin saw your eyes drift to the table. He cursed under his breath. The chain and bracelet would have to wait.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Naturally, Jimin knew the best places to go to. He was a thief, and he was buddies with a lot of pawnbrokers.

“Heya there, Jimin!” the man called, smiling his crooked smile at his favorite customer. Jimin brought a lot of stuff to his shop, and he was glad to do business with the innocent cherub.

“Brought a diamond today, Han,” Jimin said, looking around the cold, dark room. No other person was around. Jimin loved the cold ambiance of pawnshops. The metallic smell of old silver and brass made him feel at peace. There were so many interesting things on display. He felt like a child taken to Disney Land.

“Let’s take a look,” Han said, extending his palm.

Jimin looked around at the stuff Han had recently acquired, whistling softly while the man appraised the diamond.

Han looked up from his loupe, eyes wide. “How ever did you get such a good stone, Jimin? This one is easily worth thousands!”

Jimin’s heart lifted. He had been worried that you might have sent him on a wild goose chase. He had doubted if it really was a diamond at first, because you were ready to part with it freely. He smiled at Han.

“A chick I know had it.”

Han winked. “Got rid of her yet?”

Flashing him a conspiratorial smile, Jimin drawled, “Will do soon.”

He turned to Han on his way out. “I’ll bring you some more, hold on to your breath.”

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Jimin was on his way back to your hotel. He had stopped to buy a ticket to Bermuda. He was going to sail away happily. The only thing was, he needed to rob the rest of your diamonds before the end of the day. He would stay up after you slept, and sneak off with them.

He had so much money in his hands, and his robber instinct told him to flee already. But then, those button sized diamonds beckoned, appealing to his greedy heart. Some more money wouldn’t hurt. There had been at least 10 diamonds in there. Not to mention your jewelry. Greed made his feet walk automatically back to you.

When you opened the door, you were dressed up. It was evening already, nightfall was approaching. Maybe you had gone to the carnival after lunch with that Alexei guy. Jimin didn’t really care where you went as long as the diamonds were safe.

“Hey,” you whispered, letting him slip into your room. “Did you sell it?”

He grinned and dangled the thick wads of cash before your eyes. “Uh-huh. See? We’re gonna run away together, baby.”

You clapped your hands in delight, taking the wads from his hands. You counted carefully, looking up at him with a startled “15 thousand?”

Jimin had taken five thousand for himself, but he wasn’t going to tell you. He simply nodded.

You were surprised. Wow. You had thought that the diamond required more polishing. You had only expected a few thousands. But this was so good.

“Jiminie, you were right, will you hold on to these diamonds too?”

You thrust the diamonds bundled in the kerchief into his hand. “I don’t want Alexei to find out at the last minute.”

He had to put so much effort to stop himself from laughing out loud. This was going so deliciously well.

“Sure, give it, I’ll keep it safe.”

He tucked the bundle neatly into his pocket, innocence painted all over his face.

“Hmm…” you embraced him, sighing in contentment. You were going to escape Alexei. The thought made you giddy with happiness. You tied the wads of cash into a scarf, securing it under your pillow.

Jimin watched you, fascinated. Ooh. He could run away with the diamonds and the cash. Midnight would be the best time. It wouldn’t hurt to fuck you a couple times to while the time away.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

“Y/N?”

Jimin had watched you go into the bathroom. But you hadn’t come back yet. Maybe it was the right time to run.

He dug his hand under the pillow, groping blindly to feel the cash. It wasn’t there. Fuck.

He turned to see the light still streaming from under the bathroom door. He had to decide if it was worth the risk to try again. His hand roamed on the bedside table. Thank goodness, the jewels were there. He grinned to himself. Awesome. He had to make a run for it.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

When Alexei opened the door in the morning, there was no sign of you. He stormed into the bathroom, calling out your name. No answer.

He ran down furiously, looking for the bellboy.

“Where is Y/N?” he shouted, bunching up the boy’s collar in rage.

“I don’t know, sir,” the boy said, surprised and caught unawares.

“You little cocksucker,” Alexei screamed, shaking the boy until his joints rattled. “You just cost me my bitch!”

The bellboy remembered the crisp notes you had slipped him at midnight. It was more than Alexei had paid him to keep you inside. You had been the highest bidder, so it was only fair that he let you go.

“I honestly don’t know,” he said, allowing Alexei to box his ears. “I never saw her come down.”

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

You were on a cruise ship to Bermuda. It left at 9 am, and you had found the ticket luckily in Jimin’s pocket at midnight. The guy had to learn how to safeguard his stuff. You stifled a giggle. Poor bastard. He was probably shocked when you never returned from the bathroom. You snorted, and an elderly man looked at you in surprise.

At last, you were free. Life was so exciting; you had a whole new chapter waiting to be written. It was going to be a ride, and you were determined to enjoy it thoroughly. You remembered Billie. She would have loved to go with you.

