#I stole this title from one of my old fics

[fayes-fics]

The Secrets We Keep: Pt I

Part II >>

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Knowing someone your whole life doesn’t mean they can’t surprise you…

Warnings: none yet… fluff and angst. Childhood friends, yearning, arranged marriage, kissing. Pt II will contain a warning/rating change.

Word Count: 5.1k (this part)

Authors Note: Part 1 of 2. My longest gestating WIP! It’s been more than 18 months since I received a request for this secret diary fic. Tulip Anon, I have no idea if you still follow me, but I hope you think I did your detailed request justice. I won't post your ask yet, as it contains spoilers for the second half. Betaed by the awesome @colettebronte, who I can’t thank enough. I’m in the process of writing Pt II, so there will be a gap between instalments. Enjoy! 🫶

-i-

For as long as you can remember, you have loved one man secretly. To the point that you cannot imagine your life without a deep, burning affection simmering in your very core, as fundamental to your existence as drawing air into your lungs.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Your families have been neighbours in Mayfair and Kent for many generations—two aristocratic dynasties that, despite enduring friendships, have never seen intermarriage. There have been attempted matches down the years, according to family lore, but nothing came to fruition. 

So when you were brought to Aubrey Hall as a mere babe in arms, the eldest daughter, there were many good-natured jokes that Anthony’s future wife had been born. But the Viscount, wonderful as he is, was not the man who stole your heart just a few short years later. A bright sunny day in June that you suspect Benedict may not even be able to recall, but you can with perfect clarity, even now, some fifteen years later. 

He picked you as the first person to join his team for a round of garden games. Paying you heed and ensuring you were included, patiently showing you the ropes and applauding your achievements, ignoring the ridicule from the other twelve-year-old boys for letting a girl - and a little five-year-old at that - join in their games. 

Ever since that day, all you have ever seen is his enormous heart and steadfast empathy: always the one to reach out to those excluded, to be supportive, and to love harder and more expansively than his siblings. Thus, unsurprisingly, he became the focus of your singular devotion—a childish adoration transmuting into something more profound and complicated as you matured.

On your fourteenth birthday, your mother gifted you a thick notebook. And it became your refuge, the private canvas on which you outlet your innermost secrets and thoughts. The beautiful but now slightly battered, silk-covered tome is still your most treasured possession even now, more than six years later, so close to filled now, with only a couple of blank pages left. Never long from your hands, but when it must be, carefully stashed under the floorboards of your bedroom. Its pages the reflection of a naive, growing heart. There is one person who features frequently on its crammed, jumbled pages. Sketches of his handsome face, mostly from memory, interspersed with ardent notes and poems that, while they may not mention his name, are written for him. Adoration writ large in every pen and pencil stroke.

Little were you to know that the secrets you keep within its hallowed pages would one day alter the course of your life…

-ii-

It's the evening of the Bridgerton Ball, and usually, you would be brimming with anticipation for such an occasion, a chance to see the man who holds your most ardent admiration. Instead, you find yourself glum, mechanically stepping into the dress your ladies' maid Rachel assists you with, staring blankly into the vanity mirror as she adorns your hair with jewels. Still reeling from your father's shocking announcement the previous day.

The inheritance of a European title had seen him spend eighteen months abroad. In his absence last spring, you were able to persuade your more indulgent mother to delay your societal debut—a yearning to be free in the ways you know no woman really can be for long. A compounding factor was spending the summer in the Highlands with her sister, your Aunt Eliza, a spirited, independent woman who taught you many things and encouraged your artistic whims. And when you were back in London, your mother’s somewhat inattentive running of the house meant you were often able to slip away in the evenings, spending your time deepening your passion for art. Frequenting galleries and conversing with artists led to you being drawn into the bohemian, artsy underbelly of Bloomsbury, a beguiling, exotic contrast to Mayfair. Another secret you keep.

Upon his return to England, your father was not best pleased to learn that not only had you been allowed to skip the previous Season, but Eliza had also taught you to fish, fence and hunt—most unladylike pursuits in his opinion. He, therefore, made it his mission to ensure not only would you debut this year but also a swift match should be made, lest you “get other fanciful, dangerous ideas”.

Perhaps that is why, yesterday, nary two weeks into your first season, he abruptly announced over afternoon tea that he had secured a match for you and the man in question would be dining with you all that evening. A deal no doubt brokered in a private gentleman’s club as if you were merely chattel to be traded.

Revulsion filled your every fibre as you were introduced to Lord Farringdon a few hours later. A wiry man twenty years your senior with a hawk-like countenance and a disdainful disposition. Apparently, a brilliant intellectual mind but accompanied by a mercurial, malevolent reputation. You had read in Whistledown rumours about his mistreatment of his household staff and his previous wife. A forlorn figure who became a recluse long before she died of consumption tragically young. The idea of being betrothed to this cold, abusive man turned your stomach—a seemingly outsized punishment for your rebellion. Once the man left, you had begged and pleaded with your father to reconsider the arrangement, but sadly, your appeal fell on deaf ears. 

And so here you are. Going to a ball at which your father plans to announce your engagement. The stately beauty of Bridgerton House is not as heartening of a sight as it typically is. Tonight, it feels more akin to a gallows.

As soon as you arrive, you are scanning the crowds for the only friend you know will understand just how ghastly your predicament is—Eloise Bridgerton. A kindred spirit whose interest in marriage is as scant as your own. Bonding over your similar yearnings for freedom, you have been good friends since you were little, many a day spent together as children running through the Kentish fields, escaping expectation and flouting convention.

Acutely aware of time running out until your father speaks up, you fiddle distractedly with your fan, impatiently awaiting her entrance.

“For heaven's sake, y/n, please cease your fidgeting!” your mother chastises under her breath, snatching away the item. “I do not see why you are so agitated. Tonight is to be a wonderful occasion for you!”

A myriad of caustic comments are on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down. The last thing you want is to draw attention, and you certainly don't want to be gossip fodder; these ballrooms are a veritable hotbed of eavesdropping if Whistledown is anything to go by. 

When the collective Bridgerton family finally enter their ballroom as hosts, however, your eyes can't help but drift to Benedict instead. A reflex from years of longing, even though it is his sister,  arm looped into his, whose counsel you seek tonight. You excuse yourself to fetch a lemonade as soon as you spy a window of opportunity—Eloise standing alone, looking excessively bored. Abandoning your glass, you hurry over to her.

“I have news…”  You try to keep your voice neutral but grab her arm and practically drag her away from anyone within earshot.

“Well, it cannot be good if you are willing to rip my arm off to impart it,” she remarks dryly as you lead her down a hallway.

“It is not,” you pull a face that you know will convey to her the gravity of what you need to divulge.

With a nod of understanding and a look to a nearby footman, she leads you beyond him into an area of the house off-limits for guests. 

“Tell me…” her tone is sincere as she ushers you into the library and closes the door.

“My father has seen fit to arrange a marriage for me. He is planning to announce it tonight, right here at your family ball!”

She says nothing, only a sympathetic noise as she pulls you into a consoling hug. The emotions you have been tamping down for hours escape as a couple of bitter tears, her arms banding tight around you. You are not sure how long, but you stand in a hug, just grateful for her steadfast support.

“What am I to do?” you whisper.

“I do not know,” she confesses. “Have you tried to reason with your father?”

“A hopeless cause…”  

Her mouth twists in understanding, knowing you will have put up a spirited defence as much as she would have. She detangles from you and goes to a nearby brandy decanter.

“It's the very least you deserve, frankly,” she points out, handing you a glass and pulling you into a loveseat with her, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, clinking her glass against yours in a silent but bittersweet toast about your seemingly futile situation.

-iii-

Half an hour later, your parents are distracted across the far side of the room with friends when a large hand grabs yours out of the blue. You startle when you realise it is Benedict, your heart suddenly in your mouth. Before you know it, you are wordlessly being pulled out of the French doors behind you and into the night air.

“Where are we going!?” you demand when you recover from the initial surprise, his gloved hand tugging yours along through the darkened gardens. 

“Shh, make haste, we must not be seen,” he hushes you but keeps moving, furtive and fast, your feet having to take extra steps to keep up with his long stride over the lush, dewy grass.

“Benedict…” you try again once you round a thick hedge into the rose garden.  “What is going on?”

He slows a little but does not relinquish his tight hold. Gravel path now crunching under his boots as the honeyed scent of damask hangs heavy in the air. 

“Eloise told me,” is all he offers. “So we are escaping.”

“W-we are?” you stutter, frowning, a claggy tumult behind your ribs at his use of ‘we’. 

“Yes! Or at least we would be if you would keep quiet… please…” he amends, sounding a touch contrite about his initial brusqueness, but speeding up again, headed straight for a small wooden door in a high stone wall, almost hidden behind long, draping ropes of ivy, glowing silver in the moonlight.

When you reach it, he releases his grip on your hand and shoulders the door open with considerable force. The weathered wood creaks loudly, almost splintering under the duress. He signals to the inky blackness of the deserted mews behind Bridgerton House.

“It is now or never, y/n,” he warns as you look back at the house, lit up with the life of the ball inside. “So what is your choice?”

He may be presenting it as an option, but really, you know there would only ever be one answer. You would accompany him to the ends of the earth if he so much as asked. And so wordlessly, you step through the doorway and into the narrow street beyond.

“Good choice,” he compliments as he follows suit and closes the door behind him. “You may stay at my friend Granville’s tonight,” he offers sagely, “I have not seen him in a while, but I will explain when we arrive; I am certain he can provide shelter.”

“Benedict, I already know Henry… Quite well, in fact.”

He looks taken aback as if it had not occurred to him that you may move in the same clandestine circles as he does. To be fair, you have always been discreet in your outings, and it’s not something you have divulged to anyone, including Eloise. Still, what confounds you more is why he is suddenly so seemingly invested in seeing you escape from your predicament. It doesn't entirely make sense.

“Well, then,” he cuts into your brief reverie, “you know Henry is a generous host and discreet about the affairs of others. Your father will not come looking for you there. It will buy some time to figure out what to do next. To ensure your freedom.”

“Freedom?” You scoff. “Benedict, as much as I may wish it, there is no other path open to me. Tonight is merely a delay tactic at best. The only way to stop my father’s pursuit of this union is if I marry another….”

The admittance of this truth out loud makes you restless, belatedly realising that it truly is your only way out. You stalk towards the main road, the faint glow of the street lamp guiding your way over the cobbles. You soon hear Benedict’s footsteps behind.

“That is ridiculous!” he exclaims as he attempts to catch up with you. “There are other options available to you…”

“Such as?” you whip around, raising your hands, countering his assertion. When he falters, you return to walking, throwing a tart addition over your shoulder: “Unlike you, a man, I do not have the freedom of choice.” 

“You should always have a choice…” he counters earnestly, still catching up to your furious pace.

“Should and do are different things, Benedict. You do not even know how lucky you are!” You add bitterly, rounding onto the main street.

A gust of wind causes you to pause and a shiver to run down your arms, your gauzy dress not enough to ward off the unseasonable chill in the air tonight. Ever the observant gentleman, Benedict shucks his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. Uncharitably, your ire makes you attempt to shake it off, even while knowing it is intended purely as a chivalrous gesture. You are surprised when he seems to grasp your shoulders tighter, holding the heavy velvet in place. It is cloaked in his woodsy, citrus scent, your vexed state turning into an entirely different type of flush as he crowds closer to you.

“My birth has allowed me certain privileges, I concede,” he replies, his stare seemingly far away as you are unable to look anywhere but the dampness of his bottom lip, shimmering slightly in the lamplight. Then he tilts his head down to meet your eyes. “But that does not mean I am able to have everything I wish for in life, y/n…”

Your tongue burns to ask what it is that he wants but cannot have, yet you do not allow yourself to pry. But seeing the wistfulness in his gaze deflates your irritation, your long-held adoration for this man taking over, making you sigh.

‘You deserve the world, Benedict….’

His face morphs into one of breathtaking intensity, and you realise, horrified, you spoke those thoughts aloud. 

“As do you, y/n,” he murmurs, eyes sincere, your heart beating wildly as his chest vibrates against your own. 

The upheaval of the last day, the man you secretly adore abetting a somewhat daring escape, your heated exchange of words, the lateness of the hour, and the feel of his tall, lithe body pressed against yours…. It's all a dangerous cocktail that culminates in you being utterly impetuous, pushing up onto your tiptoes and mashing your mouth against his with no thought.

His lips are plush and warm, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. It's like a cannon firing in your chest as his warm mouth opens yours. Suddenly, you are urgently taking from each other. A sweeping tidal wave through you obliterates any kissing experiences you have ever had before. It’s a desperate slide of tongues, a passionate continuation of your sparring. His hands are like a hot brand through your thin dress as they sweep around to your back, tugging you into him, his heat, scent and taste overwhelming.

But all too soon you are pulling apart, a need for air in your lungs overriding the spontaneous, reckless moment. For a few seconds, you stare at each other, breathing each other's panted air, hands still grasping onto each other, almost confused by what just occurred… until the whinny of a passing horse carriage has you springing apart as if burned. 

Realisation engulfs his entire being. “Oh god! Please, please forgive me!” he stutters, backing away, holding his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, almost tripping in his haste to put space between you, even though it was you who kissed him. “Please, just go to Granville,” he counsels rapidly before turning heel and disappearing into the night, leaving you standing alone, unmoored and breathless, utterly turned upside down.

-iv-

You drift home in a daze, your family’s London residence only a few hundred yards away. Your escape plans are forgotten in the haze of tumbling thoughts about that blistering kiss. How fervently and immediately Benedict had kissed you back, how wonderful it felt to be caged in his arms….  Climbing into bed and passing out, still bewildered. In fact, it’s only the rude awakening of your bedroom door slamming open the following morning that brings you crashing back to your senses.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” Your father roars, holding aloft what looks like the latest copy of Whistledown. “You have brought shame upon our family and likely ruination to your prospects!!”

Utterly alarmed, you sit bolt upright, blinking, taking a few moments before you can find your voice. “What are you referring to, father?”.

He glares at you, then throws the paper onto your bed and stalks out of the room without another word, puce with outrage. You know there will be crossed words at the breakfast table. The sight of your name on the crisp ivory page immediately draws your eye, and your stomach plunges as you read the paragraph:

The annual Bridgerton Ball last night was, once again, resplendent. A triumph that the dowager Countess can be rightfully proud of. Although less contentment could likely be gleaned from the behaviour of her offspring. The second eldest of whom was allegedly seen escaping into the unlit gardens hand in hand with none other than the most reluctant of this season's debutantes, the spirited Miss Y/n Y/l/n. Perhaps the rebellious Miss will not have to endure many more of society’s events that she so patently abhors, should a proposal from the most wayward of Bridgerton sons be forthcoming? I, for one, however, Dear Reader, am not holding my breath…

Hiding in your room as long as you can, hunger drives you to join the frosty lunch table, apologising for inadvertently ruining your father’s plans to announce your betrothal and meekly explaining the incident with Benedict as a complete misunderstanding. It was merely an old friend helping you to gather some air before the big news was to be proclaimed. His taking your hand was out of benevolent concern, nothing more, and when you suddenly felt unwell, he chivalrously saw you the few hundred yards home. The lies feel odd on your tongue, your thoughts only of Benedict’s mouth and body moulded hotly to yours as your father lectures about appropriate behaviour for a young lady and your family’s long-standing friendship with the Bridgertons not being an excuse for a lackadaisical attitude to impropriety.

“There is nothing else to be done now—I must secure you a special licence to be wed tomorrow before Lord Farringdon hears about this,” he decrees with finality, his tone brokering no argument.

You slump silently into your chair, dread creeping through every cell, silently chastising yourself for not following Benedict’s advice and running away. If only you hadn't been impetuous and kissed him, you might have been in your right mind to do so. It feels cruel that the one moment you chose to throw caution to the wind is the one moment that sealed a worse fate.

-v-

That afternoon, your mother ushers you to the Modiste, paying handsomely for a very rushed wedding dress. Something simple that can be finished at such a late hour. It will only be your family in attendance anyway; so much else seems unnecessary. As you stand forlornly upon the raised dias, ivory silk tacked up around you with pins; your mother announces she needs to depart to secure other last-minute arrangements, leaving your trusty ladies' maid to accompany you home once alterations are complete.

“You do not look a happy bride…” Madam Delacroix mutters after the tinkle of the bell above the door signals her departure.

“Your observation skills are certainly not lacking,” you respond quietly, craning to double-check that Rachel, your maid, is out of earshot, sitting listlessly in the front of the store, staring out of the window.

“I do read Whistledown, my dear,” she remarks delicately, “and this does not appear to be a dress someone marrying a Bridgerton would wear.”

Your stomach vaults at the implication; the thought of marrying Benedict has your heart going haywire, even as you know it would never happen. The crestfallen look as your mind flits to the awful man you will be marrying instead is one you cannot hide as she meets your eyes in the reflection.

“It is not indeed,” you sigh, “but Whistledown has rather accelerated my unfortunate fate. Hence the rushed dress…” you gesture to your outfit.

“Mr Bridgerton is a friend?” she digs delicately.

“Lifelong,” you admit, “but Lady Whistledown could not have been more erroneous in her assertions…”

“That you and Mr Bridgerton are together? Or that he would marry you?” 

You look away from the mirror and down to where she is crouched by your hem on your left side, taken back not only at her astuteness but her drive for information. Almost as if she were Whistledown herself.

“I do not mean to pry,” she modifies, “merely to understand your predicament. Maybe I can be of assistance? I have privately counselled many a young lady on the eve of their wedding. Be it a happy occasion or not. And have kept many a secret of the Ton. ‘Tis the reason my business is so successful, Miss y/l/n. A good modiste can be a trusted confidante.”

“W-we are not together,” you stumble out without meaning to.

“But you wish to be? Or perhaps something has happened between you?”

Your eyes dart furtively, and your cheeks heat at the memory, but you say nothing. 

“You need say no more,” she chuckles and offers a knowing smile that appears as much reminiscent as sympathetic.

You rapidly attempt to deflect. “I do not wish to be married to anyone, really. I do find it so unfair a man is free to pursue his passions in life, but merely due to my sex, I am not.”

There is a nod of understanding, and she stands up with her hands on her hips. “I keep a certain array of refreshments for special clients such as yourself.” She nods to what looks like a liquor cabinet partially obscured behind a curtain at the back of her shop. “If you can dismiss your maid, I can assist you on your last night as an unmarried lady.”

The suggestion is too intriguing to refuse. And Rachel will greatly appreciate your pin money.

A few hours later, you are sat upon a circular conversation chair, Gen, as she insists you call her, pouring you another snifter of brandy.

“Tell me, what is your passion?” she inquires, her polished French accent slipping a little, sounding far more East End than Parisian. Something about that makes you like her more.

“Art,” you answer wistfully, “not that I have many opportunities to practice beyond a private notebook. But it is my most prized possession.” You gesture to your pelisse, hanging on a nearby hook. “I have it with me always. I have sewn a secret pocket into all of my coats myself.”

“Ingenious! ” She declares. “You shall have my job one day!”

You laugh, feeling light for the first time in what feels like days, as Gen leans in, raising an eyebrow. “I can also see well why you may have bonded with Mr Bridgerton…”

You giggle and lower your eyes, taking a fortifying sip.

“But it is not just that, is it?” Her tone is thoughtful, delicate even, as she continues: “A life outside the boundaries of so-called polite society can be so very beguiling, can it not? I have seen you, Miss y/l/n, at parties in Bloomsbury…”

A panicked bile rises as your head snaps up.

“As I said before, I am always discreet,” she reassures, “your secret is more than safe with me,” she winks before taking a generous sip from her glass.

Possibly, it's the alcohol, but her understanding of your predicament and the fact she has, unbeknownst to you, moved in similar circles brings an odd sense of relief. Having a confidante, someone to finally share your secrets with, albeit a somewhat stranger, lifts a burden from your shoulders. Wonderful as Eloise is, being the sister of the man who secretly holds your heart is not without complications in many ways.

“Another?” she chimes animatedly, holding aloft the bottle.

You cannot resist that offer.

-vi-

It’s close to midnight when Gen loops her arm in yours as she guides you, quite inebriated herself, away from the hackney cab to the familiar abode of one Henry Granville. Her declaration that a party is what you need on your last night of freedom is definitely not one you would dispute. A myriad of heightened emotions roil inside as you await the door being answered: contentment at your newly cemented friendship with Gen, bewildered every time you think of your kiss with Benedict and abhorrence for tomorrow. 

As you wander into the debauched tableau of a party in full swing: the air thick with smoke and merriment, the sounds of pleasure, people consorting together, a hedonistic swirl of self-expression unfurling all around you—it all consolidates into a yen to be reckless. Take part this time rather than just observe as you have before. Alcohol mutating the simmering rage about the injustice of your circumstance into a yearning to experience pleasure, especially physical. To get lost in sensation on your one last night of liberty.

So when you encounter Sir Simms - Matthew - friend to your older brother, renowned rake, but quite handsome, you throw caution to the wind. He seems delighted to see you, instantly flirtatious and familiar in a way you would rebuff any other night but this one. Whispering in your ear how very bold you are to be at such a bohemian event and pondering what other adventurous experiences you might be willing to indulge in. At one point Gen pulls you aside, her breath sweetened with fermented fruits, as she leans in and counsels you to be cautious. But you rebuff her concerns, swatting away her hold and returning to Matthew, allowing him to pull you into a kiss. 

It’s not the same as with Benedict; your mind screams at the altogether more jarring experience. A wet invasion of tongue that is less pleasant and certainly doesn’t fire anything inside you the way that he had. Merely kindling a defiant resolve to rage against the dying light of your freedom. And so when he slurs into your ear, you consent to his invitation upstairs, knowing fully the implications of what will transpire—feeling vaguely detached from yourself as he pulls you along by the hand towards the staircase. 

Suddenly, your field of vision is filled with dark blue velvet, a strong arm wrapping around you, caging you into a warm body mass, disconnecting your hand from Matthew’s—crossed words in two male voices. A momentarily confusing blur that only begins to make sense when you tilt your chin up… and the breath is quite stolen from your lungs.

Benedict.

At first, it feels like a cruel mirage, the man you most desire here to stymie your last gamble at impulsivity. His hold is strong as you sense Matthew shrink away, defeated by Benedict’s threat to expose some dalliance or other. But as he whisks you to an empty room within the house, all you feel bubbling up is anger.

“Stop trying to rescue me!” you rail, reeling out of his grip and stamping your foot to emphasise your point, uncaring that you may be behaving more akin to a petulant toddler.

“Stop making foolish decisions!” he lobbies back after a fleeting wounded look.

You glare at him momentarily before turning your back and staring out of the window into the inky blackness of Granville’s garden, frustration prickling a tear in the corner of your eye.

Behind you, there is a sigh; then his voice turns softer. “Why did you not follow my advice? I came here this morning only to be informed you never arrived…”

That he came to check on you weakens your bluster, although you still have no earthy idea why, once again, he is so invested in your actions. But you are not done saying your piece. 

“What does it matter now?” you bite bitterly before spinning around to face him. “Benedict, we are in Whistledown. My father would have arranged a special licence for tomorrow regardless of whether I had come here or not…”

“He did what?” he splutters, shock almost choking the words.

You square your shoulders and cross your arms defensively. “I am to be married in the morning. 11am at St George’s.” When all he offers is floored silence, you uncharitably dig the knife in. “No thanks to you...” 

Your words are like a body blow, a world of hurt in his quiet tone as he stares at the ground. “I was only trying to help.” 

Regret floods your every cell; why you would choose to lash out at him, even you don't know—so many conflicting feelings and strong liquor coursing through you.

“Please… let me return to the party,” you sigh wearily, after a beat, gesturing to his blocking your exit from the room.

“You would regret what you were about to do until your dying day,” he attests, lifting his head, a vein on his forehead pulsing as his jaw tenses.

“Perhaps,” you shrug. “But that is my burden to endure, not yours.”

“I am your friend,” he frowns, “I will always want to alleviate your burdens…”

“I do not want a friend, Benedict, not tonight. I want a beau.” If you aimed to shock him, you are successful; a cavalcade of expressions warring on his face as you plough on. “So please move so that I may continue with my most inadvisable plan….”

“No.” It's soft but unequivocal, resolute.

When you realise he is not going to budge, you throw your hands up in exasperation. “What do you want from me, Benedict?” 

There is a gruff noise in the back of his throat, and then, with two determined strides, he is pressed up against you, his breath hot on your face. Then he is kissing you, ferociously, wantonly, opening your mouth with his, his hands encircling your waist and pulling you roughly into him.

And you are lost.

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[cranetreegang]

The Polyjuice Ploy - Ominis x FemReader

Well... this got out of hand. This was a request made by this lovely person -> @mentosanu and here is the original post/request

Hopefully I have not gone too crazy and this is somewhat what you wanted lol. if not... my b.

Shoutout again to @isolight for reading this over <3 you da best

Music to enjoy -> Flight of Dragons

Summary: Sebastian and Ominis, after reading through an old textbook, get the idea of Ominis drinking a Polyjuice Potion to enjoy a day of sight and surprise a certain special someone ;)

Word Count: ~7,8-, (checks word count again... omfg) ~7,800 words

Warnings: angst/hurt, slightly heated kissing, comfort/fluff

Credit to the Harry Potter website and JK where I basically stole *cough* rewrote the description of what a polyjuice potion does and the affects of the polyjuice when ominis transforms

Read my other Ominis Fics Here

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Ominis rests his head into his palm with a sigh. His quill writes out the last sentences he needs for his essay and he couldn’t be happier to be nearly done. Footsteps echoing on stone catch his attention, followed by the gate of the Undercroft rattling open. 

“Ah, was hoping to find you here.” Sebastian greets. 

“Looking for me, were you?” Ominis spares Sebastian a grin in greeting. “I’m busy at the moment, but if you don’t mind waiting-,”

Something heavy drops onto the table Ominis is using, sloshing his pot of ink. Ominis frowns as he feels over the object in front of him. 

“Why… what is this?” Ominis questions, tracing over the worn cover of a leather tome. He runs his other hand along the spine. The bindings of the book are exposed and he can feel the bumps of worn cords holding the loose pages together. Even the leather is peeling on the corners and edges. Whatever the title of the tome was, it’s long since faded as his wand can’t find a legible letter to decipher.

“Some light reading I need help with.” Sebastian states while he takes a seat next to Ominis.

Ominis sighs, “I don’t have time for this, Sebastian. I must finish this report for Profess-,”

“That can wait. This is far more pressing.” Sebastian shoves away all of Ominis’ writing utensils. 

“Sebastian!”

“Ominis, you were the one saying I needed to find other ways to cure Anne. Well, this could be it. Now, are you going to help me, or sit there and complain?” 