Retiring to your cabin, you picked out a paper and started writing a letter. Detailing your adventures, you finished with the lines:

‘You were right, Billie. I would never have survived out here if it weren’t for brains. I fled and made sure Jimin would be responsible for the stolen diamond and not me. My hands are clean.’

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Alexei found out that a big diamond was missing from his rucksack, and he stormed off to get in touch with the police. They assured him that they would look into all the diamonds pawned over the last couple of days.

He thought you were too naïve to embark on a journey alone. You were probably hiding out in a motel, waiting till the hue and cry died down. He was sure that the investigations into the pawnshops would lead him to you.

Han was sweating profusely when Jimin returned.

“Whatever’s the matter, man?” Jimin asked, raising his eyebrows at the guy.

“Police are sweeping all the pawnshops in the district for that diamond of yours. My cousin runs a shop too, and he just dropped by to share the news.”

Jimin tensed. It would be a tight stretch to pawn the rest of the diamonds to Han. The man was in enough trouble already.

“Okay, I’ll come back after a while then.” He shook the tied-up bundle before Han’s eyes.

“Yeah, you do that. It’s for the better.”

Jimin paused to think. Han might give him away if the police pressed too much. He untied the bundle and extracted a couple diamonds, passing them over to Han.

“Here’s a gift, you keep quiet and you can have them for free.”

Han looked at the stones in his hand wide-eyed, unable to stammer out his thanks. He nodded silently, bending down to examine the stones.

Police sirens were sounding in the distance, growing closer by the second. Jimin’s foot was almost out the door when Han called:

“These ain’t diamonds, they’re Zirconia! They’re worthless!”

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

[jeromehoward]

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[oh-theres-a-woman]

War Melodies on the Gramophone

A/N: Once more, the attention on my stories are greatly appreciated and bring fullness to my heart. Today, I give you another story. Maybe one more tonight if I’m feeling inspired enough. This one is set before the time of season one, in the beginning, then finishes at the start of season two. Please feel free to share, comment or request something else. Much love! xxx

Taglist: @zodiyack​ , @itsfrancisneptun​ , @shelbys-we-get-the-job-done​ & @fandom-fucking-shit​

Pairing: Thomas “Tommy” Shelby X Female Reader

Word Count: 1733

Edit: PART 2 is available now! Enjoy everyone. Thank you for all the love! It really means the world and so much more.

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You were a combat nurse on the Western Front, through the muddy earth that was mixed so heavily with blood. Time was spent patching up the boy’s and broken men to be blown back to hell once more. Shooing them away to meet the bullets and fire of the enemy. Ones that were too far gone were buried or sent home to your mother England. 

How you longed to see the homeland once more, to be away from the thick smell of death, blood, rot and mud. To sleep a full night without being awoken by the shaking earth. When shells hit. Cries and wailing men who longed to be home like yourself. If one ever thought that war brought glory again, you’d daringly and happily throw them in the cot to drown. This war had already reaped too much to bestow glory and make one enjoy the angst and grief felt. 

You stood outside on one of your rare breaks, lighting a cigarette. Prescribed by yourself for the clear nerves and torment that was suffered here. It was at that point you didn’t quite know what the white apron looked like anymore. So stained with blood and no matter how much you tried to wash it. Forever the bloody thing seemed stained an awful shade between red and pink. Hands quaked as you held your stick, inhaling taking in a momentary taste of nicotine instead of the dense air. Flicking ash off onto the sodding earth, where your eyes wandered out to the men that were working away carrying wounded up to the field hospital. 

“How bad are they today, boys?” You asked on approach, tucking the fast-burning cigarette with no filter between sore chapped lips. Wisps of your hair bellowed around your face in the cool winds. Whipping the scent of strong sulphur into your nostrils. Making them burn more than they did with the smoke. 

“Pretty bad, [y/n].” Said one of the lads guiding men into tents to be seen. What was one to expect? That they had been less torn than others? It seemed no longer hope to see men in one piece. Accustomed to the horrors of the lame, limbless and insane. Every day was another picture printed in your memory saying otherwise. 

Snubbing out the cigarette out with the heel of your boot. You watched as the embers tried to dart outward but were suffocated by the mud. That mud suffocated everything, even yourself… 

Stepping back into the tent, your eyes wandered to the bodies laid out on beds. Nurses and doctors hurrying around making this expendable. Every effort to save a life meant something. Thrown back into the line of rapid work. You didn’t even notice how the tent dulled the sound of everything going on outside.

You were stationed in the bed of another English man. Working on the shot wound in his chest. Removing the piece of metal from him with excellent care. Honestly, it was a wonder what your little hands could do when they stopped shaking and got to work. He was a tunneler by the way he was dressed and how dirt, not mud, clung to his body. “What’s your name, soldier?” You asked in a country accent telling the man you hailed near his birthplace of Birmingham. 

“Thomas, Thomas Shelby.” He commented in a weak voice, it was dry and rough. Like a voice after having a few too many cigarettes or held up in a state of grief. You knew there was certainly enough of them both here. “What’s yours?” He asked as you began to clean the wound that had been inflicted on the flesh of the man’s physical body.  Moments in these, people would normally say a prayer muttering that his spiritual form won’t be maimed and infection wouldn’t take root and rot his soul. However, spiritually be damned in your eyes.

It had caused too much pain and hurt to believe in a place like this. Surely the man below you didn’t believe either. It was too hard to believe in them all. All of you were going to meet a grim end or be taken prisoner, that’s what you thought. A lot of little boys playing soldier and big boy heroes were going to be left broken and shaken. A scar on the generation and age of which you come from. Likewise. You’d go home broken if you did at all. 

Lulled back into the context of the conversation, but the man’s dry smoker’s cough. You looked into his crystal blue eyes and then spoke. “Miss [y/n], a pleasure to meet you, Mister Shelby.” You did speak honestly, it was always nice to meet the soldiers, just a pity in what manner of meeting them. The pains they must suffer to be bought into the off-white field hospital tent. Carefully, slipping a tablet under the man’s tongue. “That’s for the pain, we’ll have you patched up in a jiffy, I promise.” You told him calmly. He only weakly gave a nod then grunted in pain. 

Delicate fingers and tools finally released the bullet, tossing it onto a tray. Then working quickly on the mend. Cleaning thoroughly, and stitching the wound. Pressing the area to stop the final bleed. You left him to rest for a time before they sent the officer away in need to the bed again. No one seemed to have the luxury of resting too long in a war. Instead, you made your mind up to watch over the man and make sure that the wound was healing. 

Often climbing down the deep pits of the tunnels, you met with a lot of the men down there. Checking on their wounds and health. Doing the assessment in rare sparing time. It made a bond grow between you and the Birmingham man known as Tommy or Tom by friends. He gave you a pet name too. It was sweet and made you feel somewhat more alive in the fuss and pain. Seeing the tunnelers began to be something you itched for every day. A breakaway from the noise-cancelling tent or the sulphur thick air above ground. To be hidden down in the humid tunnels underground. Talking with men, making sure all was well. 

At war’s end, you stood with many young women and men. Watching as the last of the bullets were fired. Shells rattling the earth. It happened to be some time since you’d seen the likes of Thomas Shelby. All the tunneler boys in truth. Shelby left a soft place in the final piece of softness in your heart though. He held the merit and dreams of most men that had been fighting in the beginning. However, France had killed the boy within him with made your soul mourn for the boy-child spirit that would be left in the bloody mud of the Western Front. 

--- 

Goodbyes of that day still remain even over a year on from war’s end. Some paranoid people believe another war is to come from this one. Of course, you hope not. Yet, the state of the tied up affairs in the war wasn’t neat and tidy. Germany did suffer harsher conditions than most. Mostly due to the prejudice caused by the cousin nation, losses made people angry and craving blood. The blood you still spent long wholes mopping up and cleaning as a stationed nurse in a London hospital. 

Preparing however for the new transfer to Small Heath, Birmingham a place that you’d long forgotten. But not that man that still weighed heavy on your heart. Come Saturday evening, the train into Birmingham wasn’t packed, nor quiet. It had been situated that there would be a small townhouse that you’d be staying at with other registered nurses in the area. The unmarried ones, at least. Holding your bags you walked to the address, shown to a room by one of the lovely ladies you were living with. All present had proposed a night at the Garrison for drinks in celebration of your arrival. 

The jolly frolic in the evening didn’t seem at all a bad idea. More so, refreshing. You hadn’t taken many chances to enjoy yourself anymore after the war. So, this would be an ample opportunity. So, all dolled up and pampered. You strolled down the streets with the ladies gushing and giggling with the Small Heath gossips. Many fans of the bad boys in town, the Peaky Blinders. 

You didn’t remember why this name meant anything. Shaking away the thought, in the time of being merry and joyous. Listening to tales and laughs from the girls. Sipping on your drink, the air alive with cheerful drunkards or the occasional fight that had the girls and yourself pushed up against the bar to get out of the crossfire. Unknown to you who was watching from the private booth door. Struck dead like he’d seen a ghost after all this time. A time when the war left a feeling of wanting to forget in his soul. 

Thomas Shelby swallowed the bile rising in his throat, stepping out of the salvation and privacy of his private booth. With one goal at that moment. To come to you. At wars end, he came searching for you. But never had a name to go off. He remembered the little pet-name he gave you. Nothing else. Well, he remembered your beauty but not your full name. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in dusty ol’ Birmingham, aye?” He asked with a cock of his brow, a rise in his voice. Holding a sure hope. A wilder smile tugged on your cheek. Truer than anything expressed for the entirety of the whole night. Stepping forward daring you touched him, then followed with a sincere searing kiss. That shocked most of you company, patrons and Tommy’s family in the private booth. 

“Off to pick up a man I left down in a dark hole,” you said smoothly. Voice sweeter than the drink on your lips. The smell of tobacco, lilac perfume and drink clung to you.  Tommy looked smart and handsome. Just as you pictured him if you saw him again one day. In the following moments, no one spoke when the pair left the bar, once more in the cool of the night. Walking hand in hand. No desired destination. Just anywhere away from people. Just you and Thomas focking Shelby.