Ominis lets out a deep breath while he flips the book open, “Fine. But only for a little bit. Then I must finish my report.” Ominis stresses with a glare aimed towards Sebastian. 

“Thank you, my friend. I won’t soon forget this.” 

Ominis skims through the pages. Seems Sebastian procured an archaic textbook dated back to the first few years of Hogwarts - detailing the more illicit potions you could make. Elixirs ranging from the mundane boil remover to the far more deadly Eternal Sleep Draughts. Ominis doesn’t find much in the book to help Anne, not even a remedy to help with the pain. He flips to another page when he pauses. 

It enables the consumer to assume the physical appearance of another person, as long as they have first procured part of that individual’s body to add to the brew. The effects of the potion are only temporary, and, depending on how well it has been brewed, may last anywhere from ten minutes to twelve hours. You are able to change age, sex, and race by taking the Polyjuice Potion, but not species.

The more he reads, the more his thoughts stray from searching for a cure for Anne. To take on the physical appearance of someone else and to change… 

“Find something?” Sebastian questions, glancing over Ominis’ still wand digging into the page.

“No.” Ominis states and tries to turn to another section of the book, but Sebastian snatches the tome from Ominis’ grasp. He examines what has caught Ominis’ attention and Sebastian’s brows furrow at what he finds.

“Polyjuice Potion?” Sebastian looks over to Ominis. 

“I’m sorry. I got distracted. Can we please move on and go back to the task at hand?” Ominis reaches for the book, but Sebastian keeps it just out of his reach and chuckles.

“Why’re you so interested in a Polyjuice Potion, Ominis?” 

Ominis huffs with a shake of his head, “I’m not.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, “You most definitely are.” 

Ominis crosses his arms with a snarl, “And if I am? What of it?”

Sebastian reads over the passage again, a smile forming on his lips, “I can see why you would be. If I’m thinking the same thing you are.” 

“It’s silly. I shouldn’t even entertain the thought.” Ominis dismisses. 

“Why not? Wouldn’t you want to spend the day being able to see?” 

Ominis frowns, “But, it wouldn’t be through my own eyes. It would have to be through someone else's. And I doubt anybody would be willing to give me a lock of hair for such a thing.” 

Sebastian puts his hand on Ominis’ shoulder with a slight grin, “It’s a good thing I am that somebody.” 

“What?”

“You heard me. I think we should make this potion and once it’s done, you can use my hair. It’ll be perfect!” Sebastian shakes Ominis in his excitement.

“Brewing a Polyjuice Potion takes time. And, far more importantly, skill. A skill I doubt either of us possesses.” 

Sebastian leans back in his chair with a hum, “That could pose a problem. Unless, we found someone to make us the potion.” 

Ominis cranes his head, “Who would be willing to-,” the words die in his mouth. His lips thin as he nods, “I know of someone. I’ll have to reach out to them though.” 

Sebastian claps his hands together with a grin, “Excellent. This may be one of your better ideas, Ominis.” 

Ominis snatches the book from Sebastain and goes back to researching, “We shall see, won’t we?”

===========================

Two weeks pass before Ominis receives word back from his contact. The letter is brief and Ominis is filled with excited trepidation as he heads to the Hog’s Head for the meeting. Ominis is relieved the transaction is quick, with few words exchanged. Ominis keeps the potion close to his chest as he heads to the Undercroft to stash it away until the right moment. 

Three days later, Sebastian finds Ominis pacing in the Undercroft. 

“Sorry I’m late.” Sebastian greets. “Ready for this?”

Ominis shakes his head, “I don’t know. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” 

“What’s the problem? You seemed sure yesterday.” 

Ominis stops, letting out a sigh, “Are you sure you’re okay with this? If you’re have any doubts, I-,” 

“I want to do this, Ominis.” Sebastian interjects. “Now, where is that potion before you change your mind.” 

Ominis reaches into his pocket and hands the potion over to Sebastian. Sebastain holds the palm-sized phial up to the fire’s light. He plucks out a few strands of his hair then he places them into the potion. A faint sizzling sound can be heard as Sebastian swirls the muddy liquid. Sebastian hands the potion back to Ominis.

“Drink up.” Sebastian grins. 

Ominis holds the potion in his hand - willing away his nerves. He raises the potion up with a slight smile, “Cheers.” 

He downs the thick liquid, refusing to allow himself to gag at the taste and consistency. 

Immediately, his insides start writhing and twisting. He doubles over, wondering if he’s going to throw up the concoction. A burning sensation spreads rapidly from his stomach to the tips of his fingers and toes. It’s enough to bring him gasping to all fours, whimpering and moaning as a horrible melting feeling begins to overtake him. His skin feels like it’s bubbling. His fingers stretch out, growing larger and longer. He hears the popping of his joints as they shift into their new positions over the rushing of blood in his ears. His shoulders stretch and he’s constricted in his own clothes. He rips off his robe, flinging it away, and his legs and feet are in agony. His shoes are now two sizes too small and he could feel his hair resting along his forehead instead of being neatly styled back. 

“Ominis! Ominis, are you alright? Answer me!” Sebastian demands, flipping Ominis over to his back.

Ominis spares him a nod, finding his tongue to be too heavy and thick in his mouth to speak. He no longer feels like he’s ripping apart and the nausea he felt has all but evaporated. 

Sebastian chuckles, “Wow. I… this is absolutely dotty.” 

Ominis’ brows pinch and Sebastian’s hands assist him into a sitting position. 

“Ominis. Open your eyes.” Sebastian urges. 

Ominis sucks in a sharp breath then slowly opens his eyes. A bright face grinning back at him is the first thing he sees. Ominis stares at the boy, taking in the sight. 

“Sebastian?” His voice is not his own and Sebastian’s eyes widen.

“Whoa! Oh, wow, Ominis. You can see.” Sebastian’s grin is contagious and Ominis matches his excitement. 

“I can see. I see you.” Ominis reaches up and touches Sebastian’s face, his eyes blurring with sharp tears burning his eyes and throat. Sebastian lets Ominis trace over his smiling face. It’s all so familiar. The bridge of Sebastian’s nose all the way down to the curve of his brows. Ominis didn’t expect his friend to have such dark eyes and dots all over his face. Sebastian’s hair is about how he pictured though - a thick mess on top of his head.

“Well? Am I what you envisioned, or have I disappointed?” Sebastian teases. 

Ominis shakes his head, “You’re nothing like I envisioned. Yet, it makes sense. I-,” he turns his attention to around them. He gets to his shaky legs and laughs as he looks around. 

The room is far less inviting than he imagined with the stone being a dull, dreary hue. The lights of the brazers and candles lures him closer. The warmth of their light takes his breath away and his hand reaches out to hover just over the flames. He turns his gaze to all the crates, boxes, and other items stored away down here. Some are covered in a fine layer of dust, while others are draped over with light colored sheets.

“This is the Undercroft.” Ominis mumbles to himself. 

“Indeed it is.” Sebastian grabs each of Ominis’ shoulders and drags him over to a cracked mirror. “And here you are.” 

Ominis stares at the two identical boys in the mirror. Ominis’ eyes widen and the boy across from him does the same. He tilts his head and so does the reflection. He touches over his cheek and drags his fingers down over the tanned, freckled skin. 

He looks over to Sebastian, “How odd indeed.” 

“I must say, this is probably the best you’ve ever looked, Ominis.” Sebastian smirks. 

Ominis laughs, “I’m sure.” 

Ominis stares at Sebastian, finding it unbelievable he can actually see his friend looking back at him with a devilish smile. He could always hear Sebastian’s smirks when he spoke, but to see how it affects his face, especially his eyes - illuminating them in a way Ominis doesn’t quite understand - makes him wonder if all people are this animated.

“Well, as exciting as being here is, there’s a whole bunch of things you ought to see before that potion wears off.” Sebastian states. 

Ominis nods, “Yes. Of course. Where should we begin?” 

Sebastian smirks while guiding Ominis towards the exit gate, “Sorry, my friend, but I’m afraid I can’t go with you.” 

“What?! Why not? This was practically your idea.” Ominis scowls. 

Sebastian raises a brow, “Oh? And tell me how good of an idea will it be for the both of us to be seen together right now? They know I’m a twin, but I doubt they’ll believe this.” He gestures over Ominis. 

“Besides,” Sebastian slips off his robe and tosses it to Ominis, “you already have plans today.” 

“I do?” Ominis shrugs on the robe, adjusting the sleeves and rolling his shoulders.

“Yep! You’re supposed to be meeting up with a certain special someone right about now.” Sebastian grins.

“What? You made plans with her?” Ominis crosses his arms with a frown. 

Sebastian rolls his eyes, “By I, I mean, you, Ominis.” 

Ominis’ brows furrow, “You mean to say you didn’t tell her what we’re doing.” 

“No. It’s better this way - trust me.” Sebastian opens the gate and motions for Ominis to go through, “Now, go to the North Exit. And have fun today. I’ll be here waiting until you come back.” 

Ominis wants to protest, but Sebastian slams the gate closed in his face and starts walking away. Ominis sighs, making his way out of the Undercroft. 

He’s met with a near blinding light once he emerges from the clock. His eyes roam all over, taking in the sights of students passing by. He grips his wand and follows the familiar vibrations towards the North Exit, but his stride is slow. The sounds he’s heard all start to merge together. The paintings, the statues, the students, the smells of certain plants - all of it forms the full picture before him. He stops several times in front of vibrant paintings of faraway places, suits of armor shining in the light, and when he takes a bridge outside, he’s completely entranced. 

The sky above is a color he finds the most pleasing. Blue. That must be the color blue, he realizes. With gentle clouds rolling by, he’s starting to understand how people can gaze up at the heavens for hours on end. Students zip by on their brooms and he laughs at how wonderful the sight is. The sun peeks out over the towering castle. He can’t believe how small the sun is - he always imagined it taking up half the sky considering how much the light reaches. He has to look away when his eyes begin to burn and dark spots blot his vision. He continues his journey to the North Exit, but as he gets closer and closer the more his nerves start to show themselves. 

Seeing Sebastian for the first time was surprising, so he can only imagine how he’ll react to seeing her. His heart won’t slow down - it keeps getting faster and faster with every step closer he gets. His hands clench and unclench themselves and he’s practically grinding his teeth into dust. He’s tempted to turn around, hide in the Undercroft until the potion wears off, just to cease this torture. He’s at the stairway gripping the cool railing as he descends. Just before he reaches the last step, the vibrations of his wand pick up a familiar aura of someone. His stomach twists. He looks over to find a girl standing by the door. 

She cranes her head and smiles with a light wave, “Sebastian! What’re you doing here?” 

Ominis freezes in place - his mind barely able to shove his wand into his robe’s pockets. His heart hammers in his chest and he can’t breathe. She walks towards him with confusion lacing her eyes. Her eyes. He can’t stop staring at them. They’re a beautiful color he’s not familiar with. They almost seem to sparkle. And how she moves is enchanting. It’s like she’s floating right over to him. Her perfume reaches his nose and a smile stretches across his face at the familiarity. 

“Sebastian? Everything alright? Do I have something on my face?” She laughs, but her brows pinch together with slight worry at the thought. 

“What? Um, no. I-, You look great. I-I mean, you’re-, It’s fine.” Ominis curses himself and decides shutting his mouth would be best for now until he regains control of his rattled mind. 

She nods with her eyes slightly narrowed, “Well, um, have you seen Ominis?” 

“Ominis?” 

She laughs, “Yes, Ominis. You know, our friend? You said he’d be meeting me here to go to Hogsmeade. But, it looks like he’s running late.” 

Damn Sebastian for telling her that. He probably thinks he’s so clever, Ominis seethes to himself. 

“Well, actually…,” Ominis takes in her awaiting features, noting how much her face speaks for her - much like Sebastian’s. If only he could recognize what emotion she’s currently conveying with her pinched brows and slight frown. Perhaps Sebastian had a point about not telling her. He turns his gaze to the ground, “He said he wouldn’t be able to make it.” 

“Oh.” Her frown fully forms and she looks away, “D-Did he say why?” 

He curses himself at lying, but he can’t back down now, “He said he wasn’t feeling like himself.”

She nods, slow and disappointed, “I see. I should probably go check on him if he’s not feeling well.” 

“No!” Ominis exclaims, making her eyes widen. “I mean, we could go to Hogsmeade together instead.” 

She cranes her head, her eyes scanning over him as her mouth parts and closes several times. 

“Ominis said I should take you.” He blurts out. “You know, as to not disappoint. He feels terrible about all of this.” 

She spares him a small smile, “Ever the gentleman. Alright, if you don’t mind, I suppose it’d be nice to get away from the castle for the afternoon.” 

He can’t stop his grin from forming and he holds out his arm for her, “Shall we?” 

She raises a brow at him and he realizes all too late how odd this gesture is for ‘Sebastian’ to be making. He quickly lowers his arm and takes the lead with a hurried gait. She doesn’t follow immediately and it takes her a few long strides to catch back up. He opens the door and he’s taken back by the sight which greets him.

The lawn is a vivid pigment in contrast to the stone which cuts through it. The grass is lush and inviting. He kneels down and rests his hand on it. The grass ripples from the wind and he’s beguiled by how peaceful the motion is. He’s felt it a hundred times, but to see it actually happen as it moves in waves across the field makes his smile widen. He remembers Sebastian saying that grass is normally green. He takes in the color of green and how it paints the trees as well in a different shade - a more richer, green. 

“Everything alright?” 

He whips his head over to her, who watches him with a worrying gaze. He quickly stands back up.

“Fine. I apologize - I thought I saw something.” He walks ahead and she keeps up with him. 

Ominis tries to keep himself from staring too long at the fountain as they pass. The water trickles and rings in his ears in a pleasant way, and he wouldn’t mind staring at the rippling water, but he forces himself to keep walking. They continue along the path and when they reach the bridge, he practically slams his chest against the railing to look at the river below.

The water rushes over the different colored rocks, taking various debris of leaves and twigs down stream. He follows the river until he sees the lake shimmering in the distance. He’s aware of her standing by him and her eyes are trained at where he was staring. 

“Something caught your eye again?” She wonders.

“Yes, but it was nothing.” He dismisses. 

She nods with a slight grin, “Are you sure you haven’t caught what currently plagues Ominis? You’re being quite odd today.” 

“I’m fine.” Ominis smiles at her and she nods, but the way her gaze seems to be piercing right through him makes him feel exposed. 

Despite doing his best to keep his eyes straight ahead instead of looking around, he can’t help himself. He can’t believe how beautiful the world is. He looks above them at the tree limbs overhanging the path. The sunlight filters through the canopy and he’s in awe at how such a simple thing could be so magnificent. He could actually see the rays of sunlight - he even reaches out to grab it. Little flying creatures flutter past them towards the bright flowers growing beside the path and he can’t quell his smile as he watches. The sound of the trumpet flowers makes him pause. While the flowers themselves were dazzling, their obnoxious noise masks any notes of admiration within him. 

“You’re quiet today.” She says, bringing his attention to her. The sun illuminates her skin and hair, making her glow. He’s taken back by how captivating she is. His heart picks back up again and his stomach flutters and twists. He likes watching how her voice and lips work in tandem to speak. Then he realizes she’s said something else.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” He mumbles. 

She stops walking, making him do the same, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” 

“Yes. I’m fine, I assure you.” 

She opens her mouth, but promptly shuts it. She scans over him again then resumes walking. There’s an emotion written upon her face, but he’s not sure what it is. He’s finding great difficulty in discerning anything she says, too. A task he had no trouble with before, but now his mind can’t piece together her face with what’s being said.

The path winds up the hill and as they reach the top, his breath escapes him at the sight of Hogwarts in the distance. He all but sprints towards the overlook and he lets out a slight laugh at the castle. It was grand. Truly, and utterly, grand. The lake surrounds the school - which seemingly emerged with the jagged rocks which encompasses it. The towering trees seem almost insignificant compared to the striking, massive castle. 

“Quite a sight.” She says with a sigh while she joins him at the railing. “It never fails to give me goosebumps.” 

A flock of birds fly in front of Hogwarts and Ominis nods, “Magnificent.” 

She watches him and her lips try tugging into a smile, but she refuses to let it form. She pats the railing then turns towards the path.

“Come along. We’re nearly there.” 

Ominis takes in Hogwarts for a moment longer before following after her. 

He’s looking up at a tree with leaves that were not green, but a light, almost soft color. He’s perplexed by the idea of trees being more than just green when his eyes widen at the entrance to the town. Hogsmeade is bustling with students and patrons alike - some rushing to get to where they need to be while others stroll about with not a care in the world.

She turns to him with a slight grin, “How about checking out Gladrags first? I’m in need of a new pair of gloves.” 

He nods, his eyes darting everywhere. So much is happening, it’s enough to spin his head. Hogsmeade has always been a bit overwhelming to his senses - so many smells, sounds, and people. It makes it hard for him to know what’s happening, or where he was at times. Now, he sees the chaos before him is just as he imagined. Cauldrons bubble over crackling fires, lively music plays in the distance, several conversations all happening at once - it makes him grin with how mad this whole place is.

A hand takes his and he doesn’t think twice about grasping it back, letting it tug him along as he looks around. His mind catches up to him after a few steps and he looks down to find her leading him. He’s about to take his hand back and come up with some excuse to his bewilderment, but she glances towards him with a soft smile. This smile is far different from the others she’s had. It reaches all the way to her eyes. For some reason, it makes his chest warm and his breathing choppy - he can’t possibly remove his hand now. Not if it means extinguishing this feeling.

Her pace is far easier than it was on the way here. It gives him plenty of time to take in the sights of the different shops as they pass by. He recognizes the scents of some, like Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks, and others surprise him by their appearance, like Spintwitches. Birds fly overhead - which he figures out are owls due to the parcels they carry - and watering cans zip past to the different rows of blooming flowers. He notices the hanging lights overhead and he wonders what nighttime must look like. 

Honeydukes’ display of assorted, bright candy is what brings him to a full stop. The candy is vibrant and comes in so many designs and shapes. 

“Do you want to go inside?” She questions.

He slowly nods and she giggles - leading him into the candy shop. 

He can’t contain his smile at the vast array of colors before him. There’s more than he could ever imagine and he feels somewhat annoyed by how little everyone has told him - giving him only basic colors and denying him the plethora of shades they come in. It makes what he saw at Hogwarts seem almost muted in tone by comparison. 

They browse the vast selection of succulent candies, chocolates, and cakes until he finds his favorite - Peppermint Toad. He picks up the box with a grin. He’s always enjoyed the sharp mint taste and how the toad hops around in his stomach after. He finds the whole experience amusing - much to Anne and Sebastian’s confusion. 

“Is there anything you would like?” He asks, glancing towards her. 

She laughs, “You want to get me something?” 

He nods, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” 

She bites her lip with a slight shake of her head, “I wouldn’t mind a Chocolate Frog then. Since you’re offering.” 

He pays for their sweets and they head back out - making their way towards Gladrags. He stares at the toad-shaped treat, noting how the pattern swirls with two different colors which possess a slight shine, before he pops it into his mouth. He frowns for a moment at the peppermint taste not being nearly as predominant as he remembers. While the toad hops in his stomach, she’s already eaten her chocolate and is examining her card.

“Merlin’s Beard. I got Almeric Sawbridge. Again.” She huffs.

He laughs at her sour expression. Her frown melts away into a warm grin and she looks away.

“I didn’t know you liked Peppermint Toads.” She comments. “Thought only Ominis did.” 

Ominis curses himself for not thinking about such an oversight.

“I… normally don’t. I only wanted to see why Ominis enjoys them so.” He says.

“And?” She smiles. “What’s your verdict?” 

“They’re adequate.”

She giggles with a slight shake of her head.

They arrive at Gladrags and the smell of pigment and fabric greet them as they walk in. She wanders over to a dress on display. She skims over the fabric with a slight smile then looks over to him.

“What do you think of this orange?” She wonders. 

The dark, rich color is almost regal in appearance. He touches the dress, following the seam down the bodice and enjoying the stiff material. 

“It looks beautiful.” He says. 

Her eyes are aflame and a wide smile comes over her. She bites her lip then turns away towards the scarves. She looks over them until she finds one. She holds it out to inspect it before turning back to him.

“Do you think Ominis would like this?” She asks. 

The monotonous tone of the scarf doesn’t evoke anything in him until he feels the article of clothing. It’s soft and brings a smile to his face. 

“I like it.” He comments then shakes his head. “So, I’m sure Ominis would as well.” 

She laughs, wrapping the scarf around his neck, “I’m glad you think so. Mind holding on to it for me then?” 

“I-, of course.” He can feel his cheeks heating up as she smooths down the scarf on his chest. When her eyes meet his, a gasp escapes him. He feels encapsulated in a warmth he’s never experienced before. All from one single look. He’s slightly thankful he can’t see her all the time for he’s sure he would never be able to speak a coherent sentence to her otherwise. 

 She pays for the scarf then grabs his hand again, leading him outside. She turns to him with a grin. 

“What would you like to do today?”

The question takes him by surprise and he can’t form a single thought to reply back to her. 

“Well, if you have nothing in mind, then I may have something we can do.” 

He smiles, “Lead the way.” 

She squeezes his hand and his heart soars at the twinkle in her eyes. She’s up to something, but he can’t find it in himself to care. She leads him through Hogsmeade until they’re at the park. He’s heard the dragon’s rumbles from the topiary before, but he finds great amusement in seeing it. It’s far more animated than he imagined. And the dragon itself, while somewhat cute, gives him a slight shiver at how powerful of a beast they are. The colorful, flowered trees rain down their petals and he reaches out to grab one, but it slips right through his fingers. She takes them to the overlook and he can see the train station below them. Over in the distance, Hogwarts stands noblely. 

“Well,” he faces her, “what did you have in mind?” 

She has a sly smile as she gazes out over the scenery before them. The wind ruffles through her hair and he’s momentarily dizzy due to his lack of breathing. He needs to cease his staring, lest he die from self-induced asphyxiation, yet he's drawn to her and he’s unable to break away.

“It’s a fine day for some sightseeing.” She reaches into her robes and pulls out a worn, leather duffle bag. She glances around to ensure they’re still alone before she opens the bag. 

A whooshing noise, followed by a light, emits from the bag. Before his eyes, a giant beast emerges, followed by another similar beast with different colorings. The creatures chirp and scratch their sharp claws on the stone ground. His eyes widen and he’s quick to step away from them and be closer to her.

“Hippogriffs.” She states. 

“What do we need them for?” He questions - not bothering to mask his apprehension. 

She grins as she goes to one of the Hippogriffs that’s similar in coloring as the scarf she gave him. 

“This is Highwing. She’s quite spectacular, isn’t she?” She holds out her hand and Highwing bumps her beak against her palm. “And the other one is her mate. Dashmane.” 

“Dashmane?” 

She giggles, “Yes, because he’s so dashing.” 

The darker shade of the beast’s plumage shimmers in the sunlight. Ominis appreciates how stunning both of the creatures are. 

“First things first, you must introduce yourself to him - by giving a low bow.” She informs him.

Ominis glances between her and Dashmane before he does as she instructed. He bows, his back low and his head even lower. His eyes dart up to the creature as Dashmane bows back to him. 

“Excellent.” She grins as she goes to Highwing’s side then mounts the awaiting beast. She looks over to him expectantly. 

“But, I-I don’t know how to fly.” He protests. 

“You’ll be fine O-,” She pauses with a slight cough, “Sebastian. You’ll pick it right up.”

He gulps as he follows her movements and manages to jump then swing his leg over Dashmane. Ominis situates himself on the beast’s back. He looks over to her and she has a pleased smile. She appears relaxed - like this is natural for her to be on the back of a Hippogriff.

“Ready?” She wonders. 

He examines Dashmane, “Where do I hold on to?” 

She shrugs, “Anywhere you can.” 

He frowns, settling on grabbing a hold of a few tufts of feathers near the nape of Dashmane’s neck. Dashmane lets out a startled squawk, rearing up and nearly sending Ominis sliding off. Dashmane gallops forward and his wings unfurl as he vaults over the stone banister. With a few mighty flaps of his wings, Dashmane is soaring over the train tracks and towards the train station. Ominis’ heart is pounding in his chest and his eyes are blurring through the tears streaming past his temple. He feels like he’s close to falling off Dashmane’s back at any moment - or at the slightest movement.

A screech gets his attention as she flies in front of him. She looks over at Ominis with a wide smile. She’s truly a natural flier with how at ease she appears to be. Her and Highwing take the lead. Dashmane lets out a chirp of his own as he tries to catch up. Bystanders below, waiting for the Hogwarts Express, all stare up as they pass overhead. She curves off to the left towards a waterfall before banking back towards the arched bridge, diving below. Ominis clutches onto Dashmane as he follows, his stomach flipping and his breathing erratic. 

She turns Highwing away from the lake and over the tree line - following the lake’s shore. She spares him glances to ensure he’s still following as she takes them over the treetops. The tips shudder and move as they fly by they’re so close. She dives below the trees, with Dashmane doing the same, and they zip along the path until she takes them high above once more. His head turns every which way as he takes in the sight of the valley from above. The rivers cut through the growth of trees similar to the veins on his hands. He spots clusters of homes tucked away in the forest. 

They head towards an old castle or keep of some kind, with a blooming tree of the same vibrant, soft color from Hogsmeade, where they fly over as they turn back towards Hogwarts. He stares at the ruined estate in wonder at what it could’ve been. He turns his attention back to her and he adjusts himself on Dashmane. He lowers himself and, as if reading his thoughts, Dashmane flaps his wings harder than before.

Dashmane finally catches up to her and Highwing. She looks over to them and she laughs.

“You’re getting the hang of it!” She shouts. “Now, try to keep up!” 

Ominis’ eyes widen as she careens towards the river below. He tightens his grip then does the same. They soar across a river until they’re back over the Black Lake. He can’t stop his heart from beating wildly, but he’s finding the rush to be too thrilling to suppress. He leans himself over enough to catch his rippled reflection in the lake. He frowns at Sebastian being the face looking back at him. He focuses back on their flight.

She’s taking them towards Hogwarts, flying higher and higher as they near. Ominis can place what some of these areas are - like the boathouse where he arrived his very first year. Feels like only yesterday when he made the climb up all those steps and entered the Great Hall for the first time.

She takes them over the ramp and heads straight for the courtyard leading to the Great Hall. Ominis can make out the students below with some of them pointing up at them as they near. Highwing angles upwards before taking a dive right past the courtyard. Ominis’ eyes widen as Dashmane follows the route and dives after them. His heart is in his throat and his stomach drops. They’re heading right into a stone bridge and his whole body tenses up. Dashmane closes up his wings and zips through the archway. 