[our-wargame]

take three steps to your left; take me with me you [2/2]

Read Part 1

summary:  Takahiro’s not sure why but he hates it when people get Matsukawa wrong. And they always seem to.

tags: rated t, pining, dialogue heavy now because oi-matsu-hana are three drunkards, maybe a part three from Matsukawa’s take?, dw matsukawa shows up yay, hanamaki/oikawa friendship and iwaizumi is yay

notes: the first chapter was supposed to just be that, just a short take on possible matsuhana relations, but then i decided why not make it a fic yknow. although part 1′s a good standalone!! this one’s much less serious but yeah! if you happen to reblog my work, i will most likely read your tags and then die of joy.

as always, ao3 link

Last chapter:

“Oh we forgot something,” Oikawa says, and this time there’s thoughtfulness sharpening the eyes sweeping over Takahiro. “We forgot about the part where you’re in love with him.”

Takahiro freezes.

Before Takahiro knows it, his arm is out. Is it really his fault though? It’s not like this was a first-degree planned nose-grabbing. One second Oikawa is saying some bull; and the another, Oikawa’s nose is just...in Takahiro’s crab-claw. His heart’s pounding a little faster than usual, but it’s Gucci. 

“Makki! That hurts my conker!.” Oikawa squirms into a sitting position and then scoots his ass back, pretty much over Takahiro’s lap to prevent his nose from getting torn off.

“Nice conk bro.”

When Oikawa wrinkles his nose, Takahiro lets go. He keeps wiggling it, exercising it with ugly ogre faces and complaining he can’t smell Takahiro’s teen reek or something like that.

“Hey, I’ve seen you looking at Iwaizumi after practice.” Takahiro shakes his head. “Just because he’s all sweaty-”

“That’s not-!” Oikawa jumps up, yelling. “He’s not-! You can’t just say-”

Takahiro laughs. Three years of friendship have given Oikawa neural damage, a better poker face, and a properly tainted sense of humor, but specially made mentions of Iwaizumi Hajime still sends him into a loud, quacky fluster.

“You know,” he says casually, comfortably stretching, splaying his arms out over the couch. “I’ve caught him staring back at you.” Leaving a soft pause for the atmosphere shift, Takahiro tilts his head to the side with a small, lopsided grin and waits.

Yes, he expects Oikawa to melt. Instead, Oikawa lets out a small sigh and plunks back down beside Takahiro. His gaze shifts from ground to ceiling and back again. A tiny, hard pit plunks into Takahiro’s stomach. Apprehension. He’s about to joke about how he never makes Oikawa wait this long when he’s teasing him, but the noise that comes out is a sad sort of wheeze that he ends up trying to pass off as a cough.

At last, Oikawa pursues his lips. Takahiro’s given him an opening and he’s taking it. “Makki. You’re in love with Mattsukawa-”

Takahiro’s breath hitches.

“And he’s in love with you.” Oikawa skewers him with his gaze, captain to one of his men, like they’re in one last match. “So. How about you save us spectators the time and-”

Never Gonna Give You Up rings shrilly through the air.

Oikawa’s mouth drops open. Takahiro he lunges for his phone. “Matsukawa,” he reads off the screen like they hadn’t both known from the ringtone.

“Huh. Well.” hums Oikawa. “I need to take a piss.” And he flounces off the couch with that.

Takahiro flexes his fingers, nails digging into his palm. They’re too long again, he thinks, drawing a long inhale. He’s not...he’s not nervous about taking a call from his best friend. 

Of course he’s nervous. After what Oikawa tried to imply-

He presses the phone against his ear. “Go for Makki.”

“Yes, hello, I would like some chikky nuggies.”

“Sorry, sir.” Takahiro yawns into the receiver. And into Matsukawa’s ear. “We’re all out. Does that make you hangry?”

“Little bit.” Matsukawa’s low voice sounds rougher than normal, like he’s got something caught in his throat or taken a pinch of Iwaizumi’s gruff soul. The line crackles. “What say you make it up to me?”

“Mmm? What’d you have in mind?” In his peripheral, he notices Oikawa stalking over here with a shit-eating grin Takahiro’s more familiar seeing on Matsukawa’s face.

“The usual. Pick you up in four?”

“Yeah.” Takahiro says, partially distracted with batting at Oikawa. He’s not going to give captain the opportunity to say something ridiculous like...stop flirting Makki! For one, they’re not flirting. And for another, Takahiro makes fun of Oikawa; the teasing in their relationship is strictly one way. To Matsukawa, he says “Wait.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m at Oikawa’s. It’s not rude if I tell him we don’t want him hanging out with us if I say it to his face, right?”

Oikawa leans over and gets his hands on Takahiro’s phone. He might be unable to rip it out of Takahiro’s grip,but he can, and does, bring his head down to yowl, “Fine! Enjoy your date without me!”

Oikawa’s going to die soon and it’s a shame Takahiro will be too busy disposing the evidence to attend the funeral.

“Okay make that five minutes. Also. Forgot to mention,” Matsukawa says, smooth as ever. “Iwaizumi’s sleeping over for the night. If you guys want, I guess we could make it a foursome.”

“Dude, don’t be gross.” Takahiro grumbles. “That’s almost as yucky as thinking about how Oikawa spends the entire time oogling Iwaizumi.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Oikawa huffs. “Oikawa-sama likes Iwa-chan, Oikawa-sama likes Iwa-chan without a shirt on! Everyone knows and all they do is bully Oikawa-sama about it!” Oikawa finally pauses to breathe. “Also, Makki says we’ll be there. And he says he wants to be sleeping with you guys tonight.”

“Cool. Gross but cool.”

“Yeah, great.” Takahiro says as flatly as he can muster. “Mattsun, hurry up and rescue me from the crazy man?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Static crackles over the line. Matsukawa’s probably has the phone awkwardly caught between his shoulder and ear, to free his hands. “See you soon, yeah?”

Takahiro opens his mouth. And closes it abruptly. 

It’s nothing new, Matsukawa waiting for Takahiro to sign off. Matsukawa knows Takahiro hates feeling burdensome. Matsukawa always lets Takahiro end the call, no matter how silly they start out to be. It’s nothing new, but it’s one of Takahiro’s many preferences that Matsukawa just never forgets. It’s nothing new, but for someone infuriatingly attached to simplicity, Matsukawa sure goes out of his way a lot for Takahiro. 

“Makki?”

“Yeah.” Takahiro bites himself in the tongue. “See you soon.”

He jabs the end call button before he can do anything else. When he catches Oikawa’s mouth twisting he asks, “What?”

“Nothing,” Oikawa says, straight faced. And then when he can’t help himself, he wears a dopey grin.“Y’all are just so fucking cute.”

Takahiro rolls his eyes, even as a slow heat creeps up his neck. He gathers his things and gives Oikawa a quick hug before making for the door. Then he delivers a swift kick to the ass when captain makes the mistake of showing his back.

“Makki!”

“See you tonight!” he shouts, dashing out the door and right into his getaway man.

“Ow,” Matsukawa drawls, standing in a casual gray set of t-shirt and pants. He’s flexing his jaw because Takahiro friggen headbutted him. “I know you missed me but tone down the Iwaizumi-affection.”

Takahiro hardly thinks twice before snagging him by the wrist and hightailing them both away from the danger zone. “Stop slowing me down,” he chokes, and Matsukawa laughs. They almost make it.

“Oi!” Takahiro scowls, whirling around. “You asshat, Crocs only!” He snatches up the sneaker from where it’d bounced off his back and flings it at its owner. 

“That hurt, Makki!! My ass and my feelings!!”

“Yeah, yeah. Catch you later, captain.”

Matsukawa snickers and Takahiro elbows him in the ribs as they walk down Oikawa’s driveway. “You were absolutely no help, you big lug. Should’ve known...would’ve ditched you immediately.” 

“After I kindly offered a ride? Youch.” Matsukawa peers at him. He might only be a few inches taller but it does mean Takahiro has to pass over his lips to get to his gaze.

But since Oikawa’s said what he said...Takahiro looks away. Hovers and talks at the passenger side door. “Wanna give me the keys?”

They both know he hates driving.

Matsukawa snorts. Apparently he’s not even going to dignify the shoddy joke with a response.

The truth is, they both know a lot of things, Takahiro starts to think. He leans against the window, the glass cool to his skin. But maybe Oikawa’s right and he’s missed one.

...you’re in love with Matsukawa...and he’s in love with you.

Just to be practical, to seriously think about what it would be like, Takahiro takes a hot second  to hand control over to his imagination. Imagines himself turning his body, tilting his head, looking into dark eyes, a bright grin, pulling Matsukawa in and- Takahiro swallows. So he’s flushing. Okay. This is okay, hahaha...

They reverse out the driveway, Matsukawa shifting gears and into traffic with an ease Takahiro should be jealous of. But Matsukawa moves, does it all like it’s secondhand nature. The quiet confidence he wears is rare, but it’s the same kind Oikawa has, putting the ball in Iwaizumi’s hands without hesitation, without doubt, day after day. Each of them has the other’s confidence; are each part of the other’s confidence in himself.

Takahiro leans back and closes his eyes, lets the hot sun wash over his thighs, soaking through his shirt.

Maybe it’s not smart to compare, but Takahiro thinks he places a similar kind of trust in Matsukawa. Or at least the most trust he can muster. 

After all, he is a cynic. He’s the one who tells Oikawa they could never have won nationals anyways, and that the likelihood of going to nationals was made in the same ridiculous mold. He’s not a shonen protagonist. His faith is not in people; it’s in numbers, in facts. And that’s how it’s always going to be.

But. Takahiro thinks, thinks that if that was ever going to be different, maybe it’d be because of Matsukawa. 