Ominis lets out a breath as Dashmane follows along the river, keeping his wingspan small enough to navigate the narrow crevice. Highwing zips through then banks sharply to the left at the divide. He emerges from the river just as she turns back towards a waterfall underneath the castle. As they turn out to trail along the embankment of the lake, she leads them towards another cascading river towards the old wooden long bridge. 

She flies them underneath and leads them up the waterfall, flying higher and higher over a stone bridge, until she turns to the left towards a plateau. She lands at a clearing with various rocks set up in a large circle around the area. He manages to bring Dashmane into a gentle landing, prancing up to be next to Highwing. 

“See. I knew you could fly.” She grins at him, her hair windblown and her face radiating. 

“I think you were trying to get us killed.” He retorts with a smile. 

She laughs, dismounting from Highwing then him dismounting as well. She brings out the strange leather bag again and opens it. The bag sucks both Highwing and Dashmane inside. She puts the bag away then motions with her head towards the edge of the plateau. She takes a seat on the rock, her legs draping over the edge. He sits next to her and he takes in the sight before them. 

The sun is beginning to set behind them, casting a pale, but brilliant, glow upon Hogwarts. Birds fly around a tower, which he realizes is the Owlery. 

“I’m glad we got here in time.” She whispers, her eyes set towards the sunset. “I wanted your first sunset to be special.” 

“It already is-,” the words die in his mouth as he pieces together what she just said. 

“I-I mean-, what do you mean my first sunset?” He tries to play off. 

Her eyes roll over to him with an amused grin playing on her lips.

“Do not play coy with me now, Ominis. I know it’s you.” 

His eyes widen and he can feel a burning heat overtake his face. She giggles, placing a warm hand on his.

“While I was irritated you did not tell me of your ploy at first, I figured you must have your reasons to keep me in the dark on this.” 

His head falls with a sigh, “No. Not a good reason by any sort of means.” 

She laughs again, “I assume Sebastian must be involved.” 

“This was his idea, if that’s what you’re implying.” He looks over to her, “When did you figure it out?” 

She hums, “I had a feeling something was wrong when you looked at the grass like you’ve never seen it before. Then again, when we got to Hogsmeade, you were completely taken away. And Sebastian most certainly doesn’t look at me the way you did today. But, what finally confirmed my suspicions, was when I asked what you thought of that orange dress. Which was very clearly purple, by the by.” 

He closes his eyes with a soft groan, “You are far too clever of a witch at times.” He looks over to her with raised brows. “Does that mean that harrowing flight was to get back at me?” 

She bites her bottom lip, “A bit. But, to also show you as much as possible before that Polyjuice Potion wears off.” She sighs, “I wish you would’ve told me. I could’ve made today special for you.” 

“It has been special.” He takes her hand in his with a smile. 

The look upon her face sends him spiraling once more. He’s not sure what it is, but he knows how it makes him feel. She’s the first to look away and she’s back to gazing at the sunset.

“You don’t want to miss this.” She says in a quiet voice. 

He looks off towards where the sun is setting behind the rolling mountains. The hills in the distance are draped in a fog and the colors begin to bloom across the landscape. 

“What colors are these?” He wonders. 

“Well, do you see there?” She points towards a large patch of a bright pigment which echoes across the sky. “That’s actually orange.” 

“Orange.” He laughs. “I see my mistake now.” 

She smiles as she points to another section of a softer color similar to some of the vibrant trees he saw, “That there, is pink.” 

His lips stretch into a smile, “Pink. I think I do like pink.” 

“And over there,” she points toward a darker color, far richer than the rest, “is purple. And there, where the sun is, is yellow, or actually, more accurately, gold.” 

He sucks in a deep breath, taking in this new knowledge. He wants to engrain this picture before him into his mind. The clouds hold a vast array of pigments like a field of flowers. And he can see so far - miles upon miles with no end in sight. It all evokes a well of emotion within him. And when he looks down at her, the sunset reflecting upon her soft features and in her eyes, he all but breaks. 

“I wish I could see this everyday.” His voice wavers. 

She looks over to him - her lips parted in concern and her smile fading. She wants to say something, the anguish is clear. His hand cups her cheek and her eyes close at the contact. 

“I don’t mean to cause you distress, love. I only mean to say - I envy Sebastian, and everyone else, that’s able to gaze upon you. I would love to do nothing more than to sing you ballads about your beauty.” He strokes her cheek, her eyes remaining close as she places her hand over his to press him closer to her face. 

“You don’t need to serenade me, Ominis.”

“I know.” He smiles. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to.” 

His other hand joins in and he feels over her face - an action he has done several times. But, to see what he’s felt, elates him. It’s almost terrifying how strong the notion is. Her eyes remain close as he traces over her cheeks and down her nose then all the way to her jawline and lips. 

“I hope I’m what you were expecting.” She whispers, her brows knitting together as she slowly opens her eyes.

He smiles as he tucks away the wild hairs framing her face, “More than I could’ve ever imagined.”

The light begins to fade away and they’re soon swathed in a darkness he’s all too familiar with. He’s amazed he’s still able to somewhat see. Hogwarts illuminates in a soft glow and a sense of coziness strikes him. She leans closer to him, resting her hand on his chest.

“Lay with me.” She whispers while she pushes him back towards the ground. 

He lets her push him, falling back onto the cold stone beneath them. He watches her as she tucks herself next to him and she faces up towards the sky. Her eyes shift towards him and she laughs.

“Look up.”

She stares at him as he obeys her command. The sky is no longer a bright blue, but a darker, far richer shade. But what catches his eyes are the shimmering dots which twinkle in various prismatic colors. A gasp leaves him and she giggles.

“Those are the stars. And over there is the moon.” She points in front of them and he follows her finger towards the most breathtaking thing. The moon, once described to him as silver, seems almost unreal as it hovers in the night sky. Its light is cold compared to the sun and he finds himself in awe at its majesty.

“It’s all so beautiful.” He whispers while he hugs her closer to him.

Something shifts within him. He lets out a gasp then looks at his hand. His fingers and knuckles are shifting before his very eyes. 

“No. No, not yet.” He curses. 

She’s about to question what’s wrong when her eyes widen, “Ominis. Your hair. It’s… the potion.” 

He sits up - her doing the same- and he looks around. He doesn’t want this to end, but already the darkness is beginning to cloud his vision. He looks to her, pulling her close to him. He cups both sides of her cheeks and she holds him closer. 

She smiles as she says, “I love you, Ominis.” 

Seeing her lips move, the genuineness in her expression, and the softness in her gaze sends him careening. He stares at her, taking in every little piece of her, while the darkness consumes more and more. 

Then, she’s gone. 

He lets out a shaky breath and a coldness seeps into him. He’s still - unable to move. 

When she presses her forehead to his, he can no longer contain himself. Tears stream down his cheeks and she’s quick to embrace him, holding his head into the crook of her neck as he sobs. She strokes down his back while her other hand soothes his hair. There’s a whirlwind of emotion raging through him and he doesn’t know how to calm himself down. He’s thankful she’s not chastising him for acting this way - so pathetic and broken. Her gentle movements ground him from fully sinking into the numbing coldness which threatens to drag him deeper into an endless abyss. 

She whispers soft words, but he’s so lost he doesn’t understand what she’s saying. All he can notice is how warm she is and how tightly she holds him. Never once letting him go.

The chaos slowly quells and he’s exhausted himself. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse and quiet. “I-I should have better control over myself. I-I didn’t anticipate how-, how much I-,” 

“It’s okay, Ominis.” She kisses his temple. “It’s okay.” 

She kisses his tear-stained cheek then the corner of his lips. He’s practically ravenous as he hooks his fingers into her hair to guide her into a searing kiss. A whimper escapes him at the rawness of her lips against his. When she parts, he opens his eyes in hopes he would catch just a faint glimpse of her. 

But no… all he has left is the memory of today. The vibrancy of the world and the breathtaking beauty she possesses. 

He sighs, “There’s a part of me that wishes I could do this everyday.” He pauses, brushing the tip of his nose against hers and tangling his fingers further into her hair. “But, another part is glad to be back in my own skin.”

She lets out a soft hum of agreement, “I very much like you being back. It was quite odd having to hold Sebastian’s hand today.” 

He laughs, “I can imagine.” 

“I do love you, Ominis. All parts of you.” She says. 

His throat tightens, but he’s done shedding tears. He brings her into a much softer kiss this time then he whispers, “I love you, too.” 

The words feel lacking. They aren’t enough to convey the strong feelings he has for her. But, how else could he describe the way she makes him feel. How else could he even come close to explaining that she is so very precious and dear to him. So, he settles with what he can for now.

“We should head back. We’ll have to sneak into the kitchens if we’re to get any sort of dinner tonight.” 

“We should get Sebastian as well. I’m sure he’s dying to leave the confines of the Undercroft by now. Although, maybe it’s good for him to be locked away for a while.” Ominis muses with a slight smirk.

She giggles, “Certainly keeps him out of trouble.” 

They head back to the castle with her practically glued to his side as she explains all the questions he has about the things he saw today. His fingers occasionally twisting the soft fabric of the scarf draped across his neck. He smiles as he knows exactly what color it is.

==================================

It’s not until the next day when the rumors around the school finally reach Sebastian that he corners Ominis just before Charms class. 

“What’s this about ‘me’ flying a bloody Hippogriff over the school yesterday?” 

Ominis can only smirk in response. 

----------------------------------------

AN: Bruh i just can't help myself but add some flying INTO EVERYTHING!! I HAVE A PROBLEM! Like, when I saw the scene of Dany and Jon in GoT doing their dragon flight when i was searching for music, i just knew i had to do it here. LOL i even went flying around the world in game trying to find the best route as well.

You can find the plateau where this takes place below by the Merlin Trail:

and here's my horrible, low quality, sunset pic via the pic i took of my tv from my phone lollll.

Anyways, I really wanted to capture the thought of Ominis not having a clue what the heck colors are and most def not being able to understand certain more obscure facial expressions (like suspicion). And I really liked the idea of leaving the Fifth Year in the dark about the Polyjuice Potion... idk why. i just thought it was fun LOL.

Hopefully it wasn't too weird about her holding his hand as 'Sebastian' but I was going for the 'yeah she's figured out it's ominis' type vibe. idk hopefully that's conveyed

Thanks again for reading! Feedback always appreciated <3

[nocturn-warrior]

I ALL THE THINGS I'VE SHOULD DONE• 🔅

Alucard x reader

Summary: You are pregnant with your first born with Alucard and he has been overprotective over you, but during one night he a jerk tries to assault you. Alucard and your friends kick his ass.

Warnings: angst, SA mentions, abortion mentions, violence, jealousy at Greta, pregnancy, crying (but ends up with fluff), my bad grammar and text similar to a 12 years old's writting fanfic (english is not my first language) and bad dialogues.

Note: month of the three milks is may in medieval calendar, puiuţ is a nickname romanian parents call their babies and it means baby chicken. Most of the titles of my fics are based on Kate Bush's songs or song quotes. This one is taken from This Woman's Work

You were so excited taking care of Sypha and Trevor's baby. With his mother's big blue eyes and his father's jet hair, he was the cutest thing in the world. Everyday, your heart beated faster to the thought of having a child of your own with Adrian; a little baby to light up your lives and bring joy to that enormous castle again, but it took months for you to start trying for it. There are too many children around, the village orphans would be jealous if we had a baby. You would squash off the idea to yourself with a silly excuse. Actually, you feared having a child would have a reverse effect. Alucard was still mentally fragile and you rememberer his breakdown nights, where he wouldn't close his eyes to sleep until the sunrise. But one day it happened, and when it happened you and Adrian couldn't contain the happiness, though your hearts were still full of doubts.

Immediatly you started to work on your unborn's room, asking the villagers carpenters to reform Adrian's childhood bedroom and redo the furniture just like the way he remebered, since it all was destroyed during that last fight. All except that little wolf plushie which you storaged in the wardrobe. Alucard was surprised when you, after the nursery was finally finished and you both were decorating it with paintings and toys Adrian crafted himself, came in with the plushie and placed it over the little crib. He could feel a tear forming into his eye in that very moment.

"H-how did you..."

He stuttered, holding the toy almost as if he was checking out to see if it was the original one. You chuckled and said:

"I kinda stole from you so many days before Trevor had his hero moment. It was too cute to stay all dusty and forgotten in a wooden box. What is his name, by the way?"

Alucard sniffles the toy for a while, it smells like childhood. Like comfort. Smells like a time that will never come back, but he is happy it will belong to his child now. For that, new memories will be builden up. He finally answers, sitting on the small bed with you and caressing the toy's fluffy head.

"Lupi"

The dhampir smiled as his eyes wandered across the bedroom: it was exactly like he remembered. With his drawing skills, it was easy to picture everything in paper and intruct the carpenters.

After two long years, the village was finally built. Settled in the Belmont ground, it was full of small but cozy houses, a small fair, and a graveyard to honor their lost members. They were grateful for everything, and for that they decided to make a big celebration, in the day of their protector saint, Sara Kali, who is also the protector of pregnant women, for the exhiled and despaired ones as well.

You, Alucard and your friends were invited to such a beautiful moment, since you four had a big role in providing that people comfort and protection during and post the nightcreatures attacks.

It was 24 in The Month Of the Three Milks and you were 5 months pregnant. At first, Alucard was a little hesitant about attending at the festival; besides he cherishes the comunity so much, he feared you made too much effort or that all of these sounds, scents and feelings would be overwhelming to you. In his core, he wanted to go of course, but your safety was more important.

"Are you sure, my darling? You need to rest, you and the baby. Greta and the others will understand if you don't attend"

He tenderly argues, placing a hand on your waist as you look for a proper dress to use in the occasion in your big wooden wardrobe.

"Adrian,"

You drop the pieces of clothes to cup his cheeks, his amber droopy eyes looking towards yours as you explain. How could you take that pouty face of his seriously in that moment? You contain a chuckle.

"I am fine. My sickness doesn't affect me anymore, and some fresh night are will be good for me. You worry too much"

Adrian looks down presses his hand over your growing bump, trying to feel the child. He's been obsessed with it, constantly asking you if his puiuţ, as he constantly reffers to your baby is awaken and active.

"They are quiet this afternoon, my love."

You answer, placing your hand over his colder one. He says nothing, thinking about the festival and if taking you was a good idea until he breaks the silence:

"Let's find you a dress to wear, i will do your hair"

Your eyes light up, filling his heart with joy. Alucard adores to see you smile and beam with happiness, specially now that your mood changes so frequent. Any wrong word can cause an endless angst in this sensitive head of yours. He doesn't complain, though. After all you did for him in those dark gloomy nights, is not just his duty but also his wish to take care of you.

The two of you mess around your clothes, trying to find anything that feels comfortable enought for you to wear all night long. You try this, try that, but all of your formal gowns feel tighter and constraining around your stomach. Trying the last one with no success, you leave a deep sigh and plop yourself on the bed, laying with your limbs spread:

"Alright. Forget it. I accepted my fate: we are not going to the festival."

Though you had a silly smile in your face, Adrian could tell you were very upset with the fact no dress could fit you propperly now, and standing up in silence while looking at your hopeless expression, he takes a hard decision. Entering or seeing his parents' personal objects was a challenge he has been avoiding for two years. That's why most of them were gifted to the people from Danesti. They shouldn't be in there storaging must and moths. He gave it all, except some.

"Actually, i think there are still some dresses that belonged to my mother when she was pregnant. My father kept her belongings, and i couldn't get rid of them yet"

The joyful expression returns to your face as Alucard gives the problem a solving, you quickly sit up again and smile excitedly at him. For a while, you wonder why he kept exactly his mother's pregnancy dresses. Was it because he already planned everything? He could have given them to Sypha years ago. But you don't question it, you just nod and stand up, holding his hands.

"Thank you, Adrian. But you don't have to do it, if it's too hard to see her things again."

He gently shushes you, raising your hand and placing a wet kiss over it and ressuring he would be alright. Adrian tells you to stay in your bedroom while he looks into an old wooden chest, containing some of his parents' remaining belongings.

Minutes after, he cames in with a beautiful red dress, larger in the stomach and breasts part. It's oppulent silk bounces as he moves smoothly, placing it over the bed.

"Here. Try it on. I might do some adjusts on it's sleeves or cleavage if you want me to. We still have time"

He smiles at you, and standing up, you grab it to try on as he said. You inspect it's fabric, the dress has a slight musty scent due to all of these years it spent untouched, but it's alright. You quickly slip off your undergarments and put the dress on. Alucard expectates for the final result, arms crossed and eyes wandering across you changing body. It looks so beautiful, like a goddess of fertility.

"It feels tight in the arms"

You raise up your limbs, proving your point. The long sleeves restrict your movements. Lisa had a more slender figure, you guess, so it would really feel tighter in some of your body parts. Alucard approaches you, adjusting some pieces of the fabric and turning you around to check out the clothing

"I can cut them for you, my dear"

The solution comes without hesitation and you are surprised. He would modify his mother's relics just because of you. The hesitation came from your part

"Do you really mean that? Love, this belonged to your mother"

He playfully scoffs and lifts up the silky hem of the gown, helping you to take it off so he could make the necessary adjusts

"If there was something my mother was not attached to, was material wealth. Plus, it's for the wife of her son i am doing that. Don't you worry, it's just a dress"

Adrian removes the dress from you completly and with the lines and needles, he starts to work on the sleeves as you sit on the bed, waiting for it to be finished.

One hour and a half later, your dress is finally adjusted and fits perfectly. Now, you two should take a shower, get perfumed and elegant for the event so important to your friends of the village.

Adrian does your hair as promised: he braids it and finishes with a ribbon matching the color of your dress. He ties your shoes and you help him folding the hem of his trousers. Now passing through the giantic doors of the castle, you two head to where the festival would be settled.

Arms interlocked and faces enlighted by the rising full moon light, you catch a sight of Sypha and Trevor sitting on a wooden bench, their son Simon is running around with the other kids.

"He is already running. Years ago this boy was just a..."

Words fail with excitement, seeing your nephew toddling and interacting with other children. Alucard completes the phrase, placing a hand on your bump.

"A little bean. Just like our baby. Soon, he or she will be joining them. Ooh, it seems like he is sticking a frog into his mouth!"

As Alucard finishes, you can see from a afar, Sypha rushing to stop the toddler of eating a frog. You giggle, already imagining the adaptations in the castle you and Adrian shall do to prevent your own kid to hurt themselves.

Trevor see you two approaching and, taking a large sip of his ale, he places the cup aside, facing you two.

"Hey, i thought you two wouldn't even come. Y/N, you have to try this ale. This shit is a drop from heavens!"

By his tone, you could tell your friend was already drunk. Alucard intervines with a calm, yet slightly sarcastic tone, cracking his whip:

"You are not trying to make my pregnant wife drink alcohol, are you, Belmont?"

"I forgot this detail"

He snorts, shrugging and turning his attention back to his beloved ale. Since Simon was born, Trevor and Sypha had made a promise he would never drink again, but today is a special occasion so they gave it a break. Talking about Sypha, she returns to the place, holding the willful Simon on her hip and smiling as she spots you and Alucard.

"I can't keep an eye off from this boy, it's like he is the exact copy of his father. I can't keep an eye off of him as well. Trevor, you are already drunk?"

She places her free arm on her hip, facing the sitting man who denies it, with his clearly intoxicated tone.

"Gods, i don't know why but i still love you that it hurts!"

She chuckles, sitting by her husband's side and releasing Simon from her arms before she finally talks to Alucard and you.

"Your bump is already so big, my dear Y/N! Bigger than last week. Please, cherish this moment, becsuse after that you will deal with back pains and ankle soreness due to this little human growing in there"

Sypha looks tenderly at your belly jutting against the red silk of your dress, and then at her own son who rushes to "uncle Lulu", as he calls your husband.

"But it's all worthy."

You were so excited by seeing your friends that didn't even paid attention to the festival decoration. It was beautiful, full of colors and good scents comming from the food. The women wore their traditional clothes, children ran around the big fire settled in the middle. The tawny moon enlighted everything, making the scenary even more breathtaking. Alucard conduces you to sit over the bench and accomodates himself by your side as well.

"What do you think, love?"

He whispers in your ear before kissing your cheek

"Beautiful. I love how their people, even after so many troubles and distress, found a way to put everything together"

The food scent was inviting, you spot a plump old lady holding a large plate of something you judged to be sarma, placing it over the large table along with other food. An increasing desire starts to take over you, and Alucard notices your fixated gaze. He chuckles, placing a hand on your belly before standing up.

"Are you two hungry? Stay here, i will get some food. Will you guys want something as well?"

He looks at Sypha who shakes her head, and at Trevor who says nothing but a grunt that Alucard reads as a no. You watch your dhampir walk graciously towards the table abundant with food, greeting the people as he approaches it. Resting your elbow on your knee and your chin on your palm, you don’t notice how head over heels you are until he comes back holding a bowl and speaking to you so sweetly:

“Here, my dear. It’s still warm”

Alucard sits by your side and you glance at the bowl full of sarma; a meal made of cabbages and stuffed with meat and rice, a typical dish of the people from Danesti. He grabs a forkful and takes it towards your mouth, waiting for your approval. You chew up the bite, the flavors exploding in your mouth. Alucard’s smile increases when you leave a satisfied groan and nod your head. He places the bowl on your lap, allowing you to occasionally feed him as you two chat with Sypha.

Some children from the village spot you sitting in there and rush towards the bench. As expected, they were quite excited about the baby on the way, always competing between them to touch your bump and feel their new “sibling”. After all those little ones passed through, you were happy to see them play around. You see in their faces, the future of that community like flowers blooming after a long winter.

“mother, mother!”

A little girl grabs the hem of your silky dress, trying to get you attention and climb up to your lap, followed by other three kids who fight for their places. Noticing the mess they could make, Alucard grabs the bowl you hold and tries to calm down the hectic little ones.

“Woah, woah, calm down, Delia, Elek. Let your mother breath.”

He adverts the two sassiest ones with his firm wet warm tone, gently pulling them away as they chitter.

“But father Alucard, I want to feel the baby!”

They argue and you can’t resist to their pouty faces, sensitized by your mood changes you intervene into Alucard’s rebuke, accepting their little excited hands to touch your bump. Your husband doesn’t protest back, he knows how stubborn you are and how these children love you, but as you allow Delia to climb up onto your lap, he can’t help but feel apprehensive the girl would make too much pressure over your belly. You can see the disappointed expression in her face as she roams her palm around your stomach but isn’t able to feel nothing.

“The baby is sleeping now.”

You whisper, tilting up her little chin and smiling pacifically. Alucard admires your ability to calm down these children, always so patient and warm. Delia seems to understand the situation and climbs down from your lap, turning to her little friends and communicating the state of your baby. Still, the kids wouldn’t give up and keep fighting for your attention. Alucard knows that gently pushing them away wouldn’t do much good and gives up, so he lets it be. Sypha, noticing your discomfort calls one the children’s name and says:

“why don’t you take little Simon to play around a little, Delia? Hey, but don’t allow him to eat any frog!”

She adverts as the little girl gives up on pesting you and quickly takes your nephew’s hand, guiding him off from Sypha’s lap.

“nor any cricket or moth!”

“Alright, aunt Sypha!”

The small group of children leaves the four adults alone, in a mass of giggling and screaming mess. You can breathe finally, laying your head over Alucard’s shoulder and watching them move away, secretly hoping your baby takes after you and your husband, and doesn’t come to be so hectic like their future peers. Chatting with your friends about your adventures and about parenthood, most of the conversations end up with mocking Trevor. You guys are really taking advantage of his intoxicated state to make fun of him. The weather is pleasant and the crackling fire sounds relax you.

You hate it, but a snort leaves your throat when one of the children approach again, rushing towards Alucard this time at least. The little boy has in his face the expression of the messenger of a king, and speaks while panting, leaving Alucard slightly worried. You fear something bad has happened, as well.

“father Alucard, Greta wants to talk to you.”

The request was not urgent or a life or death case, but the woman’s name has sent you some discomfort into your heart. It’s not like you hate Greta: she is not as close as Sypha is to you, but she is still a friend and you recognize the importance she has to the community, yet you can’t help but feel insecure whenever she is around. Even though it’s been two years since you and Adrian are together, even though you are pregnant with his child.

The blonde man places a quick kiss on your cheek, swearing he will come back as soon as possible and stands up, guided by the child towards the house Greta awaits for him. You observe him adjusting the collar of his shirt as he approaches, and you see Greta come out through the door. Even from meters afar, you notice and admit how gorgeous she looks in that traditional dress, her dark hair and bronze skin glowing under the moonlight, and the wind seems to bring her perfume to you. Almost if it was teasing your jealousness and provoking your feelings.

The leader greets Alucard with a tight hug and in this moment your heart slightly sinks. Ruminating about their possible conversation topic, you convince yourself she is just thanking him for the support he offered during these two years, and not complimenting his beautiful amber eyes or his soft blonde locks you combed yourself. She drags him to inside the small house, followed by other two villagers.

Your fists close, you start to bounce your leg in anxiety and Sypha who is much an observer, places her hand gently on yours and leans in, looking at you with tenderness:

“Y/N, calm down. He is going to talk to the elder ones. You have nothing to worry about. Greta isn’t stealing your man.”

She speaks in a laid-back tone, softly caressing your hand. You turn to face your friend but you can’t contain the concerned expression. Sypha chuckles a bit, not mocking at you, but finding your feeling extremely valid. You protest:

“I-I am not jealous, Sypha. I just---“

You can’t find better words to describe your feeling, so you just give in to Sypha’s moral lesson.

“You are jealous, Y/N. I can tell it by the pout in your face. But you know what? That’s completely understandable, dear friend. You are going through a lot of changes all over your body, it’s pretty normal.”

She leans in a little more and whispers in tone of secret:

“when I was pregnant, i argued with Trevor about anything. Even ale itself made me feel jealous of him”

Your friend takes your hand once again and continues:

“what you need to know, is that Alucard loves you no matter what. It wasn’t Greta who held him every night when his nightmares tormented him. It wasn’t Greta who took care of him at his lowest, my dear. Adrian loves you and he doesn't hide it"

You know Sypha meant every word, but why did you feel like Alucard would eventually get tired of you? Why did you think Greta would charm him with her strong sense of leadership and athletic phisique? You try to focus on something else ignoring the burning jealousy increasing and consuming your brain and on Sypha's trying to cheer you up.

You finally see Alucard step out from the cabin he entered with the leader of the village, his beautiful face beams with happiness as he chats something unhearable. Greta pulls him closer to where other young women beautifully dressed in those tradicional patterns organize themselves to start the dancing, he is probably greeting them.

The young men start playing the instruments, and the ladies dance in the rhythm. Seeing your husband idly moving his shoulders, you expect for the worst to happen. Greta takes him by his hand and starts teaching him how to move smoothly like the dancers, twirling around and expecting him to do the same. Adrian doesn't give a single glance at where you are sitting, he seems to be hypnotized by the moment.