“Hey.”

Takahiro blinks himself alert. Matsukawa’s turning the car around, sliding into the parking lot. They’re lucky there’s a spot right at the front of the diner, even if it’s a bit of a tight fit between two SUVs. “We’re here, meathead.”

“Meathead?” 

“It was that or meatball.”

“How hungry are you.” Takahiro springs his seat belt free and he’s got a hand on the door handle when all of a sudden, Matsukawa drops his phone into Takahiro’s lap.

“I’ll go. Do me a favor and text Iwaizumi back for me?”

Takahiro nearly unhinges his jaw. “Do you realize the amount of power you’re giving me. Do you know how much restraint I am being forced to perform right now.” Oh Holy Mother of Volleyball - he could change all of his contacts to Oikawa’s number.

Matsukawa grins his hey!-i’m-the-boy-next-door grin. The corners of his eye crinkling and all, and shit, he’s cute.

Okay, but he’s always been cute!! This is nothing new either!!!

“I am looking away,” Matsukawa says, hopping out his car. “The usual?”

Takahiro nods. Watches Matsukawa turn, watches his back grow smaller as he walks away.

And he’s in love with you, rings in his ears once more.

Is he? Because. If Matsukawa was. And they both...wanted to give it a try...

His shorts are suddenly shifting. He looks down, wraps his fingers around the phone starting to slide down his thigh and brings it up to examine.

The lockscreen’s an old blurry photo of the seniors previous to practice (but the picture changes often. When Oikawa’s bored or Iwaizumi’s feeling vindictive and finally ready to retaliate, or when Takahiro wants to. Often, like he said.). There isn’t a password because Matsukawa says he has nothing to hide, but mostly because Takahiro refuses to memorize any numbers he’s not going to use on a test and it’s more fun using Matsukawa’s phone than his own for some reason.

He makes a quick pit stop at the Photo Gallery, creating copies of some of the pictures of the guys and annotates extra dicks onto them. Most of them are actually photos he’s taken, he realizes. While he’s wondering if he should go ahead and delete some of the bullshit photos so Matsukawa doesn’t need to when he wants to download a new game and he’s got no space, Takahiro remembers he’s supposed to be replying to Iwaizumi. Contacts...there, Iwaizumi’s the first one.

You: so 8?

Iwaizumi: yeah. Iwaizumi: unless Iwaizumi: you know You: ?

Iwaizumi: you know. Iwaizumi: you and hanamaki take a detour

Iwaizumi: to talk bout your feelings Iwaizumi: you’re going to right

Matsukawa’s left it at that, left Iwaizumi on read.

Takahiro blinks.

Matsukawa wants him to answer Iwaizumi’s text.

Matsukawa’s giving him an easy out.

Takahiro closes his eyes. What. Is. Going. On. What does this even mean!!! He reads the text again and- Iwaizumi had said your. What.

He doesn’t get much time to think about the implications because Matsukawa’s walking up to him, passing him his order. The smell of hot food isn’t anywhere near as attractive as it usually is, so he place it on his lap. It can wait. He’s not sure if it’s appropriate to laugh out his nerves or glare, with Matsukawa slipping into his own seat, calm and collected as ever. From head to toe, in every piece of his posture and each inch of his expression, Matsukawa Issei tells the world just how perfectly at peace he is with it. Takahiro compromises by biting his own tongue, which triggers his swear-reflex.

Matsukawa snickers.

Ohoho, alright. Takahiro dials up his glare to the max. “Got something to say, asshole?”

“Yeah, actually,” Matsukawa’s lips twitch, a sign he’s suppressing a smile. Takahiro tries to do the same until the blocker says, “You’ve been kind of spacey. What’s up?”

“Ah.” Takahiro ducks his head. “Not much.” Just realizing I’d like to kiss you. Whaboutyou? ”Oikawa just. Said a thing.”

“Mm?”

Matsukawa’s not expecting a reply, he’s just offering Takahiro the opportunity to, should he want it. Affection, warm and rich, blooms in the spiker’s chest. His shoulders sink, falling lax. If he smiles, a little, sue him. “Pretty insightful thing too. Unusually helpful for a change.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It turns out, before you talk about your feelings,” Takahiro says, looking right at Matsukawa while his ears burst into flames. “You have to be aware of them.”

“Holy shit.” Matsukawa blinks. And then he slaps a hand over his eyes and starts laughing, his shoulders actually shaking. Takahiro should kick hit him or run for the hills, right, except Matsukawa is talking to himself. “Wow. Iwaizumi was...right. I mean. And I thought-”

“Issei.”

“I’ve.” He finally meets Takahiro’s eyes. “Had the biggest crush on you. Since end of first year. And you never knew?”

His expression must have answer because the silly guy starts laughing again and Takahiro honest to the gods, feels giddy enough to join in. “Were you going to tell me?”

A gentle shrug. “Don’t know. Wanted to though.”