You stand up and feel Sypha's tight grip on your wrist. You look down at her as she asks softly:

"Where are you going"

"I need to pee"

You force a smile and even if it was your intention, Sypha knew you were distancing for other motive. But she doesn't intervene, though. She just releases your wrist and focus on Trevor who seems to be in an alcoholic catalepsy by her side.

You walk towards the latrine behind the village, holding up the hem of dress so it wouldn't get stuck in the ivies underneath. Leaning against the wooden thin wall of the cabine, you feel an increasing heat take over your face and thick tears drop down from your eyes. The music of the festival sounds distant, but you can hear the people's laughing and cheering.

The crickets and night birds seem to be the only spectators of your breakdown until you hear a hoarse, unfamiliar voice approaching you.

"Why are you crying, beautiful lady?"

You pull up your head from the wall, turning to where the voice comes. The light of a torch reveals the silhouette of a man who limps towards you, speaking in an alcohol intoxicated voice.

"A beautiful lady like you shouldn't be here, all alone. Did you know the nightcreatures are still around?"

He laughs in a mischevious tone, spitting on the ground. Getting closer and closer, he sees your face and his eyes widen up, a smirk forms again in his face:

"Are you the dhampir's wife?"

You've never seen that man at the village, he has been here due to the festival, you guess. You gulp, shortly nodding your head:

"Y-yes, mister."

The man stays in silence for a while, his eyes roaming through your body like he he was chosing a piece of meat until they linger on your belly.

"You are pregnant! You are carrying that evil's seed! Your husband's race only brought disgrace to this land. This thing you carry in your womb is cursed, it has a cursed blood just like it's genitor. You are nothing but catter for that demon to spread his offspring"

Your heart sinks at the tone he speaks to you, his intoxicated breath stinging in your nose as he approaches. You can't move, your body freezes as he says:

"I will put an end on it"

He completes with a sly grin, spitting on the ground again:

"And insert mine inside this pretty belly of yours"

You try to run, but the man grabs you by your middle and starts to run his filthy hands across your cleavage. Where is Alucard? You stood with him during this thundery years and when you need him most, he is entertaining himself with Greta. You fear for your child as the man's fingers press deeper against your skin.

"If you screm, it's gonna be worse. They can't hear you"

The man whispers and all you can do is whimper.

All the while, Sypha watches the movement of people, the colors of the dancers' dresses twirling and the instruments sounds echoing to inside the forest. It's been 5 minutes and you didn't came back. She fears leaving you alone was a bad idea.

Her attention turns to Alucard who after chatting with the villagers and receiving their grateful compliments, happily heads to the bench eager to reunite with you. His face drastically changes noticing only Sypha (and a dozing off Trevor) are in there.

"Where is Y/N?"

He asks the woman, a concerned expression in his face, and he could see a slight frown or worry in Sypha's forehead, but she didn't want to alarm him by mentioning her concern.

"She went to the latrines minutes ago"

For a while, Alucard feels a little upset with your friend. She shouldn't have let you go on your own. He stays in silence for a while, deciding if he should go after you.

Your vision gets foggy by the tears, and you can't tell if the music stopped or you are just falling out of consciousness by the terror, but as the sounds of instruments finally fade completly, you scream in agony, hoping someone can hear you plead. Hoping Alucard could hear your plead.

Alucard's pupils shrink as he hears your recognizable voice and before Sypha could even ask him if he heard that too, he desappears in a figure darker than night, smoothly directing itself to where the sound of you came from. Sypha rushes after him, already closing her fists, ready to use her powers.

The drunken man slides his hand down to your womb, roughly pressing his thumbs onto your skin. You groan, tears falling down your cheeks. He is going to take the life of your so expected puiuţ.

The trees and people speed distorted as Alucard in his fog shape rushes in your rescue. His heart is filled with an unnatural rage, something he never felt before as he sees that filthy bastard hurting his beloved. Something similar to what his father might felt.

The dhampir materializes in front of the man, pushing him with anger against the stone wall of a house, the bastard couldn't even tell what was going on until he feels Alucard's piercering eyes, red as flames staring into his and his sharp fangs so close to his neck as he hisses like a serpent.

He was about to take his life when a sharp disc of ice cuts the bastard's skin. Alucard swiftly looks back and sees Sypha rushing towards you as you fall on your knees, sobbing. His attention then turns back to the man who feels the dhampir's fangs almost touching his throat.

"I am not marking this date so important for the villagers with your filthy blood. But get to know: if you touch my wife once again, i open your abdomen and wrap your guts around a tree with you alive."

This words doesn't seem to be spoken by your sweet Alucard. For a while, it feels like his father's anger for human kind took his mind and manifested phisically using his body.

He releases the drunk who limps florest inside and his eyes shift back to it's beautiful amber pigmentation, now filled with tears as he sees you broken on the ground attached to Sypha's shoulder, sobbing in shock.

"Shh... it's everything alright now, Y/N. He is gone"

Your friend rubs your back soothingly and helps you to stand up, but your arm never leaves hers until Alucard approaches, stretching his arms open to embrace you.

"Y/N! I am so sorry. I've failed you"

"H-he tried to kill our puiuţ..."

You whine and he rests his chin on top of your head, holding you tighter. He couldn't save his mother years ago, he couldn't save his father from his own madness. If he lost you to such an avoidable way, he couldn't forgive himself.

Sypha's heart sinks seeing her two friends in such a broken state. She hugs you both tightly and recomforts you, guiding you back to the festival.

No one of you including Trevor who was sleeping to the lullaby of alcohol had mood to continue in the village that night, going home was the only option. Your friends would sleep in the castle.

You didn't exchange a word way back to home until you silently opened the doors of your chambers and slowly slipped off from your dress. In the oval mirror, you could spot the two marks caused by the agressor's hands. A lump forms in your throat again, it's been q while since you don't feel your child, you fear the worst happened.

Alucard cames in, wrapping his arms around you though he hesitated for a while. He kisses your cheek and kneals down in front of you, pressing his ear against your belly.

"Can you hear it? The heartbeat... can you still hear anything?"

You speak, trying your best to not to cry being so aprehensive about his answer. He lingers a little, shifting his position and lowing down his breath.

"I can hear it."

He looks up at you, a sigh of relieve leaves your body.

"Our puiuţ is safe."

Alucard stands up after placing a kiss on your belly and wraps his arms around you, wiping away your relieved tears. You hug him tightly, sobs muffled by his chest and his tears fall over your hair as well.

"That was my fault"

You silently climb onto bed after calming down from the overwhelming night you had, and after minutes, he finally breaks the silence.

"It was my fault. If you or our baby got hurt, it would be my fault"

You didn't want to rub salt into the wound though you knew the incident was directly linked to the fact Alucard left you. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you listen to his apologize.

"I should have known you would be pissed off with me because of Greta, but it was not my intention. Forgive me, darling. I promise i will never leave your side ever again"

He turns to face you with those droopy amber eyes, tears tangled between his long eyelashes and he blinks for them to follow their flow. You cup Alucard's cheek and gives him a ressuring smile. You couldn't be mad at him.

"Accepted"

Seeing Alucard have another breakdown was the last thing you wanted to see. He wraps his arms around you, hand resting on your belly like a shield as you sleep in a deep slumber, lulled by the wind knocking on the window.

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Celebration: 88,978 Words in One Day!

Just yesterday, a few other LU writers and I, Hot Cheeto Hatred, hosted our first ever monthly (hopefully) Write-a-thon! This event ran on June 4 from 12 am EST to 12 am EST, with one goal in mind---write as many productive words within that day as humanly possible. Words included in the final marathon count ranged from storyboarding, fic writing, editing, answering comments, journalling and homework---basically, any words that furthered yourself, the writing community at large, or your stories. We utilized either the Discord Sprint bot or self-reporting to collect the numbers at the end. Everyone involved gave it their all, with most of them being present for most if not all of the run time as they were able, and I'm so proud of their dedication towards their craft. Anyways, here's the final breakdown of the numbers below, as well as the awards and titles earned by each participant, as decided by the discord server (and myself at random).

Now onto the awards:

I am pleased to report that @not-freyja (Freyja above) won the "Writer of All Time" Award, pulling ahead with 20,565 of our total words. What an accomplishment! Freyja participated from dawn to well, dawn, and they absolutely deserve all praise and awe.

I'm giving myself, @hotcheetohatred (Cheeto), the award "Writer of Some Time," as I fell behind our lovely Freyja by a mere few hundred words fifteen minutes before the clock struck midnight. Next time, Freyja, next time...

The "Actually A Writer" award goes to @marcusdoodlesalot (Marcus), who, despite the name, DOES actually write, not just draw! Who would have thought. Not Freyja, that's for sure.

The "Early Bird" award goes to @lerikwrites (Lerik), who solely sprinted in the wee hours of the morning (my time, at least). Terrible. Good job.

"Star Commentor" goes to @elle-rosewater (Eliot), because I stole most of her words for the count from my own comment section in the BDOR Prologues. We love you, Eliot :3 Can't wait to see you next month.

"Cheerleader" goes to @la-sera, who gave us much encouragement throughout the day. I stole your 19 words from you saying you were excited to read Estelian's work. Hope that's okay, because I really wanted to include you---you provided a lot, even if you didn't write with us this time <3.

@whumpitywhumpitywhumpity (Dowsemaxxer) earns "Spirit-ed Storyboarder" for all of his lovely, informative talk on Spirit and just what makes him so great as a rather underappreciated LU boy.

Two awards next! "Chief Editor" and "Most Student" both go to @unexpectedstormy (Stormy) for faer work on getting. stuff. done. Fae did a steady amount of work, so proud.

"Editor (of Word Count) in Chief" goes to @tashacee (Tash), who, at reporting time, was scrounging up 100 and 200 word bits like spare change while I desperately tried to do math. I love you, never change.

The title of "Specter" goes to @somer-writes (Somer), who logged in very few sprints, but participated with the rest of us and pulled up at the end with a whole 7.5K words and a bunch of fics to post at the end, with a lot of it being Ghost AU! He's amazing.

The award "Better Late than Never" goes to our resident artist and recently turned fic-writer @estelian-01 (Este), who joined only in the last half of the marathon but managed to pull a whole 4K! Pictures might be worth a thousand words, but Este wrote a couple more anyway.

@across-violet-skies (Riv) gets the title "Mover and Shaker (of Blorbos)" for managing to participate and get quite the hefty wordcount only a DAY after moving. They're a trooper, that's for sure.

@anime-obsessed (Vio/Nene) earns the award "Most Old School" for writing with pen and paper for most of the day. Please go rest your wrist after all of that.

The award "Head in the Clouds" goes to my bestie and beloved beta reader @needfantasticstories (Skip), who spent the day listening to music and writing Skyloft drabbles. I am nervous/excited to see if those drabbles turned out fluffy as a Loftwing, or perhaps into something more angsty.

@noorahqar (Qar), my lovely fragile Victorian wife, earns the title "Chatty." You know why. But you were there nearly all of the run time, and so engaging and encouraging throughout---a blessing to us all. And even then, you managed to pull so many words. I'm impressed.

And finally, @rosehipandroots / @rosetintedtears (Rose) receives the titles "ndskanefnre" (self chosen) and "Birthday Santa." The first was borne of panic of being asked to choose a title---the second of her relentless effort to get her birthday fics done. Great job.

I'd like to thank everyone that I tagged for participating in the write-a-thon, and thank all of you for helping me draft this post as well. If I messed up any word counts or details or pronouns, you want to request a title/award change, or I missed someone, please DM and let me know! The next Write-a-thon will be held on July 1 from 12am to 12am GMT, and we'll be trying to beat our record. Can't wait to see all of you then!

[prettyboykatsuki]

fuck your inhibition. | k. bakugou

♢ tags ; very big age gaps (19 years), questionable ethics, ex deliquent / runaway reader (22), fighting / violence, brief mentions of living on the streets, retired pro-hero bakugou (41), emotionally charged sex, afab + masc!reader, top!reader, bottom bakugou, reader is really rough around the edges, backstory for reader, arguing, oral (both receiving),rimming (m!recieving), strap-ons (not a dom thing. no particular power dynamics), prone-bone, dirty talk, size difference (reader is smaller but no specifics), happy endings sort of.

no explicitly gendered terms for reader. usage of words like clit / cunt for readers body parts. reader is implied bisexual.

(also while this fic is certainly intended to be read as masc., it can just as easily be read as completely gn.)

♢ wc ; 10.2k (two days. this is so alarming)

♢ a/n ; happy birthday to my favorite guy. sorry in advance. this fic is so disgustingly self-indulgent. str8 self-inserty ngl. i simply dont want to look at it djskfgdf. this fic is pretty tame tho age gap aside. been a while since ive written for him. title is from "lemme know" by vince staples

♢ synopsis ; who knew that the boudoir pictures you've been getting off too your whole life would look so much better in person?

You’re not convinced there’s any way to get used to getting your lights knocked out. 

At this point, your fighting prowess is good enough that you can dodge swings from even heavy handed opponents. Just agile enough to bob and weave. Your reflexes are good too, from years of getting into with cops or otherwise. So getting absolutely dusted in a single, swift motion is not a frequent occurrence. 

That’s why you are sorely caught off guard when it happens to you in the back of an alleyway, tucked into a corner of Osaka—a long ways from home.

You were fucked from the minute you stepped foot off the train; you knew that instinctively. You haven’t been back in years and it’s not like you’re here for leisure. And sure, you took the job knowing there was some possibility you’d run into some old foes but shit. They couldn’t’ve waited till the week was over? 

3 days in and your life as a runaway comes back to bite you in the ass. Worse, they catch in front of the very storefront you were  working up the nerve to visit at the end of the week. If that old man catches you 1. making a ruckus in front of his cherished bakery and 2. fighting like those “worthless punks” that he openly detests, he’s definitely gonna be on your ass.

It’s amidst conflict, you decide to take the beating and wait it out. Hopefully, whatever higher power is looking over you will let you get out without busting your lip. 

But fuck, this last hit is leaving you worse for wear. You blink your eyes open and you’re still surrounded by him and his bunch of goons. What was this dudes name again…? Aka…Aka-something, you think. Without warning, you get another punch, a clean left-hook  - this time to your side. You cough at the sensation. 

Ah, life is so unfair to you. 

He grabs you by the front of your collar, dragging you upwards until you’re nose to nose. This fuckers breath is hot. Something warm slips down your nose, a rivulet of blood over your lips. You grunt. 

“I should’ve beat the shit out of you the first time.” 

You blink slowly as you regain your vision and sense. Despite many transgressions and altercations, your time in Osaka as a fugitive is notable. This bunch of fiends are a somewhat half-assed motorbike gang. It’s an old story. You stole and ruined  not one, not two, but four of their bikes total. In your defense you were a young kid scrounging for change - hotwiring and deconstructing for parts was always  pretty profitable. And stealing flashy bikes was a hell of a lot easier than scratching up your knees in the scrap yard. 

Ah, there was that other thing too. Why you’re pretty sure this guy has held such a grudge against you for god knows how long. Irritable with a bad sense of self-preservation, you give up on behaving well. 

“Yeah? No need to sulk now, right?” You grin, hands practically itching to throw him onto the ground. A familiar sense of adrenaline burns in your stomach. You should just hit him, but you don’t - instead opting to aim where you know it’s gonna piss him off most “How’s your little sister by the way?” 

Red flashes in his eyes, nose puffed like a bull. Despite your self-satisfaction, you close your eyes and pray to god he doesn’t actually kill you. There’s still some ass you have to tap before you die and it’d be a real shame to die only inches away. You cover your face when his fist winds up. Riling him up was probably a bad move.

Before you get your lights punched out forreal, an angel comes to rescue you. 

“Oi, you fuckin’ punks—go take this shit somewhere else or I’m gonna singe every last goddamn hair on your head.”

You smile, almost drunk on the adrenaline. An angel, indeed. A cursing, blonde, abrasive angel. 

“Oh, shit—we gotta get outta here. That dude Dynamight doesn’t fuck around”

Before you know it, said group of miscreants disperses like a swarm of flies. You find yourself stumbling back against a bunch of crates, back hitting them and sliding down, snagging in your work clothes. The leader says something about “not being finished with you yet,” but you don’t catch it with how your ears are ringing in your skull.

You rub your eyes and groan, seeing double. When you open them again, your favorite blonde old man is standing in front of you. Arms crossed over his chest, sporting that signature glare you’re so fond of. 

Your head is throbbing. Fuck it hurts. 

You only manage one sentence before promptly blacking out. 

“Did I die and go to heaven?”

— 

You wake up in a familiar bed. 

A bed you spent a lot of time resting in when you were out at on the streets here, something like four  years ago now. The memories of the time aren’t entirely pleasant - being a homeless runaway was pretty shit. But meeting your life long hero (and getting your rocks off in his bed) are quite fond regardless. You’re surrounded by nice, white linen sheets that you’re pretty sure cost more than you make in a month. He’s not really much of a flashy character despite his career, but he does have an eye for the finer things. 

You haven’t been back here in a while. Since moving to a different prefecture, you haven’t had any good reason to come see him. This week was a good excuse for just that. Didn’t exactly plan on it happening like this, but you can’t really win 'em all. You’d consider being back here a win on your part regardless. 

The fact that you’re here instead of molding in the pouring rain means that he dragged you up there by himself. A fact you try not to put too much stock into, because he’s still a pro even if he’s retired. What makes it hard not to feel giddy about it is the fact you’re all cleaned up. Bandaged wounds and all, he even took off your shoes. Jeez, he’s gonna kill you one of these days acting so cute. 

You turn to lay on your back, reaching your hand to the ceiling and making a fist. Your knuckles are still pretty bruised up but it’s clear he took some time to check over them. You drop your hand down, squeezing a fist over your chest and sighing. You roll over again. 

“Still giving me so many mixed signals.” You say, half in jest, trying not to be too affected by it “Ah, fuck, this is bad. Gonna end up doing something weird just like old times.” 

Before you commit another act of degeneracy in the bed of your long time crush and childhood hero, you sit up with your legs over the edge. He took your pants off too, a pair of boxers hung low on your hips. Your back is fucking killing you. 

You stand to your feet, scratching the back of your neck as you turn to examine yourself in the mirror. You pull your tank up over your side, a bruise the size of a melon developing on you. It goes from just under your chest all the way down to above your waist. You press your finger to it and wince at the sensation of pain, dull but throbbing so deep in your nerves you can’t help but feel it. 

You examine the rest of you, turning to either side. Work tomorrow is gonna fucking blow, but considering you don’t have any broken ribs - you think it’s not the worst it could be. No stitches either, so a win overall. If the rest of the week passed by silently that’d  be perfect. 

You look around the room for your things. They’re in a neat chair in the corner of the room.  Bakugou’s cat is over there too, asleep on your uniform. You can hear something faint from downstairs, the sound of a T.V. playing. You should drop down there since you’re awake  but you’re reluctant. You wonder if he’ll chase you out since you’re up. If he still has as much of a soft spot for you as he used to, it couldn’t hurt to test your luck. 

You open up the bedroom door and shut it quietly before padding down stairs. 

You end up finding him where you’d expect him.  He’s in the kitchen with an apron on, a fitted gray shirt with a piping bag in hand.

 He looks older every time you see him. His hair isn’t all gray yet but the platinum is starting to turn brilliant white. There’s lines in his face that weren’t always there, even with the scars and fine wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He’s still as jacked as he used to be, but it’s softened up. Mostly it’s his personality, you find, to be mellow. Only someone with patience could take up such a tedious hobby after an entire life out in the field - killing baddies and chasing thugs and whatever other shit hero’s do. 

It’s kind of ridiculous that he’s piping delicate little designs onto some pastries, but unfortunately for you it only adds to his charm. You lean against the wall coming into the kitchen, in the frame. Half-dressed with your lips quirked up in a coy smile. 

“Whatcha makin’ old man?” 

“Don’t break my concentration you noisy brat,” He says straightforwardly “Sit down and shut up.” 

“So cranky,” You muse,  but ultimately comply, sitting at a chair on the kitchen island. Looks like he’s on his last round of whatever he’s making. 

You get by on staring at him. It’s pretty typical for you even now. Sitting here in front of him doesn’t feel as awkward as you expected, which is worth something. When he’s finally finished, he puts the piping bag on the counter and wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. 

“Permission to speak, sarge?” You ask, sarcastically. He frowns at you. 

“Not granted.” 

“Cold as ever huh,” You say, leaning your elbow on the counter - palm on your cheek “Thought distance was supposed to make the heart grow fonder?” 

“That only counts if there’s fondness in the first place.” He says with ease. This time you scoff at him, but he cuts you off before you get a chance to reply “You wake up with any pain?” 

“Worry about yourself, you old bastard,” You say impudently. You see the corners of his lips twitch as he stares at you “‘m fine. Got a nasty bruise on my side but my ribs aren’t broken. Work tomorrow is gonna suck.” 

“That why you’re back here?” 

“For about a week, yeah.” 

“Confidential?” 

You shake your head and lean back. 

“Nah. Bodyguarding some rich dude’s kid. Birthday tomorrow. Spent the first two days being a lousy maid but the pay is good so I can’t complain.” 

“Shit. The party is tomorrow? I have an order for tomorrow.” 

“Guess you’re not senile yet, old man.” 

“Fuck off,” Bakugou says, not bothering to hide to his expression “How old’s the kid?

“A little younger than me I’d guess. 19 or so.” 

“Isn’t this a good opportunity to get laid?” He suggests like he’s purposefully trying to irritate you. He already knows how you feel. Why he insists on pretending is beyond you but it never fucking fails to piss you off. 

You shoot him a glare. 

“Nevermind. You’re definitely senile. Might wanna try some puzzle games to keep your shit in tact before you start peeing in public and buying ten pairs of the same pants.” 

“You’re still just as mouthy as I remember.” 

“Learned from the best.” 

A comfortable silence settles as a weird feeling overtakes you. Fuck, you’re still pining your youth away after all this time. Maybe getting laid would fix some of your issues, but no one is gonna hold a candle to having the real thing. You rub your temple in preemptive apprehension. Bakugou starts working on cleaning up the kitchen, and you resign yourself to thinking about what you’re gonna do. 

It catches you off-guard when he talks to you first. 

“Earlier,” He says, opening up the fridge to rearrange it “Why weren’t you fighting back?” 

You don’t know whether you want to laugh or cry hearing him ask. You don’t feel like softening the blow with your usual shit, so you give it to him straight. 

“It doesn’t suit a tactical genius to play dumb, old man.” 

He stiffens, then sighs. 

“Still hung up on that, huh.” 

Oh now you’re gonna get pissed. 

“Don’t.” You warn, low and indifferent. He sighs, sliding a tray into the fridge and “Don’t piss me off, alright?” 

“Hey. You shitty punk. When are you gonna get it through your thick skull I’m doing this for your fucking sake? Stop—”

“Next time, just leave me in the rain.” You seethe, venom in your voice, making you numb and agitated. He stops, breath hitching “I don’t give a shit if you’re a retired  hero. I’m serious. Leave me out in the alley next time if you’re gonna pull the mentor act again..”

Man this sucks. 

Not like you were expecting some heart warming love story out of a guy like him but still. You didn’t think he wouldn’t budge at all. You can feel yourself getting angry just thinking about it. It might’ve been better not to come. Mentor or not, his whole dismissal never fails to annoy you to your core. You knew that before the week started he might be like this. Maybe if shit went your way - you could’ve had a regular reunion. But now, he just had to see you getting beat up on purpose and he just had to fucking ask about it. 

Seriously, where’s his decorum? Prick. 

“Kid.” 

“Don’t—I needa get outta here. I shouldn’tve—fuck, this blows.”

You stand to your feet before you have a chance to look back. You feel kind of pathetic running away again but it’s still the preferable option to having this fight a second time. It’s something you’re just too sensitive about to deal with head on. Getting rejected twice by the guy you’ve been in love with since you were nineteen is bound to fuck you up abs you don’t have it in you not to drink yourself into a fit. 

So you’re practically running up the stairs, but you can hear him calling behind you. You go into the bedroom to get your things and Bakugou follows you into it predictably, shutting the door.  You turn around to him, annoyed. 

“Get outta my way.” 

“No. Not while you’re all pissy. Gonna get yourself hit by a car.” 

“What’d I just say about cooling it with the mentor act, man?” 

“It’s not a fuckin’—it’s not an act.” He says, with a sigh that almost makes you feel bad, “I haven’t seen you in two years.” 

“Two years is nothing. Old age is making you soft,” You scoff, arms crossed over your chest “But I don’t need your sympathy. My feelings haven’t changed.” 

“Kid.” 

“I’m not a kid anymore, alright? Cleaned my act up, got a job and a license and a place. Haven’t slept in a cell in two years. Been off the streets that whole time just like you told me to do.  The least you could do is take me seriously.” 

“I didn’t want you to do that shit for me. I wanted you to do it for you.” 

“Too bad,” You reply back almost immediately, pinching the bridge of your nose “Save your lecture for the next injured bird you raise up and leave me out of it.” 

“I’m trying to put you on the right path, you ungrateful little jackass. Don’t act like—“

“Spare me the goddamn lecture.” 

There’s a quiet silence befalls the both of you. Shit is going nowhere fast and you both know it, Bakugou as much as you do. Memories of your last argument come back to you almost instantly. 

After you turned eighteen, you were run out of the orphanage you’d spent part of your adolescence at. It’s a pretty regular sob story and you’re quite the sad sap. A dead mom in Mustafu and an absent father. You had a strong quirk, and hell maybe if you grew up different - you could’ve been a hero. 

Shit didn’t  work out that way, so at 11 you were thrown to the wolves. It’s not a fun time to look back on and you figure there’s no use thinking about the past. You did whatever you had to to survive which mostly meant being in and out of orphanages and running away whenever the next worthless schmuck tried to take advantage of you. You always got away by the skin of your teeth, and made money doing whatever you could. If it put food on the table, you’d have probably done it at least once.

It’s something of a cliche, but Dynamight was your idol. You liked that he wasn’t like other heroes. He was crass and hardcore and liked to talk shit. He was cool. You spent a lot of time hanging around T.V. stores watching him through the glass, watching interviews on your first hand-me-down phone. Even though he didn’t really have the tragic backstory, you always thought he was courageous and honest. 

A celebrity crush and idol combined, you stole more of his pin-up magazines than you’re entirely comfortable with. A lot of them you still own, shoved into the back of your closet. 

Once you’d turned 18, your life of petty crime had brought you all the way down to Osaka. It was also the worst year of your life. Social agencies seem to get off on tossing kids into the streets as soon as they can and with a criminal record like yours, there wasn’t a whole lot you could do. 