Takahiro hums. Neither of them have said the real words though and maybe they should do the thing the conventional way? “So.” he begins. “What would you say if we called today a date?”

“Ask you when the next one would be?” Matsukawa puts a hand on the back of his head, an act which Takahiro recognizes as nervous. “Or ask, ‘wait, so you do like me, right?’“

He’s so silly, Takahiro marvels. So silly.

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

(Epilogue)

Five minutes past eight, Takahiro enters Oikawa’s house. With his boyfriend.

Boyfriend boyfriend boyfrienddd boyyyfriend boyfriend Matsukawa-boyfriend-Issei. 

These thoughts do not belong aloud, it turns out, when Oikawa spots them and immediately yells- nonsense at first, and then something along the same lines. Following up, is a demanding, “So?? Did you kiss yet? Yo! Answer the question! Did y’all kiss??” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and tells him to mind his own business.

“Do you really want to know, captain?” Matsukawa smirks. Takahiro’s fingers find his and they link. Watching Oikawa’s eyes expand to the size of dinner plates is just as satisfying as watching the cogs in his brain turning to try and figure out the answer on his own the rest of the night. In the meantime, they’ve taken their spots on the couch while Iwaizumi fiddles with game settings to accommodate the four of them. It’s game night after all.

(Yeah, Takahiro supposes he owes Oikawa; he’ll give the details captain is dying for later. OR. he muses. Maybe he’ll get Oikawa and Iwaizumi together and then call his dues paid? Matsukawa would be down for either.)

Iwaizumi is as characteristically Iwaizumi as ever. At the snack break, Takahiro sees him giving Matsukawa a shoulder pat, and thinks that’s it. After the two of them get knocked out of the Smash Bros round early he plans on sitting back to watch the defending champion and Mr. Kirby war. Instead, he finds his shoulder being tapped and follows, getting led into the kitchen.

Vice captain hands him a water and leans on the counter. “Congrats.”

“Thanks, Iwaizumi-kun.” he deadpans. “I’m sorry we couldn’t work things out but I’ll cherish the memories.”

“Hey, man, I’ll punch you. No boyfriend around to defend you, y’know.” Iwaizumi taunts.

Takahiro smirks right back at him. He’s not sure if he could be happier if he tried. “So what’s this about?” 

Iwaizumi tilts his head to the side. “Oikawa tells me he helped you.”

“Yeah,” Takahiro can allow this. He nods. “Just like you helped Issei.”

“Ha! If only you knew.”

Takahiro raises a brow.

“You know the texts I sent him?” Iwaizumi’s grin is so very wolfish. “He asked me to send them. Fabricated all of them himself. He had me set you guys up.” And then he's calling out “See you later!” due to the fact Takahiro is hightailing out of the room.

Oikawa is absolutely beating the shit out of Metaknight, although Matsukawa’s still winning the trash-talking contest. But as Takahiro enters the room, he trails off, eyes leaving the screen for Takahiro’s. Taking his opportunity, Oikawa finally pushes Metaknight off the platform and whoops to kingdom come. It doesn’t really matter though, Takahiro has walked over, leaning down.

Matsukawa meets him midway. The kiss is soft and sweet but it still messes him up. In the best way ever.

Oikawa’s squeaks go ignored.

“You’re adorable.” Takahiro shakes his head as he sinks into the spot besides the blocker on the couch. He puts his head on Matsukawa’s shoulder and breathes in cotton and cool.

“Iwaizumi sold me out, huh?”

Another kiss stolen. “Dibs on him as my best man.”

Matsukawa snickers while Oikawa protests, “The hell? What about me? Makki, I had your back! I made the play of the year! I’m literally game MVP.”

Iwaizumi appears, nudging Oikawa to scoot over until they both have enough space. “I heard my name?” He gets himself two fistbumps. 

Oikawa scowls.

[i-okamie]

How Did I End Up Here ?   Ch4

Ch1  //  Ch2  //  Ch3  //  Ao3

When things slip away it's not always that obvious. It all comes soflty. Sometime you don't realize that you're breaking down before you've lost the pieces.

After Kara’s visit to her office, Lena throws herself even deeper into work.

Her office has officially become a sort of second home, everything needed for sleeping arrangement being carefully stored in a closet. The same goes for alcohol, stored in various drawers in the office. Lena knows that she shouldn’t drink that often. But it has always been her weakness, ever since boarding school, and she had yet to find something that would calms her nerves or headache as well as a glass of some dry alcohol.

But it also comes with sluggish thoughts in the morning, dropped reports from her clumsy hands, and dark heavy smudges installed under her eyes. Her porcelain skin has turned ashen from the lack of proper rest and fresh air. And there is no fast enough dry cleaning for the rumpled clothes she wakes up in regularly, not having gotten the chance to change before passing out into

In the first few days after the exchange, Jess had looked at her boss with eyes full of confusion and concern for the young woman: she knew her relation with Kara had been strained, but she had hoped their talk would get some sense into Lena and make her realize that her behavior was concerning. That there were people caring about her and that those same people where even worried right now. But it seemed it had the opposite effect and sent the CEO even further into her self-destructive spiral.