You spent the first 6 months knee deep in all sorts of shit. That’s when you ran into that biker gang for the first time. You hung around bars and slept with strangers for a place to sleep. A lot of bad shit happened and it wasn’t getting any easier. 

It was a cold, rainy day when you met Dynamight for the first time. The worst day of your life, more accurately. You got mugged and lost your job all in the same few hours and you were pretty sure god himself was spitting at your face. 

But it wasn’t all bad. Cheesy as it sounds, meeting your hero was worth the trouble. 

He was different off camera. That was the first thing you thought when you talked to him. He had a softer way of speaking and he was weirdly perceptive. He didn’t talk much, either - at least not at first. You spent a lot of time in comfortable silence. The first time, you didn’t do much more than share a meal. He asked you about your life. He gave you money for a hotel too. The only thing you could think to do was ask when you could see him again. 

He was 36 at the time. Hadn’t retired yet, either. 

That was the beginning of your long relationship. To this day, you don’t know why he decided to involve himself with you. It’s a mystery you’ve yet to get answers for and maybe you never will. Sure he was a hero, but you’re sure he’s seen a lot worse. Why take pity on you in particular? Whenever you ask him about it, he usually just scoffs. Sometimes he’ll tell you that you reminded him of someone. Who that person could be is lost on you even now.

It was a gradual relationship. You were young and persistent, but he never turned you away either. Sure he’d been a good influence, but stopping a life of crime wasn’t easy. You got arrested for some months after meeting. Bakugou took you in when you were 19 and homeless - let you stay with him. He retired at 37, opening up a bakery in Osaka. The place you’re staying in now is just over it. The same one you spent two years of your life falling in love with the old bastard. 

It was hard not too. You’d admired him for a long time, and he managed to supercede your low expectations. It wasn’t the first time you fell in love but it was definitely the strongest sensation. You tried to ignore it for a while but that didn’t work out for shit either. 

You confessed to him on your 20th birthday. Made a whole big deal with flowers and candles and shit. And again - it’s not like you were expecting romance out of the motherfucker. A flat-out rejection would’ve sufficed. 

But…that wasn’t what you got either. 

The whole reason for your fight wasn’t just because he didn’t have feelings for you. He made it a whole big fucking deal trying to tell you about your feelings. That you needed to get your shit together and grow up and that it was a phase that you’d grow out of. That he “really cares about you, kid” and that he’s just trying to do what was right by you as an adult. 

(“You’ve got no idea what the fuck I’m like either. Been through some tough shit and you latched onto me, alright? So don’t go wastin’ your time.”) 

You don’t really give a fuck about how old he is or about his status. None of it matters to you in the slightest. What was pissing you off all that time was him not taking you seriously after everything you’d been through together. Trying to tell you would fucking grow out of it and that it was a waste. You got into an argument after that, and like you’ve been doing your whole life - you ran away. Back to Shizuoka where you started to get your life together. 

Hit the books and studied your ass off, graduating late from a night school and then picking up a vocational school to fall back on. Some old connections got you a job in security and you bounced from place to place in the meanwhile. You even got your license and bought a beat-up cruiser that you fix-up when you have the chance. 

You grew up so to speak. You came back here trying to prove that. Being dismissed so fucking quickly makes you feel rage beyond reason so you’re trying to step back. Seriously, two fucking years and nothing. Not even a pity “I’m proud of you.” 

“Just admit it,” You sneer, inching closer to him “It’s not about any of that shit, is it?”

He widens his eyes as you stalk towards him.

“The fuck are you—“

“Don’t play stupid. You feel guilty, right? Feel all wound up cause you know it’s not nothing. This isn’t nothing”

This time he goes silent. Fucking bullseye.

“You thought I forgot? How you kissed me all tipsy? Thought I didn’t notice you looking?”

Oh it feels good to let it all out. He shrinks, this time unable to say anything. You both know it’s true. 

“Look—“ He puts hands on your shoulders as you back him into the wall “You’re too fucking young for all this. And about me, you don’t know—”

You lean into him, face inches apart. You already know what he’s gonna tell you, almost word for word. Trying to maintain some innocence you hardly have anything left of. 

“You sure? I heard you through those walls plenty of times. You take dick like a champ.” 

“Shut the hell up. This is for your own good, we can’t do this.”

You can hardly believe he’s still being like this. 

“I used to know you were home. When I brought people over,” You whisper low against his skin. His eyes widen “You heard me too, I’m sure. So, be honest Mr. Dynamight, you think I can’t give you what you want or are you too afraid to find out?”

“You’re such a fucking punk.” He grits out. Still not denying your words. 

“That’s right,” You muse, words heated and heavy “I’m a worthless street punk trying to fuck the old man upstairs ‘cause I don’t know any better.” 

It’s not the first time you’ve kissed Bakugou in your life. The first time was when you came over to his place tipsy. In front of all the other pro-heros you had admired so much. It’s different this time. Not only are you both shockingly sober, there’s an aggression in it that wouldn’t be there before. No matter how begrudging he acts, he’s still kissing you back just as hard as you’d expect him too. His lips are softer than you thought they’d be, arms wrapped around your neck. Fuck he’s still so huge. How much does he work out to still be this jacked?

You can’t even imagine how that’s gonna look when you finally get to fuck him. Shit, just thinking about it sends electricity through your spine. You groan a little into his mouth, your hands tucked on his nape and tugging at the fine hairs. You push your incisors into his lower lip and tug, pulling away just slightly to intake how fucking flushed he is.

 He looks like a pornstar,

You pull away, hand cupping his jaw and forcing his mouth open. You’re gonna lose it if you stare too long. 

“You’re so fucking sexy.” 

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” He mumbles. You laugh lightly at him. 

“Your cocky attitude is pretty sexy too,” You hum, amused. You kiss him one more time, hands reaching for the thickest part of his waist. He’s built like a trunk, but his reactions are almost girlish. The contrast is making you twitch. 

“Can’t say the same for you.” He spits. Your grin splits your face as you pull away from him, teeth nipping at his jaw. You can feel the scruff of his skin, unshaved as you let your tongue travel over it. 

“Aw, what? You don’t think I’m sexy.” You nudge a knee between his legs feeling the half-hard outline of his cock. You shudder “You sure about that?” 

“What the hell are they feeding brats like you?” 

“Liquor and cigarettes.” 

“Since when do you smoke?” 

“Helps me relax after work,” You whisper against the shell of his ear, teeth tugging at the lobe before “I get pretty stressed out. Sure you know something about that.” 

“Hngh, fuck. Fuck you.” 

“Do you even know how? Not like that thing gets much use, huh?” 

You reach down to cup his cock through his jeans, hard against the palm of your hand. He pushes his hips up slightly, sharpened glare. He pants. 

“You sound, shit, so fucking sure.” 

“I am sure. I’m looking to fuck you, not the other way around. Not sure how that’s gonna work since I don’t got my stuff on me.” 

You’re not sure what you’re expecting him to say. This whole thing is feeling like a fever dream you can’t wake up out of. Maybe he’ll give you a suggestion on what else to do.. But instead of that, a blush crawls onto his face. It leaves you floored. He looks away from you. 

“...Your shits still where you left it.” 

It takes you a second to register what he means. When you do, you can feel your brows hit your fucking hairline. There’s no way he’s saying what you think he is. 

“You’re shitting me.” 

“Shut the fuck up. I thought you’d come to pick it back up but you never did, and I went to go move it into some boxes. I didn’t have any reason to toss it.” 

A thought crosses into your mind. 

“Hey. Old man. Where is it?” 

He stares at you. You grasp onto him firmer, making him gasp. You can feel how heavy his cock is in your hands, rubbing it through the cloth of his sweats. You whisper harsh into his ears. 

“If I open your goddamn drawer right now, tell me, am I gonna find my old strap in it? Clean and getting use? You been fucking yourself with the thing I used to lay dick with?” 

When he doesn’t answer, pure glee ignites in you. He can’t answer, apparently. But his face is a harsh, permanent red now and his cock is painfully hard. You want to rail him into the fucking floor just for that. You wouldn’t make up some shit like that in your wildest dreams, so the fact that he’s not denying it makes your insides feel like they’re melting. You rub yourself against him, feeling how slick and hard your clit is just thinking about it. 

“Go lay down.” 

“Are you telling me what to do?” 

You grab his ass as hard as you can before landing a hit on it that makes him nearly topple over. Even though he’s bigger than you in more ways than one, he reacts like that. His anger only lasts so long before it morphs into want. 

“Of course I am. And you’re gonna listen.” 

“What makes you so sure about that, huh? You think you can satisfy me?” 

“You think you’re gonna intimidate me into backing down? After knowing you fuck your tight little ass to the thought of me? Fat chance.” 

“I didn’t say anything like that.” 

You laugh “You implied it. Now go lay down. Where’s your lube?” 

He frowns at you. 

“In the same drawer.” 

You give him a knowing grin to which he shoves your face away. Ultimately though he listens to you, lying and making himself comfortable in the sheet as you grab whatevers in his little sex drawer. He wasn’t kidding about the strap, the lube seated next to it. You grab both quickly and join him, hovering over him. 

You opt not to talk, slowing your pace to appreciate the view. You think he’s says something. Asks about what you’re doing and why - but you tune the words out as you run your hands over the curves of his body. He’s a wall of fucking muscle, his arms especially with a torso just tight enough for you to grab. The fabric of his shirt doesn’t leave much for imagination, but you’re still overwhelmed as you pull it up over his waist, his chest, his arms. The fabric comes loose and it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You’ve got plenty of porn mags in your back pocket and even more boudoir shoots from him that you’ve stared at for hours. 

But seeing it in person is completely different. You can see the rise and fall of his chest - the raised skin of a scar and plenty of over scratches and wounds. Fuck, he is so sexy and you are so drunk on lust you almost feel sick. 

“Somethin’ catch your eye?” 

His voice draws you out of the trance you're in, a lazy smirk spread on his face. You laugh. 

“I get why you’re such a show-off,” This time you lean forward to kiss him - a hand wrapped around his throat, spare going to grab his chest. His tits are soft, they look like hard muscle and sinew but the fat is squished in your palms to perfectly for that“Fuck.” 

“You’re acting like a horny teenager.” He says flatly.  

“Been thinking about fucking you that long, so I guess so.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Why’re you so shocked?” You make work kissing down his neck slowly, down his chest, one tweaking his nipple while your mouth makes work on the other one He swears above you, another wave of heat pulsing in your body “Don’t you hear shit like that all the time?” 

“Shit that feels—I didn’t think you were, hngh—serious.” 

“Obviously not. I still have all your slutty ass photos in my apartment somewhere.” 

He pants. Makes the prettiest fucking sounds for you as you grope and squeeze and touch his body. You bite, hard, into his tits leaving a red mark of teeth that makes him shudder. You need to do it all over again. 

“Haah, fuck. What the fuck?” 

“You’re way sexier in person if that’s worth anything,” You groan, a shudder passing through you “Like way sexier.” 

He looks like he wants to say something to you but the words die in his mouth. You laugh as you peer over him. His reactions are fucking adorable. Face is hot with a flush, watery eyes. Pretty. As much he’s rugged and strong and downright handsome, he is annoyingly fucking pretty. Having him underneath you is making all the power go to your head. Nothing feels more appealing to you right now than the idea of wrecking him completely. 

You kiss down his body until you’re at his waist, taking his pants off unceremoniously. You have half a mind to rip them but you’re sure they’re expensive. He lifts his legs for you anyways, leaving a tight pair of boxers that leave nothing for the imagination at all. 

“What the fuck,” You mumble, getting face to face with it. You pull the boxers off slowly, kissing his hip as you do. His cock pops out slowly as you pull it down. What an asshole. His dick is impossibly big too. A tuft of well trimmed blonde hairs sit neat at the base and the tip is a harsh red. There’s a little drop of pre-cum dribbling down the shaft that makes your brain feel fuzzy. It’s veiny too, tight balls sitting net at the base. 

Another shiver wracks through you, as you reach your hand out to touch it tentatively. He groans sharply. You stick your tongue out, licking up from base to tip. He tastes of salt and skin, but it isn’t bad. You let your tongue lick at the slit, elated looking at him squirm underneath you. 

“Nice dick.” You say back plainly. He snorts. 

“Fuck off.” 

‘’m serious,” You add, letting your eyes lid to look more serious “I don’t blow just anyone.” 

You open your mouth wide, pulling lips over teeth as you ease the tip slowly. It’s hot. Hard as steel and intrusive against your tongue, you can feel it throb. Pulsing relentlessly, you lower yourself onto it slowly - taking as much in as you can. It’s difficult and messy, tongue out to cover as much as you can. You suction your mouth slowly, hollowing your cheeks. There’s something that feels so good about having him in your mouth, something even better about watching the faces of pleasure he makes above you. 

You hum in appreciation and the vibrations prove to be too much as he nearly thrusts his dick into your throat. You brace yourself for it happening again - setting an even pace. He looks good like that, drowned in pleasure and unsure of what to do with himself. You wonder if it’s been a while since he’s acting so fucking cute about it. You assume as much. 

What he said before, you wonder if he was picturing it. If he felt guilty about it. The idea of him jerking off in shame over the thought of his dick in your mouth makes your spine tingle. You cup his balls in your hand, squeezing gently as you get into a steady rhythm. You feel him above you trying to hold it all in, the muscles in his abdomen tightening each time you manage to get down further. It’s hard to breathe, the back of your throat feels narrow. Your skin is on fire. 

“Fuck, fuck—where’d you learn how to—fuck!” 

You feel him getting ready to cum, so you pull off swiftly. A delicious, needy whine comes out of his throat that leaves you mesmerized. 

“What the hell?” He mumbles, heaving. You laugh. 

“Hey,” You hum, lifting his hips until you can see his hole - pink and twitching “Every had someone eat your ass?” 

“Are you offering?” 

“Yeah.” You say back, kissing the insides of his thighs, gripping the muscle “I wanna know if it feels good for you.” 

For whatever reason, this statement in particular makes his skin tinge pink. You hold back a laugh internally. 

“So fucking weird.” 

“Is that a no?” 

“Do whatever you want.” 

You chuckle at that. You sink your teeth into him again, this time working on the build up. His muscles give tension to your incessant biting, hard bone against muscle as you mark up his thick thighs. His ass is nice like you’d expect, tight and muscular. You work your way towards his hole slowly, thumb circling the tight ring of muscle first to gauge his reaction. He shudders, making you hold back a laugh.

“Kinda sensitive,” You say amused. You can feel him glaring without having to look “You can’t cum without it now, right?” 

You’re mostly saying it in jest but the prolonged silence leaves you at a loss for words. Your eyes snap up at him, watching him huff and puff in embarrassment. Heat rolls through your body. 

“It’s not like I fucking can’t ever, alright?” 

“You’re too cute for your own good.” 

“Don’t fucking call me cute you shitty little brat.” 

“But you’re acting kinda adorable, old man,” You say slyly. You stick your tongue out, licking a long stripe against him. He shakes “Blushing up a fucking storm. Been a while?” 

“Not really.” 

“Oh, so it’s just ‘cause it’s me then?” 

He looks like a fucking cherry. You laugh. 

“To think you were so against it. How’d you hide your expressions that long? Did it help you to masturbate to the thought of me fucking you?” 

“Would you shut up?” 

“I don’t feel like it.” 

Before he can scold you any more, you let your tongue slip against the exposed rim. The reaction is tentative at first, slow licks trying to gauge if this is something he’s even into. You do it again and again, burying yourself deep. He makes a noise that you recognize to be a muffled moan. You groan in appreciation, repeating the action - letting yourself dip into the tightness of it. You can feel the muscles of his body go taut as you grip him - hands over the tops of his thighs. The action is more shameless the longer you let yourself indulge.

You’ll have to fuck him open anyways before you actually get on top. You think doing this much will make everything easier. Mostly you’re doing it because you like seeing him embarrassed. The gap in appearance vs expression never gets old. Seeing like this repeatedly proves to be novel and fuck knows if he’s gonna let you do it again any time soon. You’re more than determined to squeeze out every last ounce of his pride. 

You want to see everything. 

And frankly, pleasuring him like this is driving you all kinds of crazy. Not like you’ve ever been a selfish lover. Always aiming to please or whatever. But he’s got such a raw fucking sex appeal looking the way he does it’s making you drip. You’re pretty damn sure you’ve soaked through everything you have on and you’re not sure how much longer you’re gonna make it without touching yourself. 

It’s all material you’re committing to memory, either way. If anyone saw him like this, you’re pretty sure they’d fall head over heels just like you. It’s hard not to give him everything he’s ever wanted Not to want to fuck him within an inch of his life, just to see his big muscular frame curl in on itself. He’d look so good all messed up, all knotted with pleasure. 

You can feel it again this time, another wave of desire that makes his cock twitch. You wrap your finger around the shaft, holding it around his balls so he doesn’t cum without asking you. He lets out a noise of disapproval that you ignore, pulling your mouth away. Pre-cum dribbles out of tip. You use your finger to swipe it up and lick it. 

He looks scandalized. 

“Not bad. You eat clean huh.” 

“You’re going to kill me someday.” 

“You’re too young and too healthy to die.” 

He makes a face of disapproval at you. You toss him the lube before grabbing the strap. 

“Think you can work yourself open for me tough guy? Normally, I’d do it myself. Edge you out nice and slow, get you all soft. But I’m dying to fuck you already and I wanna make you cum on my cock.”

He looks at you exasperated. 

“Where’d you learn to talk like that?” 

“Casual sex and porn mags. You don’t like it?” 

“It makes you sound your age.” 

“Want me a little more suave? Tell you that I’m gonna make love to you?” 

He snorts. You take off your boxers and sit up on your knees as Bakugou opens the lube in his hands. You watch him idly, mostly focusing on wiggling yourself in the harness and making sure it’s comfortable enough to fuck in. 

He takes a deep breath, and you watch him reach between his legs. How it’s difficult since he’s so muscular. You almost want to help him, but instead you get between his legs again. Stood on your knees with a heavy bit of silicone weighing you down. You connect the tip to his, watching him push a finger in slowly. 

“Not if you say it like that.” 

“Having trouble there?” 

“You piece of shit.” 

“A worthless punk or something. C’mon, just say it. Ask me to finger your ass so I can fuck you. Or you want me to say something more delicate?” 

“Fuck, c’mon just, help me already.” 

“What’s the magic word?” 

“....Please, you worthless asshole.” 

You grin, grabbing the lube from the bed and squeezing it into your fingers. You laugh, leaning over him. 

“Got some manners left in you after everything, huh?”

You pull him down towards him by the waist, pulling his legs up. You kiss the inside of his knees, nudging his legs apart as you position your hands, warming the lube between your fingers. He’s surprised by your strength, but you don’t do anything but grin. 

“Keep your legs up for me, yeah?”

He scoffs but doesn’t go against your will. He looks good waiting for you like that, so you don’t take too much time trying to split him open. His hands are thicker than yours, so your first finger slides in like it’s nothing. He’s soft and hot on the inside, and the way he accommodates you lets you know this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

It doesn’t irritate you as much as you think it should. Maybe you’re a little screwed up to think it’s sexy but the idea of him getting fucked at any point is turn on. Once you’re down to the knuckle and you can pump in and out of him easily, you use a second finger to stretch him further. There’s more resistance so you slow, feeling up against his walls for the place you know it’ll feel good. 

You know you find it because his whole body tightens up in front of you. His eyes shoot open and he’s all breathy and fucked out. You relish in it. 

“Right there?” 

He must be feeling good with how little he’s combating you. 

“Y-yeah.” 

You lean forward to plant a kiss on him again but this time it’s tender. He must feel really good because he wraps his arms around your neck to keep you there. You moan in surprise and when you pull back he looks hazed out of his mind.

“Didn’t know you could make a face like that.” You say, amused. He frowns at you. 

“I’m not happy about it either.” 

A laugh falls out of you and you catch the faintest whisper of a smile on his lips that has you kissing the corners of his mouth. He catches himself before he leans into it too easily, but you notice before he can shy away. 

“Looks like I’m making your heart flutter. Forget the ethics for a little and let me.” 

“I should toss you out of a fucking window.” 

“You’re not gonna though.” 

This he doesn’t reply to. You slip a third finger while he’s distracted and he gasps. This time he’s almost stretched completely. You give him a minute to breathe, swallowing up the little sounds he makes with a hearty grin. It’s so fucking good just doing this. Incredible. Way better than you could’ve ever imagined. 

“I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you,” You say, bemused. He’s delirious enough to laugh. 

“The stamina of youths scares the hell outta me.” 

“I don’t wanna hear it from a retired pro.” 

This time he grins. You find yourself pleased with the development. 

He’s stretched now, and restless. You pull your hand away and rub the remaining slick onto the tip of your cock, giving him a look. 

“Do you know how you want me?” 

“It’s your fantasy fuck,” He says, semi-sarcastically “Do whatever you want.” 

You laugh, tapping his ass lightly. 

“Turn over and stick your ass up a little.” 

“Don’t wanna see my face?” 

“Wanna see how you swallow my cock up like it’s nothing, more like.” 

He curses under his breath. You feel accomplished. He turns over just like you’ve asked him too and fuck the sight of him is way too much. You can’t get over it. He’s big and strong and trembling with desire and it’s driving your sex-drive as high as it can possibly go. You move so your knees are on either side of his thighs. Leaning forward, you lick up from the small of his spine all the way up his shoulder, before sinking your teeth in the junction in between. 

He groans underneath you, and your hands make themself present around his hips. Most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen in your life. The fucking arch and the scars and the ruggedness of all of it. 

“You’re damn gorgeous.” You say, with utter and sincere appreciation “It’s driving me fucking crazy.” 

“Save your smooth talk.” 

“I’m bein’ serious,” You say, pulling his ass apart with your palms “Like. Woah.” 

He snorts “Real poetic.” 

“I barely graduated school, asshat.” 

In the midst of your bantering, you let the tip of your cock slip into him slowly. It steals the words of reply out of his mouth in an instant. You can feel him melt underneath you. At the intrusion, at the feeling. At every single sensation. You feel the phantom of it in your spine. Like there’s fireworks in all your nerve-endings, just watching how his ass looks around it. Just the tip with no movement, no adjusting. 

He’s silent, shuddering - holding onto a pillow. A bead of sweat rolls down his spine. He has little dimples in his back. You groan. 

“Shit. Look at you.” 

The praise seems to make him keen. He’s always been one to like the attention. You roll your hips, fucking another inch into him agonizingly slow. He moans like he’s deflating, breathing ragged and voice raw. You rock back and forth until there’s no longer anything to resist, then push in and in and in. 

Once you bottom out with his ass against your pelvis and your hips on the back of his thighs, you lean forward and press your weight on top of him. You think he’s expecting something else, because he seems surprised. But you let yourself weigh upon him, then with a heavy grunt - cup his jaw and tilt his head to kiss him. 

“You like that?” 

“Shut up.” 

“C’mon. Be honest. You look like you like it. Ears turning so red.” 

He groans. 

“In your fucking dreams.” 

“Still not gonna budge huh?” You say. anchoring yourself at his sides with a deep sigh “So stubborn.” 

When you feel stable enough to move, you don’t hesitate to fuck him with all of the expertise you have. You give it to him in just the right way, measure up to where he needs you but don’t give in quite enough. It’s a strenuous affair but you keep it at. A steady pace that’s hard and deep but not good enough to make him cum. Something to leave him on the edge, you fuck him just like that. The sound of skin hitting skin and short, broken moans echo in the room. 

You focus on taking him like that, making sure each and every thrust is precise and calculated until he gets where you want him to be. You can practically feel when it’s starting to really get to him. When he can no longer hold himself up, so resigns to smushing his face against the pillow and going limp. You lean up, moving so you can pull his hips back with you - hovering off the bed on his knees instead of laying on his stomach. 

This time you reach deeper. His whining gets louder, more in tune with everything. You laugh as you reach around him, hands gripping at the base of his cock. It takes patience to unravel him like this, matching your hands to your movements until everything is in a slow, steady synchronization. Fast but not fast enough. Hard, but not hard enough. Close but not close enough. 

He lets out a heady groan that reverberates in his chest, opening his mouth finally. 

“C-c’mon. Just. C’mon.” 

“Aw what?” You say, rolling your hips up against him, where you know he wants you most “What is it, hm? Did you want something?” 

“Fuck. Just. Fuck me already.” 

“I am fucking you, though?” 

“You know what I mean!” 

“Oh, you want me to fuck you harder? Make you cum? I thought you didn’t like it.” 

He groans, dropping against the pillows again. 

“I didn’t say that. C’mon just. Please.” 

His voice is hoarse when he asks. You laugh against his shoulders, listening to his requests. Giving it to him how he needs it. Harder and a little deeper, you can feel it now. How you knock into the place inside him that leaves him trembling and shaking. You can read his cues now, when he starts getting close. But of course it’s not gonna be that easy. 

You keep the pace stand, putting your hand on the tip of his cock. You rub your thumb over the slit and hold it there. He sucks in a breath, whining a little. 

“Wanna cum so bad?” You offer, mouth twisted in a feral grin “Tell me you love me.” 

This knocks the wind out of him. 

“What?” 

“Say you love me with all your heart and I’ll let you cum.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking with me.” 

You fuck into him hard right where he needs you. He moans. 

“Nah. My fantasy fuck, remember? Right now, we’re playing love birds.’ Like’ works too, I guess. If you’re too scared,” You half-way mock, starting a pace now that borders cruel “Now say it nice and sweet and I’ll let you cum.” 

“You’re such a—agh, fuck,” He shudders against the bedsheets, repeating himself as you pound him. It’s easy to piston your hips. He’s so sensitive to begin with that it doesn’t take much “You’re insane.” 

“C’mon, old man. Confess your feelings to me like we’re sweethearts.” 

“In your dr—oh, shit.” 

“What was’at? Did you wanna say something?” 

You can practically feel him turn it over in his head. You’re mostly doing it to mess with him. Punishment for all of his beating around the bush and bullshitting. Getting to fuck him has been more than enough. 

So you’re not expecting him to stop you. To turn over flat on his back and lay with his legs spread and wrap his arms around your waist and stare at you through hazy, flushed eyes. This time you’re really looking at him. At the lines on his face and the scruff and an expression torn with time and desire and lust. Your heart nearly falls out of your fucking ass when he wraps his arms around your neck, palming your nape and pushing your foreheads together. 

When you’re nose to nose, he looks very serious all of a sudden. You swallow something in your throat, unsure of what else to do. 

“Gonna say this one fucking time, only. So listen up cause I’m not gonna repeat myself.” 

He’s got to be fucking with you. 

“Love you..I love you or whatever.  But that doesn’t mean—” 

Before he can finish his sentence, you put your hands up under his knees and fuck him for all you’ve got. Half-way as revenge for the shitty confession and half-way because if you think too long about what he’s saying you’re pretty sure you’re going to collapse. 

He sounds good under you, as you fist his cock and laugh in absolute fucking delight. You stare at him hard. At his fucked out expression. You’re gonna cuss him out as soon as this shit is over, you swear. What an asshole. 

“O-oh, oh fuck, I’m gonna, g-gonna cum.” 

You goad him cause you aren’t sure what else you should do at this point. 

“Yeah? Gonna cum on my cock? Show it to me. Let me see what you look like.” 

The words are enough to push him over the edge. He gets unraveled right before your eyes, his whole body pulled like a bow before losing all the tension. You can feel his cock twitching hotly in your palms. Thick strings of white covering your fingers as you fuck him through it. He sounds so perfect like that, so fucking good for you. You can feel your whole body ready to give out just watching. 

When Bakugou finally finishes, he releases you from his grip. You pull out only seconds after, staring at his flushed state in wide-eyed disbelief. 

“Were you serious?” You ask, because it’s the only thing you can think to ask. He sighs, tired. 

“Yeah.” 

Where the hell is this dudes class? 

“Fuck.” 

He laughs, laid down before poking his head back up to stare at you. 

“You didn’t cum yet.” It’s more of a statement than a question. You shake your head. 

“Not yet. I can take care of it.” 

He clicks his teeth.

“No way. Come ‘ere.” 

You undo the harness of your strap before crawling over to where he’s laid. You end up standing on your knees. He props himself up on his elbows, and you look down at him absolutely mesmerized. He crinkles his nose at you. 

“That fucking lovesick look on your face is gross.” 

“Been like this for four years.” 

He flushes. 

You stand in front of him, bare on your knees. He reaches forward, brushing the hair over the hood of your clit gently.

“You’re so wet.” He murmurs. You laugh. 

“Yeah, no shit.” You say, too tired to do much arguing “Lemme borrow your mouth,” 

He snorts “Got it.” 

You fist your hands into his hair and tug, bringing his open mouth to your clit with a sigh. Your cunts sort from being pushed into and neglected. Even the barest brush of his mouth is making you shiver. Bakugou must know a little something about this, because he latches onto you without thinking twice. The sudden added pressure has heat building your stomach at the speed of light. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so on edge in such a short period of time. 

Plus looking down at him while you hump against his face is enthralling. 

“You’d make a cute little wife, old man,” You say thoughtfully, dull pleasure aching as you tuf his hair at the root “You can cook, clean, bake and you know how to use your mouth fucking perfectly.” 

He gives you a look of exasperation, but the warmth down his neck tells you he likes it. You laugh, throwing your head back. The visible sight of arousal flowing down his chin and making his face messy is making you more horny than you know what to do with. You don’t have the energy to cum more than once but you’re sure when you wake you you’re gonna be horny all over again. 

You try not to think too hard about it as you feel the knot in your stomach grow tighter before unraveling all at once. Your insides are hotter than lava, the entire lower half convulsing as the strength in your thighs and legs gets lost gradually. Bakugou sucks until you’re nearly overstimulated, and you have to pull him away before it really gets to be too much for you. 

“You taste good.” He says thoughtfully. You laugh. 

“Got plenty more if you want it.” 

“We should clean up.” 

“You’re not kicking me out?” 

“I’m not a villain, damn it.” 

“You feel like one for that loser ass confession, but I’ll let it slide. I need a fucking nap though. Getting my ass kicked and having incredible sex in the same day is exhausting.” 

He laughs as you lay down besides him, sitting up. Even in your half exhausted state, you catch the feeling of his lips on your forehead. 

“Get some rest you brat.” 

__ 

You wake up in a familiar bed. 

If the sore feeling of laying pipe wasn’t in your hips, you’re pretty damn sure you just woke up out of a dream. What the fuck just happened to you? Your back and body is sore, but you’re clean like you’ve been wiped down. You’re stark naked though. 

The idea that he could give you a wipe but not dress you makes you laugh. When you sit up, all of your clothes are sitting still on a chair. There’s some new clothes on top of them though, his clothes. You stand to your feet, your back cracking as loud as possible as you examine the wounds. You have some hickies now (when the hell did he leave those) and when you turn there’s some scratches on your back. You feel self-satisfaction as you get dressed. You should hit the showers when you feel less lethargic. 

When you’ve reconciled with the fact you didn’t just conjure up what happened a few hours ago, you trek back into the living room. You find Bakugou where you expect him, bent over the stove making dinner. You lean on the frame of the door with a grin before walking over to him. 

You don’t hesitate in sliding your hands on his waist under his tank top. Better, he doesn’t react like you’ve shot him dead. A laugh blooms in your chest. 

“Morning grandpa.” 

“You fucking—if you don’t sit down.” 

You snort, but sit yourself down at the counter like you did a few hours ago. 

“Whatcha making for dinner.” 

“Grilled fish and rice. There’s sides.” 

“Sounds healthy.” 

His ears turn red. 

‘“You have work tomorrow but you need to recover.” 

You couldn’t smile more if you fucking tried. 

“We gonna talk about what just happened,” You ask, pouring yourself a glass of water as you sit down. You take a long sip “Or are you gonna pretend to keep washing rice?” 

He sighs, putting down the dry rice and the cup to measure. He almost looks furious, but he’s too cute for it to mean anything to you. You grin. 

“Hey. Fucking. Look. Alright. You’re way too fucking young. I’m old enough to be your father a-and you only just barely got your life together, so yes I told you whatever I told you. But no fucking funny business until you’re at least 25 and your brain is developed more than a peanut.” 

You nod.. 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kinda a coward old man?” You say thoughtfully. He looks pissed again but it’s too funny for you to care “What’s funny business? Sex? Cause if it is, I’ve got bad news.” 

“We just. We have to be careful.” 

“So I can kiss, hug, fuck you in private but keep it outta the press?” 

He stares at you, scratching his neck. “Yeah. Basically.” 

You give him a thumbs up, grabbing a snack off the tray on his table. Chips, the fancy kind. They’re good. 

“Got it. Can I stay over? I don’t feel like driving down to my hotel this late.” 

“....You’re not pissed?” 

You laugh. 

“Are you kidding? I wasn’t mad the first time cause you rejected me, I was mad cause you were acting all fucking ethical and holier-than-thou. I figured it was gonna be something like that anyway. And I’m not much of a romantic, so dates and shit are whatever to me,” 

“Forreal?” 

“Yeah. Having sex and staying over to hang out for a while is cool. It was your fat head worrying about it, not mine. Did Mr. Deku managed to talk you out of your crisis while I was asleep?” 

He gives you a look. Bullseye again. 

“You two keep in touch?” 

“He’s a good dude and he buys me a meal when I’m short on change. Jealous?” 

He turns away from you before answering. His ears are burning. You feel your heart squeeze. 

What shit taste you’ve got being head over heels for this old bastard, you wonder. 

“Just shut up and eat your chips.” 

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”

[lostfirefly]

They say it's your birthday, we're going to have a good time

I'm in a pretty good mood today, and finally finished Buggy's birthday fic. I'll be honest, I originally planned a different scenario, but it was rewritten. We're waiting for another birthday fic with Buggy and my OC. English isn't my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Buggy and F/GN Reader - Masterlist is here.

Description: Buggy's birthday. You want to cheer him up.

Words: 2369

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots

The title is taken from “Birthday” by The Beatles.

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“That was great, pumpkin.” Buggy flopped down on the bed, breathing heavily. 

“A sexy present for the birthday boy.” You curled up in a ball and snuggled close to his chest. 

“I'm ready to receive gifts like that every day.” He hugged you tighter.

“How do you feel yourself today?” You started stroking his hand.

Buggy exhaled and mumbled in your hair. “Old.”

“You're not old, you're only 38.” You took his hand and squeezed it.

“Yes? What have I accomplished by the time I'm 38?” Buggy looked at you with sad eyes.  “I didn't find the treasure. Fucking little kid in a straw hat beat me again. He's annoying as hell. I want to kill that little shit myself.”

“You will kill him, my love. You will.” You pecked him on his nose. “But today, we don't remember that bastard. Today is the birthday of my favorite Captain Buggy the Clown! And I've got a few presents for you!”

“Wasn't morning sex a present?” Buggy giggled idiotically.

“No, asshole. Wait here!” You threw on a robe and ran to the closet. 

“Why are you wearing a robe, Y/N? I like your naked body!”

“Shut up!” You ran back and jumped on the bed. “So, this’s my gift number one.” You held out the box in his hands. 

“Gift number two.” Buggy showed you two fingers. “Don't discount sex, baby.”

“Open the present, please!” You pecked him on his lips. “Happy birthday, my clown! I love you!”

“Thanks, pumpkin. Okay, let’s see…” Buggy shook the box and opened the lid. “New brushes?”

“Yeah.” You took the brush and twirled it in your hands. “Your brushes have seen better days. I stole them when we were on the island.”

“What did you do?” Buggy looked at you with round eyes and started laughing. “You stole them? For me? I don't know how to react to that statement, baby. I'm either shocked or flattered. My girl's turning into a thief, huh?”

“That's your bad influence, jackass.” You pecked him on his lips again. “There's another gift in there. It's a box in a box. Open up! Open up!”

“All right!” Buggy opened another lid. “New gloves?”

“Yeah. Your old ones are worn out too, and I'm having a hard time sewing them up. Oh! There's another present in there.” You've been chewing on your finger waiting. 

“You’re spoiling me, baby. Okay! What have we got here?” Buggy pulled out a braided leather bracelet in the shape of bones. 

“I made it especially for you!” You took the bracelet in your hands and tied it on his hand. “And you see the ties here. Look, there's your Jolly Roger on the ends.”

“You made this for me?” Buggy rose his hand to have a closer look. 

“Of course I made! You'll wear it and remember me all day long.” You kissed his temple. “Okay! I have another present, but it's in the kitchen.”

“Oh, no, Y/N. I don't want to get up. I don't want anything at all.” Buggy flopped down on the bed and covered himself with a blanket. 

“But why, baby? It's your birthday!” You started stroking his body. 

“So what?” Buggy mumbled from under the blanket. “I don't want anything. I want to lie like this all day. I'm a worthless clown. And this worthless clown wants to spend his birthday under the blanket. I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Go away!” 

“Oh, no! That's not gonna work! You put your pants on right now, and we're going to the kitchen. Where's my fun-loving, booze-swilling Buggy gone?” You lifted the blanket and looked at his displeased face.

“He's still in his 37s.” Buggy lowered the blanket. “If we don't have sex again, I'm going to sleep.” 

“Get up!” You grabbed his legs and pulled him off the bed. 

“What the fuck, pumpkin? What are you doing?!” Buggy fell to the floor with a crash. “Fuck, my back!”

“Put your pants on. We're going to the kitchen.”

Buggy rolled his eyes, growled, and reluctantly started to get dressed. He was grumbling the whole time. As he put on his pants, while he put on his socks and t-shirt. Buggy mumbled he didn't want anything and asked to be left alone. You pecked his cheek to cheer him up, took his hand and dragged him into the kitchen. You opened the door with a wide smile and... there was no one in the kitchen. 

“Bunch of idiots!” You muttered under your breath

“Did you bring me to see an empty kitchen? I’m fucking impressed, Y/N. Wow!” Buggy clapped his hands. 

“No! There was supposed to be a surprise!” You look around the room. 

“You mean the surprise where the idiots jump up from the fucking tables and yell "surprise"?” Buggy placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah. I don't know where everybody went.” You glanced at him and was about to cry. 

“Honey, they're still here.” 

“Where?”

“I see Mohji's head ri-i-i-ght there.” Buggy pointed his finger at the table. “Watch and learn how to do it.” He blew his whistle and a sleepy crew came out from behind the tables. 

“Are you kidding me? What the fuck, guys?” You clasped your hands.

“Sorry, Y/N.” Mohji rubbed his eyes. “We were waiting for you and fell asleep.” 

“Assholes!” You stomped your foot. “You didn't have to do much. Wait a little while, jump up from the table and shout happy birthday! Is it too much I asked you?”

The team shrugged and scratched their heads in sync. “Oh, right! Happy birthday, our incomparable Captain Buggy! You are our sun, sea and stars. We wish you-- Well, all the best.”

You and Buggy were both squinting at that bad show. 

“I can't, Y/N.” Mohji became nervous. “You and the Captain look at me with the same expression, I'm frightened.”

“Get outta here!” You said angrily, but nobody moved. “Are you kidding me, right?” 

“Watch and learn again, pumpkin!” Buggy ruffled your hair. “Hey, you, fucking fat lazy sea rats. Let's all get out of here.” He barked at everyone and the whole crew quickly ran out of the kitchen. 

“I'm sorry, please.” You looked at him with sad eyes. “That was supposed to be nice.”

“Forget it, as you said, they are bunch of idiots.” Buggy plopped down on the chair. 

“But we're still celebrating your birthday, my love!” You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him on his cheek. 

“Can I go back to bed? I want to celebrate it there.” Buggy rolled his eyes. 

“No! I've got a present for you. Fi-i-irst!! That's a beer!” You ran to the fridge and took his favorite beer. “Tw-o-o-o-o! It's this deliciousness.” You put a huge cake on the table. “Happy birthday, my favorite Captain! The most fearsome and fearless Captain of all the seas! The one who's going to be king of the pirates!” You noticed how Buggy looked at the cake in surprise. “What is it? You don't like it?”

“Are you kidding me?” Buggy twisted the plate in different directions. “It's a cake shaped like a pile of hot dogs! How did you sneak it in here?”

You blushed and giggled. “I didn’t sneak it! I've been baking it for two days. It's got sponge cake, cream and nuts inside. Just the way you like it.”

“Looks yummy! But can I go back to bed after cake?” 

“Stop grumbling, Buggy!” You stroked his cheek. “We're celebrating your birthday! Today, you're resting and doing nothing.”

“That's why I want to go to bed, Y/N!” Buggy glanced at you. “To rest and to do nothing. But we can relax together, if you know what I mean.”

“I always know what you mean, baby.” You tapped him on the shoulders. 

“Pumpkin, I wanna go to bed!” 

“No!” You put some candles in the cake. “Here! Make a wish and blow out the candles.”

Buggy looked at you, rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine! I wish to be the king of the pirates, I wish that little boy and his hat out of my life. I wish to sail the seas till I'm old.”

“Hey!” You put your hands on the table and placed your chin on the palms. “Where am I on that wish list?”

“All right! I wish to be the king of the pirates, I wish that little boy and his hat out of my life. I wish to sail the seas till I'm old with Y/N. Is that okay?” Buggy blew out the candles and you clapped happily.

“Yes! Try it!” You put the fork in Buggy’s hands, he carefully broke off a piece with the fork and put the cake in his mouth. A small smile appeared on his face and he broke off another piece. “Like it?”

“Very tasty, Y/N! No one had baked me cakes before.” He took your hand and pulled you onto his lap. “Can the old loser go to bed now?”

“You’re not old. And not a loser.” You ate a piece of cake from Buggy’s fork. 

“C'mon!” He took another piece of cake. “This fucking kid and his red-haired friend are probably already worth a million of money, and I can’t even add a couple of hundreds to my wanted poster.”

“What are you talking about?” You took a sip of his beer. “The marines are already giving you much more money for your head than when we met. And I'm sure they will give even more soon. Because you’re amazing!” You kissed him on his cheek. “Oh! You know, I know how to cheer you up!”

“Are we going to bed?” Buggy took a sip and ate another piece of cake. 

“No, you fool. Grab the cake, the booze and let's go.” 

Buggy shrugged, took everything with him, and you dragged him into the ship's large storage room. Inside, everything was littered with barrels, hay and bags, but thanks to the large windows, the room was not dark. 

“Put everything on this barrel!” You looked at Buggy, who was taking a bite of the cake without a fork. “Seriously? You just eat like a pig.”

“I'm a pirate, I don't know about manners. And your cake is delicious.” He walked closer to you and put his hand on your waist. “Nuts. Tasty!”

“You're covered in cake, my Buggy the Clown.” You wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Wait here! I’ll be back.” You ran away somewhere for a minute and quickly came back. Buggy continued to eat the cake with his hands and sip his beer. “Look what I’ve got!” You handed the leaflets into his hands.

“If this is such a fucking twisted way to humiliate me, then you got it, pumpkin. Why did you bring them here?” Buggy was shaking posters of Luffy and Shanks in his hand. 

“We're going to have fun now! These two assholes hurt my boyfriend. We're going to hurt them now.” You pecked him on the cheek, grabbed the posters and pinned them to the board. "We'll throw darts at them and tell why we hate them." 

“Are you okay in your head?” Buggy chuckled. 

“Completely. I won't let anyone hurt my baby.” 

“And exactly for this, I love you so much, Y/N!” Buggy stood up, groaning, and came closer to you. “I'm the first to throw at their posters.”

“It is your birthday today.” You gave him another peck on the cheek and ran to drink a beer. “And let’s start our private party!!”

“Okay. I hate you, the guy in the hat and that red-haired guy because you're always fucking positive!” Buggy threw a dart and hit Luffy in the hat. “Fuck, yes!”

“Woohoo!!!” You happily picked up the bottle and kicked your legs. “Let's take one more shot!” 

“Okay! I hate you for stealing my map!” Buggy threw the dart again and hit Luffy in the nose. “Take it, asshole!” 

“Oh, Buggy! Can I try to kick them?!” He beckoned you with his hand and placed the dart in your palm. “I’m about to throw it at the redhead. I hate you for hurting my Captain!” You threw a dart at Shanks' poster and hit him in the forehead.  “Yes, fuck!” You high-fived Buggy with both hands. 

“Now it's me again! I hate that you tricked me with the fucking map when we were in Marineford.” Buggy threw a dart. 

“Yes! Red-haired asshole!” You took a sip of beer. “Me now!!” You took the dart. “I hate you, hat boy, that you're the reason Buggy ended up in jail.”

Buggy cleared his throat. “Baby, technically…”

“Doesn't matter! It's his fault anyway!” You threw the dart and hit Luffy in his neck. “I won't even apologize.” You placed the dart in Buggy's hand. “Your turn.”

“Because of you I was struck by fucking lightning!” He hit in Luffy's forehead. “Yeah! I’m still good!” 

“Of course, you're! Can I throw it again?” Buggy took your hand, gave you the dart and kissed you on the top of your head.

You rubbed the dart with your palms. “Oh! I know! You are both so correct and honest. Look at us from your posters. Well, like real gentlemen. I hate gentlemen!” You threw a dart and hit Shanks in the eye. “Yes!” 

“This is my girl!” Buggy hugged you and kissed your head again. “Thank you!”

“Are you feeling better now?” You hugged him around his waist. 

“Oh, definitely!” 

“I propose to continue our “I hate you” sheet!” You looked into his eyes.

“I don't mind. But first…” Buggy pulled you closer and kissed you on the lips.

“What are you doing?” You moved your head a little. “Somebody might come here!” 

“And? Fuck it. It's my birthday today and I want another gift! This game has me a little turned on.” Buggy threw you over his shoulder and carried you to the hay. “We've never done this in the hay before, right? Let’s try!”

“BUGGY!!!! Let me go!” You started kicking your legs. 

“I can not hear you, Y/N!! I’m an old, deaf clown.” 

“Damn you, Buggy. Okay. Let's try it in the hay. Happy birthday, jerk!”

[sitp-recs]

12 fics I’ve enjoyed recently…

Last year I did a short-lived “weekly rereads” series to spread love for old favourites that kept me afloat when reading new things became a struggle. I was looking for ways to stay active and contribute to the fandom with minimal effort, and I found solace in revisiting fics that I hold dear in my heart. This year, spring brought the @dronarryfest to pull me back into reading mood. Fandom is starting to speak to me again after a very long time, and the euphoria hit me with inspiration to write this short rec post for my recent reads. I am joining the party a bit late but on the off chance these escaped your radar, here are some fics I’ve really enjoyed during my catch up moment in February/March, and a few I’m planning to dive into next. It’s so nice to be able to write comments and rec blurbs again! What have y’all been reading lately?

HP fics:

Wet Leather by @lqtraintracks (E, 492 words) - Harry/Sirius

I live for LQT’s rare pair drabbles especially when it’s for my beloved Sirry because nobody writes this ship like them. The A+ characterization always takes my breath away: so much tension laced with yearning, it feeds my horniest deepest Sirry cravings tripping between guilt and absolution. This short is full of heat, want and sweet indulgence, with the usual tenderness underneath driving me up the wall and making me soft and hot for these two. Also, “my drenched little pup” excuse sir I’m??? 🥵

Nightswimming by @sweet-s0rr0w (M, 5k) - established Drarry, Dron, implied Dronarry

One of my instant faves this year, what a masterclass in tension building! As always, I’m so impressed by sweets’ short form. The brilliant banter and relentless sexual tension put me at the edge of my seat praying for MOAR. The atmosphere is so captivating I could feel the temptation on my fingertips, and have I even mentioned Ron’s spot on voice?? Superb bromance dynamics, late night drive aesthetics, an impressive amount of characterization within 5k and a teasing ending full of promise, come and feast!

Borrowed Time by @the-starryknight (E, 7k) - Dron + Harry

Another delicious Dronarry treat, now showcasing established Dron, body swap, the sexiest UST you’ll see today and an incredibly satisfying payoff. Once again Starry delivers peak romance with their “hot & sweet” trademark mixing compelling dialogue, witty flirting and uncomplicated smut full of want but also trust, understanding and intimacy. Forget the maddening anticipation, the domestic slice-of-life tone made me swoon - the characters are so clearly fond and familiar with each other it’s only natural for them to come together like this.

Heart to Hearth by @jtimu (E, 7k) - Drarry

This fic is a breath of fresh air and I still remember how excited I felt reading it for the first time. I’ll never get tired of seeing Harry get utterly horny confused at an attractive and carefully guarded Draco being competent at his odd yet surprisingly fitting job. Repairman Draco is indeed mouthwateringly efficient with his long hair and coveralls, and their tentative and awkward dynamics are just excellent. Love the subtle humour, the bits of repair magic theory and the earnest slow burn, with a smooth progression towards deliciously indulgent smutty times. Amazing concept, perfectly executed.

Long Haul by @wolfpants (E, 8k) - Drarry

Wolf is killing it lately, loved their Dronarry but this fic stole my heart with the long haul love premise. The image of their encounter - Harry holding his passport between his teeth, Draco with Muggle headphones around his neck - stayed with me the whole night. Harry loves flying and connects with NYC for the same reasons I do, so this fic spoke to me in a very personal way. I love everything from the title and bold flirting to the scorching hot and intimate smut with smooth daddy Draco! Not too long ago I prompted Florence’s “End of Love” for Wireless - unknowingly, Wolf wrote the NYC fic I’ve dreamed about when I thought of it 💜

Permanent by @citrusses (M, 14k) - Drarry, Dron

I’ve always been drawn to time travel and Citrus set up a thrilling, mysterious mood that’s impossible to resist. I was deeply intrigued not only by the plot but also by the complexity of these characters - a belligerent Harry with daddy issues and a saviour complex (yes pls!), edgy and focused Hermione, perceptive and kind Ron charming his way inside our hearts, and a lonely Draco trying to make sense of the plot, handle his feelings and find his foot in the post-war world. I loved being inside his mind - such brilliant characterization - and seeing the golden trio through his eyes. This fic has a wistful, melancholy tone mirroring Draco’s longing for Harry that hit me right in the solar plexus. It is also a great Ron study, and I’ll admit that made me fall even harder for Dron. Finally, it is tender and devastating as all good things are. A brilliant read and an instant favorite.

Dick Chicken by @oknowkiss (E, 15k) - Harry/Draco/Ron

Believe me when I say this is the Seinfeld AU you didn’t know you needed because you don’t wanna miss out on this. Hands down one of the most entertaining fics I’ve read in a while, this is hysterical funny, witty and steamy. The perfect mix of crack-y and casually horny vibes with a quirky Draco, a lovable and relatable Harry, and a hot Ron who’s 100% there for the ride, this chaotic trio will pull you into an unhinged journey and you’re gonna thank them for that 🤣 superb Harry pov, a warm and playful atmosphere that feels intoxicating, and a glorious shower scene followed by a fake orgasm competition. You’re heard it right. Run don’t walk!

Knot Your Average Coworkers by @thecouchsofa (E, 22k) - Drarry

Office romance is my kryptonite and I couldn’t stop giggling as I made my way through this wolf!Draco treat. I was instantly smitten with the charming characters, the delightful silly knotting jokes 🌝 and the good old oblivious friends/coworkers to lovers dynamics that always gets me. Pining Harry wooing Draco through cooking is SO my jam, the perfect mix of sweet comfort & unbearable UST that fills me with joy and anticipation while also wanting to smash their heads together “kiss kiss fall in love” style. Yum!

Cargo Case by @sleepstxtic (E, 23k) - Drarry

This was such an exciting ride, I love the inherent yearning & intimacy of break up/make up stories and this case fic kept me engaged and rooting for Drarry (and Pansy/Parvati!) the whole time. It was wonderful to see them not being antagonistic after a break up for a change - there’s delicious ust, fabulous Draco & Pansy brOTP, not to mention their super cool job. I was as invested in the plot as I was in the romance, and I’ve had a really fun time following them around. Undercover boyfriends for the win!!!!

Truth to Materials by @toomuchplor, lately (E, 54k) - Drarry

Another fabulous plor fic as per, this artist!Draco story immediately won my heart with the hilarious opening scene and the perfect combo of Draco’s “brazen gay” voice and Harry’s “bi panic” mind. What a delight! Love the clever dialogue, the mood so chaotic horny but the humorous tone making me giggle my way through the delicious loo sex scene. Unique premise, great pacing, fantastic cast and charming characterization - this fic is so easy to devour it doesn’t feel like a 50k journey at all. The story is great fun, very engaging but also delivering multiple tender and heartkick-y moments. It checks all my boxes including our king Ron Weasley putting a banana into Draco’s sculptural arsehole 🤣 what else could I ask for?

Skybound by @xanthippe74 (T, 61k) - Drarry

As a longtime fan of Ghibli’s movies, I was over the moon to see one my own faves adapted to fit the HP universe. This is the Howl’s Moving Castle AU we deserve, a light, enchanting and fun read with a lovely smooth Draco and a lovely earnest Harry making such a great pair. I love how Xan played with the original material making adjustments here and there, and giving life to Timpsy, the apprentice elf with a whole subplot involving mistreatment of magical beings. Very sweet and creative read!