Jess tried to directly express her concern one time. When she walked in the office as usual to explain to the brunette her agenda for the day, but instead found the young woman fast asleep at her desk with a rum bottle at hand reach and an empty glassed still clutched in her uninjured hand. Seeing her boss that way had unsettled Jess.

This small, fragile thing, asleep on projects files, her mouth slightly agape, looked nothing like the intimidating woman capable of silencing a whole board meeting with the raise of an eyebrow. Jess walked around the desk and almost tripped over an errand booze bottle, the noise not enough to disturb the sleeping woman. This is getting out of hand, had thought the secretary.

And that’s what she had tried to explain to her employer once she had woken her up: if anyone were to see that, the news of Lena Luthor being a drunkard would spread through National city in matter of hours. The board council would jump on the opportunity to get her removed from her CEO position, relying on her addiction to say her inability to run the company. And if Lena had been blinking at her somewhat confusedly at first, when the last words spoken to her had sunk in, hell broke loose.

“Maybe seeing a professional would be a good idea. There is absolutely no shame into asking for help Miss Luthor.”

To say it back-fired would be an understatement.

Her usually reasonable and kind hearted employer, saw red even before she could finish her sentence.

“You would do good to remember our respective positions in the company. As my secretary, I expect you to takes notes when asked to, to organize my professional agenda, and other things along that line. Not to gossip around. If you cannot keep that in mind, I’m sure someone else would. Am I clear Jess? I don’t want to do it, but don’t think that I won’t. You can go now.” Jess hadn’t brought up the topic ever since, keeping her eyes resolutely on her tablet screen whenever Lena was around. She also got into the habit of printing Lena’s agenda for the day and leaving it on her desk every morning with a subdued “Good morning Miss Luthor. Here is your agenda for the day” before quickly walking out.

Honestly, Lena doesn’t blame her. She knows she has been too harsh on the woman who only spoke out of concern for her wellbeing. Her work was impeccable, and although she did way more than what a secretary position entails, she never said anything about it.

I should apologize, Lena thinks. But for a prideful Luthor, it’s easier said than done. It’s more than time she gets a raise. I’ll go tell her the news in person, then call HR department to …

Before she gets to stand up, Jess walks in her office, clearly irritated.

“I’m sorry Miss Luthor, I tried to tell her she needs an appointment but …”, Jess doesn’t get to finish her explanation before Alex Danvers walks in as if she owned the place. Looking passably pissed off to be here in the first place.

Well, some things actually never change at least.

But this time it’s different. Behind Alex’s scowl Lena perceives something else. The agent is studying her cautiously, like a doctor would, not even bothering to away when she catches Lena’s eyes. It doesn’t seem as if she likes what she is seeing, her mouth slowly turning into a thin line the longer she looks at the CEO. She opens her mouth as if to speak but seems to change her mind and settles on camping herself a bit more firmly in the middle of the room.

A soldier ready to stand her position.

What is Alex planning this time? Doesn’t she know Lena is busy running L-corp? She doesn’t have the time for yet another lecture from the other woman.

“It’s okay Jess, you’re not at fault.” Lena says with a sigh “I think coming unannounced is something that runs into the Danvers family. Can you make sure we are not disturbed, unless there is an emergency? I think agent Danvers has a lot to talk about and I’d like it to stay in this office. Thank you.”

If Alex is here to ask her help for the DEO, she has come for nothing. Lena has already helped them so many times, it’s a wonder they managed to handle any alien at all before she came to National city a few years back! If it wasn’t for her and all her inventions, Kara would have died a long time ago.

The thought has her sick, fear sitting deep in her chest. Lena can’t stop her thoughts from spiraling downward, bringing up the worst scenarios possible.

Maybe that’s it.

Alex has come to tell her that Kara got injured once again while protecting the city, but this time it’s too late. Kara is laying on a gurney or a medical bed in the med bay of the DEO. Maybe there is kryptonite coursing through her veins, burning her alive, or it’s a wound so deep they cannot stop the bleeding and her breath becomes more and more shallow.

Till it stops entirely. Kara’s chest doesn’t move anymore. Lena can picture it all too well, after all the close calls she helped managed.

But not this time.

And all this because Lena was too stubborn, too hurt, to keep working on DEO project. She could have done something, she knows it. But now it’s too late, she’ll never hear Kara ramble over sweet nothings ever again, and she’ll never get the chance to tell her …

“I’ll inform security to stay nearby.” Jess’ voice startles the brunette back into reality. She looks around the room, trying to shake off the dread that had gripped her heart at the idea of Kara … Supergirl being hurt in any way.

Lena feels light headed. This is too much. I need to get a hold of myself. Supergirl’s problem aren’t mine.

The secretary starts to slowly walks out, but not before throwing a warry look toward the agent direction, as if gauging and daring her to do something reckless. Once the door clicks shut behind her, Alex steps closer to Lena.

“We need to talk.”