Other fandoms:

a man—with human flesh by spqr (E, 14k) - Paul/Duncan, Dune

I love that this author writes for all of my favorite ships, I feel so spoiled! This is (yet another) banger following the 2nd Dune movie and a fascinating dive into Paul’s fractured mind struggling between his long-standing affection for Duncan and the intrusive thoughts under BG’s influence. So intense, vivid and thought-provoking. I was hooked from beginning to end and deeply immersed in this universe. Love me a fic about emotional implications and complications while delivering excellent character studies, this is the shit I live for right here 🤌🏼

Next up on my to-read list:

Home series by @hoko-onchi-writes (E, 22k)

In which Draco grows up hiding and finds out he doesn't want to do that anymore. And he doesn't want his son to hide, either. (…). In which Harry grows up in darkness, falls in love, fucks up, learns some things, and falls in love again.

Passing Stranger by @lettersbyelise (E, 53k)

Five years after the war, Harry, listless and depressed, stumbles upon Draco Malfoy playing the violin in an underground bar in Muggle London. The catch? Draco lost his memories five years ago. Ignoring his friends’ advice, Harry befriends an unwitting Draco, overlooking the fact that their mutual attraction might not survive if Draco’s memories return.

The Star Splitter by @oflights (E, 219k)

On a routine time travel assignment to the past, Draco stumbles upon 7-year-old Harry Potter and witnesses his neglect and mistreatment by the Dursleys. In the moment, there is only one solution, even if it goes against all his training as a Time Agent: he has to bring Harry back to the future with him. In which Draco burns his life down for the sake of his former school rival.

[hazbin-hotlee37]

I'm seriously pissed off there's no fluffy AdamsApple tickle fics. It's like one of my favorite ships! So... Eat up, fuckas

Like the Garden

Switch!Adam, Switch!Lucifer

Adam had been brought back as a sinner, to... no ones surprise really. He knew it was bound to happen himself. What surprised everyone was that he went to the hotel and fucking APOLOGIZED!

It was the start of a great friendship :]

Soon, Lucifer and Adam ended up figuring out that their old feelings, new for Luci, were coming back/starting. Adam always had a slight crush on the fallen angel, even back in Eden, but at that time he had a wife... That Luci stole. (Tbh, he was more upset about losing Luci)

Some shit happened and accidental confessions were made. Bringing us to now!

Adam and Lucifer were relaxing in Lucifer's room at the hotel. Adam strumming his guitar mindlessly and Lucifer making a rubber duck. (BECAUSE ITS LUCI)

"Duckling? I'm fucking bored." The first man whines as he sets his guitar down.

"And what am I supposed to do about that?" The king of hell asks with a slight smile and an eyebrow raise.

"I don't know..." Adam mutters, slouching on the couch. He then looked over at his... boyfriend? He wasn't sure, yes, they confessed feelings but they never really put a title on what they had...

"Take a picture, lamb, it'll last longer~" Lucifer says, when he catches the sinner staring.

"Fuck off..." He replies, blushing a bit. He then got an idea. He smirked and stood up, sitting in the chair next to the fallen angels, he then wrapped his arms around him and pulled Luci close.

"Ah!..." The king of hell yelped in surprise, then looked up at the lamb sinner, "Since when are you a cuddler..?"

"Since now." The sinner responds with a smirk. The fallen angel shrugged it off, until he felt his... partners..? Fingers graze over his sides.

"A-Adam..." Luci stutters, holding back the giggles that threatened to spill.

"Huh? Whatcha so squirmy for, Luci?" Adam asks with a smirk, but he knew very well why. He then dug his fingers into the kings tummy and his grin widened when he heard the squeal it caused. "No fucking shot! Are you ticklish?~"

"Yohohou knohow that!" The fallen angel responds, trying to curl up, while simultaneously kicking his legs. It didn't work very well.

"Aww, y'know, this is pretty fucking cute" The sinner says, his smirk turning into a soft smile. He kept tickling for a good while, just relishing in the bright and bubbly giggles that came from his partner.

"Ahahadam! Plehehease! Noho more-" Luci begged through his giggles, pushing at the sinners hands.

"Oh fine, you pussy~" The first man says with a playful eye roll and stops his "torture". "Hmm, who knew you had such a cute laugh~"

"S-Shush." The fallen angel mutters, a blush forming on his already red cheeks. It wasn't often that the sinner got to make the king blush, but when he did... He definitely relished the victory.

The king of hell calmed down and playfully glared at his boyfriend, that was all the first man needed to know to fucking RUN. While the king was very ticklish, he was a fucking tickle monster! Having a daughter does that to a guy...

"Looks like I've got a lamb to slaughter~ Its all in good sacrifice, hon!" The king says as he manages to jump onto the sinners back and knock him over.

"FUCK- Wahahait!! I'm sohohorry!" Adam says, but Luci was already attacking his ribs and sides. He was gonna be here a while.

"Hmm, I dont think you are, apple. But you will be~" Luci sing songed, flipping over the sinner and tickling his tummy. He smirked at the squeal it caused and his grin widened at the sight of the Lambs wagging tail.

"You're enjoying this aren't you, Addy?"

"Ahaham NOHOHOT!"

"I think you are~ How cute! Awe, and look at that pretty blushy face~"

"SHUHUT IT- FAHAHACK!"

Sometimes it really felt like Eden all over again, and while they miss it... These two wouldn't change a thing.

[skelly-words]

Sukuna/gn!Reader

Summary- this is a little fic I wrote in one sitting kinda based off my headcanons. There’s a whole outline for their relationship that I have going on in my head, but this is when they meet in college. I think they’re both juniors or seniors.

this isn't even a meet-cute or anything because Sukuna is such a douche. He doesn't even tell the MC his name bruh.

It’s a quiet morning. School is busy; study, lecture, homework, exams, repeat. It’s gotten better as the year progresses and you settle into a quiet routine. These mornings are nice; when you’re forced to get up with the sun and walk to the bus you take to campus.

Your professor is boring. He’s an older man who probably had amazing ideas in his youth. But now, he often loses his train of thought halfway through equations. It made the class difficult to take notes in and the final would suck, but as long as you passed, it didn’t matter. As an act of mercy, lecture ends early. You slide your hefty laptop into your bag and sling it over your shoulder. The next class you have is still a few hours away. You walk to the West end of campus, where a cluster of cafes supplies students with caffeine and a warm place to study when the weather gets icy. It’s too busy for you to hang around, so you just get a coffee and look for somewhere quieter to be. 

The library always has people in it, but the stacks go so deep and two stories tall, so it’s always easy to get lost in them and avoid people completely. It smells like old books and you nestle on the floor in the science fiction section with your jackets and coffee. What starts as studying quickly devolves as you find a familiar-looking title staring at you from between the shelves and you start to read. 

People filter in and out of the library as classes end and begin, finding a place to camp out through the awkward gaps in their day. You just watch them pass down the hall between the shelves.

“Are you stalking people from back here?”

The sound of someone else’s voice made your heart jump. You first feel ashamed of being caught until you realize that you’ve done nothing wrong. You gather yourself up from the floor, novel, jacket, coffee and bag, before turning around.

“Excuse me?” You mumble, attempting indifference while trying to keep your jacket pinned against your side. He’s too tall, where you feel a little uneasy at the difference, so you stay focused on the off-white linoleum instead.

“I’m just messing with you. Can I get to Asimov, though?” He seems as good with manners as you are, awkwardly gesturing that you move to the side. You stare dumbly at the tattoo marks that wrap around his wrists as he tries to sweep you out of the way.

“Excuse me?” you repeat.

“I like Isaac Asimov. His shelf’s behind you.”

“Shit, sorry.” You step to the side and watch him bend over and examine the titles. His jaw flexes from side to side with his shifting weight as he reads. More tattoos are visible on his face, dramatically following his features, but those are all you can see. It’s like the lines on his face and bands on his wrists are placed just to subtly imply more, a teasing notion that’s satisfied when the sleeve of his t-shirt lifts enough to show the band on his bicep.

“I was reading, not watching people back here.”

He hums noncommittally and continues his search for whatever novel he’s looking for. “You're watching me, creep.” He turns his head quickly to catch you in the act.

“I’m waiting for you to get out of my spot. I was reading there,” you say indignantly. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he trails off. His finger runs down the spine of a paperback and he tugs it free from the tight shelf. “You stole my corner though.”

You scrunch up your nose like your one-hour stake on the science-fiction section means something. “Why do you read back here?” 

“Like you can talk. I found you back here,” he says like you are a specimen or discovery. “Why’re you reading back here?”

“I meant to study, but I shouldn’t have surrounded myself with interesting books. Plus, like you said, I’m a creep. I like it back here.”

You glance up at him to see the same studying look he’d given the books being used on you. He’s thinking about what to say next for longer than he should have to.

“What’s your name, huh?” he matches the question with a soft tilt of his head. His brows furrow when you don’t answer after a beat. “C’mon, I wanna know you.”

“Yeah.” You’re not sure when your skepticism becomes rude, probably whenever he decides to become offended by the shrewd up-and-down glance you give him. “What’s yours?” You know him, not personally. But he’s an athlete and you recognize his tattoos and bright eyes from your University’s social media posts. His widening grin meant that he could tell you were bullshitting around.

“Who gives a fuck about me,” he dismisses, in a heavy breath like he’s just as exasperated with himself as you are. He steps closer, and you can see the dark metal of his piercings glimmer in the low light, one in each ear, and a band around the center of his bottom lip. “What’s your name?”

You can smell his cologne and it makes your name slip from the tip of your tongue. You didn’t mean for it to come out, tightening your lips into a fine line as if that could take it back. He laughs and repeats it twice to you. His tongue runs over the syllables slowly the first time, and the second time to tease as your face begins to warm.

“You’re real fucking funny.”

“I’ll be even funnier over text.” He grins and takes his phone out of his back pocket.

“I’m not dati- I don’t date.” You wish it sounded firmer, arms crossed over your chest in defense.

“Me neither.” He hands you his open Instagram. Apparently, you don’t make the cut for new contact.

“I’m not ‘not dating’ either. That’s not my thing.” But you take his phone anyway and look yourself up.

“Oh, so like-” he seems to think for a moment while you take out your phone to approve his follow request. “You wanna be friends?” It’s a stale and disappointed question that you can tell he knows the answer to.

“If that’s not cool with you then don't worry about it.” You shrug and readjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “As long as I get to keep my new follower, I don’t see a difference.”

a/n- radiohead starts playing. Anyway, probably won’t make this a legit series, but if y’all like it I’ll write more of this au. It’s friends to lovers but not super slow (in my imagination because let me reiterate: none of this is actually written).

Are the banners and breaks working? bc I'm so sick of my blog being busted as fuck. I regret being a tomboy my whole life bc now idk how to be cute and aesthetic and I'm filled with rage asdijfaoiwjdvcois

[mochaintherain]

Pleonexia

Summary: Cemented as a false God, the title of "The Creator" warranted a certain Fatui Harbinger to impose his greed upon you.

Word Count: 1.3k

CW: SAGAU, implied violence, implied cultish themes, the fatui comes as it's own warning, slight jealousy?

A/N: formatted on mobile </3 A little drabble I had lying around (*´▽｀*) I really like SAGAU but only a specific flavor of it RAUGHH I also have so,,, many ideas for other fics. Yippee for summer!!! (delusional)

Zapolyarny Palace was destitute of warmth.

The room the Tsaritsa had generously provided on account of your descending far outgrew your meager body; the walls stretched too far, any insulation it may have mustered in the heart of a blizzard out your reach, and the chandeliers hung from the ceiling too high to provide any ample light, encompassing you in darkness. The only reprieve within your residence laid a stately hearth. The fire roared, breaking the monotonous cold hues of the bedroom. Its heat blanketed your face in a sweet caress. Soft whispers of crackled wood lulled you to slumber.

Temptation gnawed at your being. You wanted to rest.

But something you quickly learned about the palace was its capacity for people.

For Fatui.

And they wanted anything but your comfort.

The Regrator hummed, cold fingers trailing the bare of your neck, reveling in your shudders as he clicked the gold necklace onto your figure. Illustrious gemstones and the smoothest links of gold culminated to create art - now adorned by you. It could have been beautiful, had it not been tainted by avarice. Had it not been tainted by his prayer.

"Your Grace, do you like it?"

That moniker stirred ill within the depths of your stomach. When would be the day they realized they deluded themselves into a lie? When would be the day they killed you for being something you never claimed you were?

As intriguing as the Fatui were on one side of the screen, they were sinister zealots on the other. They despised the Gods so much their hatred festered piousness--and they paraded you like a doll around the estate, an object to collect worship and donate it to rising influence. You were another gnosis, another piece to their revolution.

The match to inevitably burn away the Old World.

"Your Grace," the Regrator repeated, the edge on each syllable chiding, "is this not up to your tastes? ...Not refined enough?"

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze. No semblance of warmth pierced his icy veil. For all the devoutness the Harbingers touted, their theatrics fell short. Ugly, false fidelity bled through their altruistic ministrations.

How you wished to curl up next to the fireplace instead of having to cling onto your robes.

"No...no, it's, ah, beautiful. Thank you," you mumbled, forcing a smile onto your face.

"Of course. Someone of your status—" he grit that phrase out from his throat, you swore it—"deserves only to be lavished in the finest treasures Teyvat has to offer! Wouldn't you agree?"

When they killed you, would he scatter his riches upon your corpse? Or maybe Pantalone would bury you with all the accessories he gifted you--

Perhaps they’d continue the facade, setting your still heart upon the altar dedicated to the Creator. The name you unwittingly stole from its rightful place.

He took your long, drawn, silence as acquiscence. "It's quite alright if you're shy. I fully understand, as your acolyte, but really, you must be more open about you and your capabilities--humbleness goes hand in hand with honesty, after all! Surely that's nothing to hide, hm?"

His hands found their way to your own, and he traced the shape of a diamond on your palm.

"What did you call them again? What was it...oh, primogems?" From your visage, the corners of his lips curled. "Your Grace, won't you show me your divinity? For all my offerings, a glimpse wouldn't hurt."

It's only fair.

"I'm...truly grateful for everything the Fatui, and especially you, have provided," you started slowly, eyes falling to his rings, unable to harbor the weight of his scrutiny any longer, "but...I'm sorry. I can't just use them whenever I wish—" the words died on your tongue as his grip tightened, leaving behind desiccated sputters.

"And why is that?"

"I'm—I'm sorry—"

"Am I not worthy?" Pantalone laughed a little, devoid of joy, "have I not given you enough, Your Grace? What more can I give? I've already built myself up from nothing, despite the Gods' negligence—must I give that up too, to bask in Your warmth?"

You winced, trying to pull away. Yet he held firm, as if it wasn't wrists he was holding, but the bags of mora he hoarded.

"That's not—"

"I really am not asking for much, Your Grace. You've shown the Balladeer—even the Doctor—your powers. So why not me? Dottore and I are close partners, and if you trust him, I can assure you, you can have complete and utter faith in me, just as I do you."

"I...Okay. But only one summon," you conceded, the crystalline shards manifesting into your hands.

As if he hadn't been intimidating you moments prior, Pantalone stared in awe, clasping his hands together and humming.

"Oh! You're too kind, Your Grace!"

"Please, just call me by my name," you whispered, before cupping the primos together into an Intertwined Fate.

"How beautiful," he gasped, "may I?"

Reluctantly, you handed it to him. The size of his figure dwarfed the small orb, brimming with power. A pink and blue glow breathed life into his otherwise dull fur coat.

"How do you use…this?” Pantalone’s brows furrowed together, raising it up to the light as if to get a better view. “It’s quite…tiny.”

"Well, I'm not sure how it fully works in Teyvat—but you wish for something and hope to get it."

"Hm? So you leave it up to chance?"

"Yes, in a way..."

"How pitiful," he whispered, before his voice dropped an octave, "you must have more power than that. You’re a God.”

“I’ve already told you all…” you stopped in your tracks, images of corpses scattered across Dottore’s lab. You were almost a test subject, “godhood” shielding you from the vivisection table by a narrow margin. If they learned the truth…

“I…am not a god in my home world,” you stammered, picking words haphazardly from the floor of your mind, “I’m still getting used to Teyvat, so…”

He sighed, squeezing your shoulder. “I see. Well, demonstrate how it works.” The reassuring gesture only spurred your unease.

With a slight nod, you pondered what to wish for.

“…Thrilling Tales,” you declared, the fate sizzling with luminescence before shooting up into the sky.

Pantalone’s mouth fell agape as a bright, blue, light enveloped your hands, swirled together, then dissipated, revealing the weapon. Another wish granted. More primos depleted, with no way to earn them back.

“A book; Is it a catalyst?” He took the tomb from your grasp, skimming its contents. “From what I can tell, not a very good one.” A frown slowly painted over his countenance. “Are you playing games with me, Your Grace?”

“W-whatever do you mean, Pantalone?” Your voice faltered as he took a step towards you. Gripping your face just hard enough for his rings to chafe and dig into your cheeks, he tilted your chin up.

“When you were with Dottore, you summoned a brilliant sword that he remarked, “wasn’t from this world”. And, with me, you summon this…” He pinched the book by its cover, letting the pages sway limply below. “Fairy tale?”

“Well—! The Doctor scared me—I, I am much more comfortable with you.” Though not necessarily a lie, it wasn’t a truth either. Of all the people you’d interacted with so far, mainly the harbingers—only the harbingers, when you thought about it—Pantalone, compared to the Doctor, was much less scary.

Eyes widening, the grip on your face went slack, morphing into a soft caress of your cheek. You shuddered again.

He smiled, returning to that cheery demeanor.

“Well, if that is the case, I’m glad, and honored, Your Grace.”

You nodded, every muscle in your body taut and strangled by your lies.

“Of course.”

.

[so-long-soldier-writes]

You Made a Choice to Be Good

kai parker x bonnie bennett

summary: a kidnapping has an unexpected outcome… bonnie never thought she'd come to an understanding with the crazy sociopath in town, let alone sleep with him.

tags: kidnapping, magic / spells / siphoning, cheerleading uniform kink, mentions of past child abuse & childhood trauma, desk sex, classroom sex, oral sex, vaginal sex, minor foot stuff / touching, sexual inexperience, loss of virginity, unsafe / unprotected sex, minor biting, facials, enemies to lovers, second chances

word count: 7k

a/n: i'm very aware this is (1) a bonenzo title, and (2) enzo's fantasy being incorporated, but idc i'm using it for bonkai!! the cheerleader thing just fits kai so much better!!

@bonnie-sheila-bennett here's one of the cheerleader fantasy fics! the other i'm still working on, and to everyone who's requested other fics, i promise i'm working on them!! i've been so slow lately. 😭

It takes Bonnie a second to realize where she is. There’s a slight ache in her head and her vision is blurry, but if she’s not mistaken, she recognizes the room as her consciousness returns. Particularly, the colors; the green chalkboard taking up most of the front wall, the brown wooden desk a little to the left; the white exposed from what’s not covered in posters. She’s in an old classroom in Mystic Falls’ high school. 

After that realization, shock wakes her up pretty fast. She has no memory of how she got here and racks her brain to remember the last thing she did. She was in her dorm. She was asleep. She felt something warm around her abdomen… and then it was lights out.

Fear floods through her and she reaches for her phone. Only… her hands seem to be tied around her back. 

“Oh my god,” she mutters. Should she call for help? Or would that just alert her kidnapper that she’s awake? Thoughts race through her head before she can remember she’s a witch, and a very powerful one, at that. One word and the chains should fly off and she can escape. “Frac-”

“Oh good!” A voice cuts her off. Its shadow stands in the hall. “You’re awake.”

Bonnie could recognize that voice anywhere. Her body freezes instantly. 

A heartbeat later, Kai comes into the classroom. His famous smirk is on his face and she hates it. 

“What do you want with me?! Why am I here?”

“Oh, Bonnie. Don’t you miss me?”

“Not a chance. Take me back.” She struggles against her chains, as if to signal to him to take them off. 

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. We spent two months together, and you don’t miss me even a little? I’m hurt.”

“Kai-”

“Fine! I stole you, I admit. You’re just too cute, I couldn’t help it!” He pinches her cheek, but not enough to hurt. 

“Don’t touch me.”

“Okay. Sorry.” He holds both hands up, imitating surrender.

“Why did you kidnap me, Kai? Why are we in my old high school?”

“I’ll answer both of those questions in due time. First, I wanna know if I uncuff you, will you try to escape?”

She stares at him incredulously. 

“Take that as a ‘no’, or?”

“What do you think?”

“Okay. Well, um… tell you this, if I uncuff you, and you don’t try to escape, I won’t have a reason to hurt you.” He places both hands on the desk and towers his figure over her. “I don’t want to hurt you, Bonnie, but I need you to listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s important.”

She sighs. “Fine. I won’t try to escape.”

“Now that’s a good girl. Fractos!”

The chains come undone at once. Bonnie immediately stands up and glances towards the door. 

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t think about it.”

“Motus!” She yells, thrusting both hands at Kai. The boy doesn’t even flinch. Bonnie stares, half out of shock and half out of fear. “Motus!” She tries again.

“Yeah, about that… I kinda siphoned your magic last night. That’s how I was able to get you here. It might take a while to regenerate.”

She glares at him. “No…”

“Yeah,” he clicks his tongue. 

Bonnie then tries a desperate sprint to the door, but gets pushed back by a boundary spell over the entryway. “No!” She yells again.

“You told me you wouldn’t try to escape. Naughty girl.”

“What do you want with me?!”

“All in good time. For now, I just want you to behave.”

“I don’t have time for this! I have to- have to-”

“Help Damon? Get to 1903? Free Lily? Yeah, I don’t think so.” Kai starts to stalk towards her. “See, as much as I love chaos, there was a reason Lily was locked up. She was a ripper, Bonnie, and I doubt her closet full of crazy-pants are any better.”

“Like that’s any different from yourself. Maybe we should lock you up… oh wait.”

Kai chuckles coldly. “Ha ha. Don’t you see I’m trying to keep you safe? Keep your friends safe? Lily here would be a disaster. Two Salvatores in this town are enough.”

“So what? You kidnap me? For how long do you plan to keep me here?”

“As long as I need to.”

“And what? Are we just gonna stare at each other? Draw shapes on the chalkboard? Wait for my magic to recover so I can kick your ass?”

“I’ve thought about that.” His smirk comes back and he holds a finger in the air. Kai makes his way towards the desk. “And while you were unconscious, I did some digging.”

Bonnie remains by the door. Her magic is faint; he siphoned most of it, but if she can keep him talking long enough, it’ll come back eventually. 

“Y’know, this school has a lot of stuff in it. I mean, a lot. In this desk alone, I found eight pencils, a slinky, a calculator that when flipped read “boobs” in numbers, a hairbrush, two things of lipgloss, and an unopened condom. And when I raided the principal’s office, boy, you couldn’t even imagine. But the most fun was when I went through the sports’ closet. They had all the retired uniforms from past years in there, and that’s when I remembered something - you were a cheerleader here! When I kidnapped Elena, I saw your picture in a frame; your team all gathered around. You all looked so cute and happy, but you, especially, were just adorable.” Kai’s hand disappears under the desk now. “What year did it say that you cheered? 2009? Yeah.” Her face pales as he pulls her old uniform out from its hidden spot. “Looked like this, right?”

Bonnie says nothing, but her face tells all.

“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’.”

“Why do you care?”

“Why do I care? I just told you, Bonnie. You looked so cute in your little photo, and I happened to come across your old uniform. We’re here all alone with nothing to do. Everyone’s on break. So you might as well.”

“I might as well what?”

“Wear it.” She scoffs. “For me,” he adds, which doesn’t help his case. 

“I’m not doing that. Hell no.”

“Don’t be difficult, Bonnie.”

“I’m not doing it! Besides, who’s to say it’ll even fit me anymore?”

He eyes her figure and she immediately wishes she hadn’t said that. “Please, you’re still as small as you were back then. Your skirt might be a little shorter now, but I see that as a plus.”

She rolls her eyes. 

“Come on, Bonnie. Aren’t you even a little curious to see how it fits after a couple years?”

“No, and especially not with you around.”

“I’ll turn when you change.” He crosses his fingers. “Promise.”

She glares at him. “No. Now let me out; you’ve had your fun with me, and I have things to do.”

“We haven’t had any fun yet. You’ve only just woken up.”

“Kai-”

“I’m getting tired of asking. Either you give into what we both know is the best way to spend our time here, or I chain you back up. Which will it be?”

“Kai, I have to-”

“Tell you what,” he interrupts again, “you put it on, and we’ll explore the school together. It’ll be a fun little adventure. A break from the chaos that is our lives. Just two post-grads exploring old stomping grounds.”

“You didn’t even go to school here.”

“Missing the point, Bon. So are you gonna do it or not?”

“No. I-”

“Vodux,” he mutters. In an instant, she’s within arm’s length. Kai grabs her wrist and siphons what little magic has returned, then stares at her. “Which will it be?”

“Fine.” She bodies up to him despite the significant height difference. Kai smiles, and takes her bold posture as an invitation to glance down her shirt. It takes everything in her not to slap him. “Turn around.”

“Yes ma’am.”

To her surprise, he does. 

For a minute, she just stares at the clothes. The uniform is perched on the desk - Alaric’s old one, mind you - and a pair of white shoes sit beside it. She scoffs, realizing he took the time to assemble the whole thing.

“I don’t hear clothes dropping,” Kai says suddenly. 

She sighs, then finally reaches for the hem of her shirt. With anger, she rips it off and throws it at his back, making a whoosh sound before it hits him. He only chuckles. 

“Very tempting not to turn around right now.”

“Don’t you dare.” Thankfully, he stays still. 

Bonnie removes her shoes, then jeans, and knows he can hear the belt buckle that hits the floor. To avoid another comment from him, she speaks first. “So did you even go to high school? Or did your parents decide it was best to keep the freak indoors, away from the public eye?”

Kai laughs. “I went for a few years. Got kicked out in high school for an incident that wasn’t entirely my fault. But then my parents pulled Jo out, too, and they homeschooled both of us. Then they started pulling out and homeschooling the younger ones. It was easier to hide the coven when we were all under the same roof at all times.”

“What was the incident?”

“Huh?”

‘What got you expelled?”

“Oh.” Even with his back turned, she knows he’s smiling. “Got in a fight. Hey, he came at me first and I just finished the job.”

“Sure.”

“Believe what you want, Bonnie, I wasn’t always bad. My parents made me this way. Their anger at me for the way I was born. Their inability to accept the fact that I was still their own blood even though I was different. And it’s funny, they carried the gene and it just happened to appear in me! So you tell me if that’s really my fault.”

Bonnie doesn’t know how to answer. She even finds herself feeling a bit bad for the siphon, despite everything he’s done. There’s a lot of truth in his words. Still… he’s admitting them to her now because he’s kidnapped her… while forcing her to wear an old uniform, probably because of some nauseating kink he has. 

Kai then sighs. “Are you done? I haven’t heard anything for a while.”

“I’m tying the shoes.” She finishes the simple knot. “Done.”

He turns around immediately. Bonnie finds herself genuinely curious about his reaction. Will he like it or hate it? Will he make some vulgar comment, or force her out of it because he decides she looks bad? She’s a little anxious over the possibilities. 

Kai, however, is instantly smitten. If he were a cartoon character, his eyes would’ve turned to big, bulging hearts. Stars would’ve floated atop his head, and his tongue would be out, panting. But instead of that, Bonnie sees a look of lust in his eyes. His posture straightens and his gaze travels all over her form. 

She doesn’t know how to feel now. Admittedly, the man is hot. Never would she say such a thing out loud, but she can allow herself to think it. Before finding the newspaper in 1994, she probably would’ve even tried something with him. She definitely flirted a bit, and he did too, before Damon pried them apart, but if he hadn’t deserved his stay in 1994, she would’ve gladly climbed him like a tree. 

And now, she hates to say it, but his attention feels good. It makes her feel sexy. The fact that this man who seems to hate everyone and everything is downright infatuated with her… it makes her feel powerful. 

“Do you like it, or should I take it off?” She plays with the hem of her shirt.

“No!” He stutters. “I mean, yes, I like it. No, don’t take it off!” He gives himself a couple seconds to recover, then teases, “I knew it would fit you like a glove.”

It’s a little tighter in the breasts, and like Kai suspected, the skirt is a tiny bit shorter, but it still fits perfectly otherwise. “So what, are we exploring now? Or was that just a ploy to get me inside this thing?”

The man’s eyes light up like an excited boy’s. “You would want to?”

“I thought that’s what you said we’d do.”

“Well then come on,” he waves, “let’s explore.”

Kai takes the boundary down from the doorway, but Bonnie figures he has them up along every entry of the school. Besides, she has no magic with which to fight him, so she’s stuck with him until it recovers. 

“So show me where your classes were,” he starts, “what classes did you take in 2009?”

“Well we were just in Alaric’s classroom-”

“Ric’s? As in Josette’s boytoy, Ric?”

“That’s the one.” Bonnie ignores the way he calls his sister by her full name. She’s not even sure she knew that was her full name. “And over here,” she points, “I had my English class. Ric taught history. He came in after our old history teacher was murdered.”

“Who did it?”

Bonnie clicks her tongue as she remembers. “Damon, actually.”

“Classic Damon… killing all of the important people in this town and getting away scot-free.”

Bonnie ignores that too. “And over here, I had chemistry.” When Kai snickers, she shoots him a glare. “And the boy behind me used to flirt with me whenever I’d come into class.” His light expression quickly goes dark. Bonnie chuckles at his sudden change in demeanor. “What kind of classes did you take in high school?” She asks as they continue down the hall.

“Sophomore was my last year in formal public school, but…” he counts on his fingers, “English, history, art-”

“Home ec?” She questions.

“Nah. My father taught me how to cook, if that’s what you’re wondering.” It was. “Probably taught me so I wouldn’t starve when he inevitably sent me to a prison world. If he even cared, maybe he didn’t.”

She feels a little bit of sadness again, however strange, for him. 

“Anyway. Geometry - boy was I shit at that, economics, anatomy,” his eyes light up, “that’s when I learned that the spleen doesn’t really matter.”

Bonnie’s jaw drops. Her sympathy for him is so “one step forward, two steps back”. 

“I even took driver’s ed that year. Of course, my father didn’t want me to learn it, but it was a requirement by the school. Didn’t want me to be able to get out, now did he? Luckily, we only had one car, and if he wasn’t using it, it was locked with an alarm in the garage. And I, not surprisingly, had no magic to surpass the alarms.”

They continue down the hall like he hadn’t just info-dumped about both his abusive childhood and his violent past in a mere couple sentences. 

“So what was your principal’s name?” Kai asks.

“Weber. Yours?”

“Think his name was Nordbye, if I remember correctly.”

“Is he the one that expelled you, too?”

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “I liked him, though. Nice guy. Cared. He wasn’t going to expel me; was just gonna give me a warning, but then the other boy’s mother copped a fit and my father told him violence was expected from me because of the way I was born, and that terrified him into expulsion.”

One step forward…

“So then what?”

“Then I got expelled. Then I spent the next four years never leaving my house, much less my room. Then my mother had Luke and Liv, and then she died, and my father got worse and worse, and when I snapped, he blamed everything on me. Even though I had nothing to do with her death.” The last part comes out in a lower voice than the rest.

“How did she die?”

“He never told me the full reason, but I know it was medical. I didn’t hurt her, even if that’s what he might’ve suspected.”

“Why would you have hurt her?” Bonnie quickly rephrases, “why did he think you hurt her?”

Kai turns to her to answer. “Because she had more twins, and he thought I was taking my anger out on her.” He fiddles with a pocket knife Bonnie didn’t know he was holding. “As cold as she was to me, and as cold as they made me, I wouldn’t have hurt her.”

The look in his eyes reminds her of the time that Damon said Kai approached him with guilt over “ruining Jo’s life.” She called bullshit when he told her, but now she wonders if it could’ve been true. 

“Why did you stab Jo, if you would’ve never hurt your mother?” A bold question, but she barely even thinks about it before the words leave her mouth.

“I snapped. Tensions in the house grew without my mother around to soften them. The twins cried all day and all night; the other four were rambunctious as preteens always are. My father was so much angrier than usual, between hating me and blaming me. Even after it was revealed a medical cause of death, he still hated me. If I had been born normal, they wouldn’t’ve had to have more kids. She would still be alive. She wouldn’t have died at the early age of forty.” Bonnie gulps. Eight kids by forty is a lot. Kai’s eyes snap up to her face, but then he looks back to the floor as he continues. “She died in early May, and each year that passed, my father got more violent around that time. He’d scream at the kids if they were too loud. He’d slam things around to demand silence, but would only receive more panic. He’d spend hours by her grave and forget to come in and feed them - Jo would have to do it. Or I would, but I never seemed to do it right in her eyes. And sometimes, if I was in his line of sight when he’d finally come in, he’d take me outside as a personal punching bag until he was too weak to throw anymore hits. Or, if he were crying too hard to continue. His anger was often directed at me, too, if the kids were silent for once in their lives. He needed a place to express his hatred for the world, and eight kids that were only born to benefit a coven seemed to be the best option.”

“You said something like that before, that the coven always came first.”

Kai nods. “When you’re told at the age of four that either you or your sister will die for the stupid coven, life already seems pretty pointless. You’re in some stupid competition to see who wins - who gets to live - when neither of you want to play. You just want to be kids. But then they decide that since you were born different because of a generational curse, neither of you get to play anymore. And that’s great, because you don’t want to, but at the same time, you’re eliminated because you have no value to your family. And neither did the four kids in between Josette and I, and Luke and Liv. They aren’t twins; they don’t matter. When they finally produce a set that could lead - and neither are flawed in the way you are - you start to feel a little angry. That’s not even including the names my father would call me, nor the type of hand he’d hold to my face. The same hand that held Josette’s crying face when she got a B on a test is the same one that hit me on mine when I got the same grade on the same test.”

Kai bites his tongue, eyes glued to the floor, as he seems to suddenly remember where he is. He doesn’t dare look at the girl in front of him, and he doesn’t speak anymore on the topic. 

“You can go,” he says suddenly, “if you want. I’ll take the boundary spell down.”

Bonnie hesitates. This is her chance to run, to escape. He’s giving her an out to whatever crazy plans he’s made for her. Though… this is also her chance to try and reach him. He involuntarily has entered the most vulnerable state in which she’s ever seen him. Maybe all he needs to tone it down a notch is for someone to listen. 

“Kai?” She backs herself up to the wall, desperate to lean against something as she searches for the right words.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Frankly, I have no idea what we were talking about ten minutes ago.”

Bonnie racks her brain. “Classes. Principals.”

“Ah, right.”

“What was the name of your high school?” She wants to get his mind on another topic before tiptoeing back into the one about his childhood. It seems safer, somehow.

“Parkrose.”

“Do you remember the colors?”

“Green, white, and blue, maybe? Was blue included? I don’t know.”

“Can you walk with me?”

He falls in step beside her without answering. 

“You never mentioned your mother while we were in the prison world.”

“Didn’t seem relevant.”

“Not even when you took me back to your childhood home?”

“Didn’t know how much I could say,” he admits, “considering you didn’t seem to care when I mentioned my father and how he treated me.”

“You didn’t discuss your sister much, either. I was shocked to learn she’s the same woman that teaches Elena’s pre-med class now.”

“I didn’t quite have that information, either, until I got out of the prison world.”

“Fair point.” She takes a deep breath. “I can see why you snapped. It doesn’t make it okay, but I understand what led to it.”

His eyes snap up to her. “Really?”

“Elena told me that when your father learned there was a chance you could escape - when we were trapped there alone after Damon returned back to the modern world - he acted immediately and quite impulsively. Except, it didn’t seem so impulsive to him; it seemed planned. Premeditated. Like a desperate backup plan.”

“What did he do?”

“Tried to kill Jo. Burned a locket of hers. It would’ve killed her if Elena hadn’t healed her with her blood.”

Kai seems shocked to have learned his father targeted his favorite child. 

“We might’ve had a shitty past together; both of us taking turns at the other’s throat for weeks, but you tried to apologize and I pushed you into the mud.”

“This is where I remind you, you stabbed me first over there.”

She spins on her heels to face him. “Don’t push it.” Her face is stern, but there’s a hint of a smile, too. She turns back around to the hallway. “I believed everything you said about him. I met Luke and Liv in college, and they mentioned their dysfunctional family every so often. And then Elena recounted what happened to Jo, as well as the story she told prior, of what went down with you. The reason she thinks you snapped,” Bonnie clarifies, " is because you were born different and you didn’t like it. You consciously decided to take your anger out on everyone. You couldn’t deal with them thinking you were unable to lead and snapped.” She sighs. “But even though I wanted to believe that, deep down, I couldn’t, because I had spent two months with you in close quarters, and knew there was more to it than that.” Bonnie stops outside of Alaric’s classroom. “I’m sorry your father was abusive; I’m sorry you were raised with the knowledge that you would die or kill your sister. That’s not a way to grow up.” She then repeats, “it doesn’t make it okay, but I can understand why it happened.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, standing close. In the next moment, he reaches for her hand. He can feel the magic returning to her, running through her veins, they both can. Bonnie bites her tongue, wondering what he’ll do. Kai, though, doesn’t siphon. He drinks in her smell, the faint perfume, the slightly musky scent of the from-the-vault uniform. He closes his eyes and wills himself not to kiss her. 

Bonnie finds herself unexpectedly calm despite the proximity. If he wanted to hurt her, he would’ve done it by now. 

“What was your mascot?” She blurts out. She might be calm, but that doesn’t mean she can’t sense the tension returning to settle in between them.

He smiles. “Broncos.”

“Did you have a thing for cheerleaders then, too?”

He chuckles lightly. “Yes. But never one as much as I like you.”

Her heart races, and her hands find the front of his chest. She doesn’t push him off, but instead rests them in place. 

“Do you really believe me this time?”

“Yes.”

He brings a hand up to her face, stroking her cheek with one finger. “Bon?”

“Yes?”

“Would you push me away if I kissed you?”

She finds herself gulping. “No.”

Despite asking, he’s slow to move forward, as if giving her time, still, to push him away. She doesn’t though, and lets him close the gap between their lips. He’s gentle, almost barely there, and remains so until she kisses back. As soon as she does, he gets more into it, kissing harder. He trails his unoccupied hand down the side of her body, letting it graze the red fabric before resting it on her bare hip, where the crop top exposes. His fingers are slightly cold, making her gasp and shiver. In the split second that her mouth is open, he slinks his tongue inside. He tastes her only for a moment, then pulls away to check on her.

“You okay?”

Nervousness clouds her eyes, but she nods. “I’m okay.”

Kai kisses her again, now more forcefully. Bonnie’s hands find his neck and pull him closer. Kai lets her, but not without hoisting her legs up first. He taps on her hips and lifts her into the air. Her back presses into the wall, skirt riding up even more from the position. 

Bonnie chuckles. “I’m taller than you.”

“Not for long,” he teases. He carries her into the classroom, then sits her down on the desk. Her skirt hides nothing, and his mouth waters at the sight. 

“Is this okay?” He taps her thigh.

“Yes.” She lowers her body until she’s lying down on her elbows. Her heels rest against the edge of the desk and with quick motions, he frees her from the tight shoes. Bonnie visibly relaxes once out of them. Kai’s fingers move gently to pull her panties down her legs. The cold air makes her inhale, and he’s quick to put two fingers against her clit.

“Kai?”

“Yes?”

“Your fingers are cold.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I can warm them up.”

“Please,” she says through clenched teeth. 

He starts to rub circles over her clit, and her body quickly reacts. Her lips part and a soft moan escapes through them. It encourages him on, as he dips his fingers into her core when he believes she’s starting to get wet. 

“Oh,” she whines, throwing her head back harshly, almost slipping.

“Careful.” 

She tightens her grip on the wood and watches him.

One hand rests on her knee while the other continues to get her wet enough to take him. Kai has no problem getting hard for her, as apparent by the outline in his jeans. She can feel her core throb just by looking at it. 

“Those look tight,” she nods. Kai looks down to follow her gaze and smiles, as if caught in the act. Before he can speak, she pokes at his bulge with her foot. 

“Bon-” Nothing else comes out, his throat going dry at the tease. She runs her foot slowly along his length. When he glances up, her tongue is peeking out from the side of her mouth. “Bon,” he starts again, shifting his weight. 

He’s not about to give in before he can taste her, though, so a second later, he carefully pulls her foot away from him and lowers himself to her level. Bonnie catches on immediately. When he lets go of her, she rests her heel back on the desk. He kisses her ankle, up her leg to her thigh, and then finally gives her clit its first kitten lick by his tongue. Her hands bury in his hair, urging him on. She can feel the dimples from his smile against her skin. 

“Oh,” she moans softly, tugs harder. 

Kai puts his hand on her hips to keep her down while increasing the speed in which he flicks his tongue against her. He ducks his head to enter her, tongue exploring all crevices that his fingers just had, and soon, his cock will. 

In the midst of it, Bonnie pokes him with her foot again for his attention. 

“Hm?”

“Need,” she reaches towards his fingers with her own.

“Need me to touch you?”

“Yes.”

His eyes light up with the fact that she seems to be enjoying this just as much as he is. Kai then moves two fingers to rub at her clit again, rather harshly, but just as she needs it. 

“This good?”

“Perfect.”

Kai finds a pace and keeps it. Within the next couple minutes, she finds herself getting close.

“Don’t stop,” she urges, “please.”

He doesn’t, nor does he slow down in his ministrations. 

“I’m close,” she mutters. He can tell, by the way her body tenses and her wetness seems to flood his face. “Don’t stop. I- oh god-”

One thing he never expected is for Bonnie to be vocal during sex. He likes it.

“Kai- I- urrgh!” And with that, she comes. 

He continues to eat her out through her orgasm, and doesn’t let up until she’s catching her breath. Little cries and moans of his name still fall from her lips, but her grip has weakened on his hair. Kai attaches his lips to her and sucks her juices before rising back to his feet. Bonnie wastes no time pulling him close by the shirt and tasting herself off his lips. 

As she kisses him, she puts her foot back on his bulge. It’s grown since the last time she felt it.

“Ready?” He asks into her mouth. 

“Yes.”

He’s quick to undo his belt and lets it drop to the floor. Her heart speeds up with anticipation. When he finally pulls himself out, she lets out a little gasp. Kai’s of average size and girth, to the best of her knowledge, but she’s more reacting to the prospect of taking someone again. She’d only lost her virginity last year, and her relationship with Jeremy never had the chance to travel too far into the sexual realm. 

“You okay, Bonnie?” Kai senses her sudden anxiety. 

“Mhm. Just… been kinda a long time.”

He seems to get shy, then, too. “Yeah, um… me too. Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Just start slow.”

“‘Course.”

He lines himself up with her, and she puts her legs over his shoulders. As soon as he starts to enter her, he lets out a husky moan. He pushes inside, watching her face, until he reads it’s far enough, then slowly starts to pull out. Kai slips out a couple of times at first. He bites his lip, a bit fearfully, then retries. 

After a moment, Bonnie asks the dreaded question. “Have you done this before?”

“No,” he admits, looking anywhere but her face now. 

“It’s okay.” She’s quick to assure. “Take a deep breath.”

“Do you want to stop?”

She gives him a quizzical look. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay, we all have to start somewhere. Judging by what you told me about your childhood and how controlling your dad was, I’m not surprised.”

He cocks his head. “You’d go this far with me knowing I was possibly…”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with it. I was until just last year.”

“Was your boyfriend?”

“No, he lost it a long time ago. But he was gentle with me through it, and now I’m gonna be gentle with you, okay?”

Kai seems hesitant, but lets her hold the base of his cock and help him push back into her. 

“Don’t pull out all the way until you’ve found a rhythm. You don’t even, really, have to pull out all that much if you’d prefer.” She lets him go and rests back onto her elbows. “Now keep your hands wherever you feel like you need to. Once you get the hang of it, drop one down and rub the clit, because most girls can’t get off from actual intercourse anyway.” Kai doesn’t react to that, as if he already knew it, but he does nod at taking her advice to not pull out too far. “And you were doing a good job of keeping an eye on my reactions, making sure it’s not too much. That’s good. Also… remember to pull out in time. I certainly wasn’t expecting this today and I don’t think either of us have protection. I’m trusting you on this one, Kai.”

“Why are you trusting me?” He asks suddenly.

“I… I don’t know.” She bites her cheek before confessing, “maybe being around you today brought up some old feelings from our time in the prison world. Maybe I’ve finally decided to let myself give into them.”

The man smiles. “So you did feel something for me?”

She gives him a playful smack on his hand. “Don’t let that get to your head.”

“No promises, baby.” Before she can react, he’s kissing her again. After another minute, his thrusts resume. Bonnie wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him closer, simultaneously helping him find a rhythm. He has one hand on the desk and the other cupping her cheek. 

He’s a little choppy, still, but as he gets comfortable, he gets better, too. 

“This okay?”

“Mhm.”

Kai drops his lips from hers to her neck. His hand snakes down in between their bodies - Bonnie lets go of her tight hold on his waist - and finds her clit. 

“Perfect - oh!”

He kisses her chest overtop the fabric. His apparent frustration with it makes her almost giggle. He wanted her to wear the uniform, now he must deal with the consequences. She bites her lip to keep the giggle at bay, then pushes his head just enough that he nips at her bare skin instead of the school property uniform. Kai seems happy with this decision. He licks at her exposed midriff and leaves kisses in between love bites. Bonnie lets out a yelp the first time he lightly bites, but only out of surprise. The man looks up and winks at her in response. 

It isn’t long before Bonnie feels herself coming up on her second orgasm. She also knows that as soon as she comes, he most likely will, too. In fact, she’s surprised he’s held up as long as he has. Though quickly she’ll learn she spoke too soon as his next couple thrusts get sloppier. His finger on her clit weakens, the intensity of his roughness decreases. 

“You close?” She asks, not wanting any accidents. 

“Mhm, was just about to tell you.”

“I am, too. Just… there, don’t stop.”

Kai tries his best to keep his pace. The way she clenches around him makes it difficult. 

“Bon-”

“I’m- oh god. It’s- I am- now,” she bites down on her tongue. “Kai!”

As soon as she comes, he pulls out and splatters her uniform. This time, he doesn’t keep his hands on her throughout her orgasm, and instead strokes himself rapidly until he’s finished. Bonnie props herself up to watch better just as a short second wave hits her cheek. Some hits the floor, too, and a bit oozes down the underside of his cock. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, seeing it on her face. He lets go and stabilizes his hands on the edge of the desk. 

“I think you should be saying sorry to the school more than to me,” she jokes. He watches her swipe it off her face with her finger, then, much to his surprise, stick out her tongue. He narrows her eyes and she only shrugs. “Not too bad, actually.”

“As compared to…?”

“Dunno. Never tried it before.” Kai cocks his head. Bonnie teases, “when I lost my virginity, we used a condom.”

“Right.” He sends her an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

“Did you kidnap me with the intent of having sex with me and deliberately not bring a condom, or did it just work out this way?”

“I didn’t really have a plan, I just wanted to keep you here,” he replies sheepishly. 

“A-huh, I see. Well,” she swipes off what landed on her uniform, “I tried it, only fair now that you do.”

Kai chuckles. “Been there.”

“Hold up-”

“I spent eighteen years in complete isolation, you don’t think I’ve done that?”

“Right,” she says now. “So you have kind of done this before, just not with a real person.”

“If you wanna put it that way, yes.”

“So like… with a blanket, or a fleshlight, or…?”

“A what?”

“A fl- wait, when were those even invented?”

She searches for her phone, and then Kai pulls it out from behind the desk.

“Thanks… little thief,” she jokes. “Siri?” She speaks into the phone. “When was the fleshlight invented?”

The robot reports, “The fleshlight was invented in 1995 by Steven Shubin when-”

She mutes her phone to cut it off. “1995.”

“Let me see a picture.”

Bonnie turns her phone so he can see the photo Siri pulled up in relation to her search.

“1995? Dammit, I just missed that stupid thing!” He pouts.

She fights the urge to giggle. “Well at least now you know.”

His frustrated sigh turns into a low chuckle, and at that point, Bonnie lets herself laugh, too. After a moment, she starts to lower herself off the desk. He reaches out a hand to guide her. 

“If it’s okay with you, I’m gonna take this thing off. It’s not the most comfortable thing to wear, and wasn’t then either.”

“Okay. You look hot in it, though.”

“Thank you. I figured you thought that when you practically drooled at seeing me in it.”

“I did not-”

“You might as well have!” She softens. “But seriously, thanks. It feels good to hear.”

He winks. When Bonnie turns her back to change, he pulls up his pants. He finishes dressing before her, but keeps his back turned. 

“So, um… not to change the topic, but-”

“Yes?”

“What changed?”

“What?”

“You said you decided to let yourself explore what you denied to feel in the prison world. What changed your mind to let you do it today?”

She collects her thoughts before answering. “What you told me about your childhood. Not the fact that you were abused, but the fact that you were hurt for things that weren’t even your fault. Initially, in that prison world, you seemed so cocky about the way you had done everything. It was hard to see any humanity left in you. But then over time, including that time you cooked for me, the mold started to crack and I could see there was more to it.” She turns to face him, now fully dressed. A hand on his shoulder lets him know he can turn around, too. “You’re not just a psychopath who killed them for fun. You were a kid, outcasted and tormented, who snapped. I said it before, it doesn’t make it okay, but it does help me understand you.”

“Do I remind you of Damon? I know he had a pretty bad kill streak.”

“No,” Bonnie shakes her head, “Damon got better because he fell in love with Elena. You’re getting better because you’ve started to trust me with the truth.”

He lets this sink in, but then lets out a small chuckle. “Well, I might be a little like Damon in the regard that love for a girl got me better, but… I see your point.”

Bonnie smiles. She doesn’t quite know how to address that confession, but she wants him to know she heard it. They’ll cross that bridge another day. 

“So, um… I guess I should let you get back. He’s probably worried sick about you.”

She nods. “Though I do have another confession.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re right, about Lily. I don’t think bringing her here is a good idea, either. I would’ve, for Damon’s, and ultimately Caroline’s, sakes, but not happily. One ripper loose in this town is enough.”

“I don’t care too much for anyone in this town,” Kai admits, “but the spells of the prison worlds are bound with Bennett blood. Lily would’ve ripped you to shreds just for being a descendant of those that trapped her. Like hell I’d even give her the chance to hurt you.”

Bonnie smiles sweetly, touched by his caring words. She reaches up on her tiptoes to kiss him softly. Kai returns it, then brushes a piece of her hair back with his finger once they break apart. 

“Do you have any other ideas to get Stefan and Caroline back?” She asks, a hand on his chest.

“Maybe Stefan wasn’t Caroline’s emotional trigger. Maybe it’s her mom. Maybe it’s you. And then, maybe, Caroline turning hers back on will trigger Stefan’s back on.” Kai offers. “I can look into solutions, if you’d like. Those thousands of ancestral grimoires are bound to have something helpful.” His face then lights up. “You can look at them, too, if you’d like.”

Learning new magic always excites Bonnie. The prospect of Kai showing her centuries of his coven’s knowledge, to not only learn more, but also get to know him better, has her smiling from ear-to-ear. “Yeah, I’d like that.” She pulls away from him, convincing herself to leave his company. 

“Really?”

“Mhm.” She playfully tosses the wrinkled cheerleader uniform at him and grins. “See you around, Parker.”

He catches it, then throws her a lopsided smile and a wink. 

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Even When the Words Went Wrong

First posted: May 27, 2019

Focuses on: Jason Todd and Bruce Wayne

Favorite bookmark: "In which, Bruce doesn't fuck it up."

Second favorite bookmark: "I got actual tears in my tears like this fic beat up my heart in a dark alley and then stole its wallet"

Tier: Pretty middle, but at least in the top half of all metrics

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

Apparently this only took me a couple days to write, which is cool, and also makes sense. Alternate POV fics are, in many ways, so much easier because I already know what happened. I just have to express how a different person perceived it and felt about it.

Part one's title came from the David Cook song, and this one is a continuation of the same lyric, just slightly changed because my version is more poetic and appropriate.

Original: You've always been the sweetest song / Even when the world went wrong

Incorrect, Mr. Cook, do better.

Bruce Wayne had killed Jason in a thousand different ways. And Jason had killed Bruce in a thousand and one.

Some nights, it was all Jason could see when he closed his eyes.

I knew when I finished the first part that I would need to do more. I couldn't push the fic any further than it had gone from Bruce's POV, but I didn't want to end it where I did, so time to jump heads.

“You don’t have what it takes to give this city what it needs,” Jason spat, fully in the swing of his narrative. The Pit hummed like a swarm of locust in the back of his skull. “You’re weak. You’ve always been weak. You—“

I'd done POV swaps before, so I was already aware that one way that alternate POVs are not easier is finding a way to cover the same ground without just copy-pasting dialogue again. It gets so boring. Luckily here Bruce and Jason are both so distracted at different points that they can each zone in and out of the narration.

Batman’s composure was flaking off him in chunks. It was a sight to see. He was angrier than Jason had ever seen, jaw on the verge of cracking with the strain. Jason felt a sickly sort of pleasure that he was at least able to elicit that after all this time.

I personally find it funny that Jason thinks Bruce is mad, that that's the only emotion he can stick a label to, because he's never fully seen Bruce panicking like this before.

Somehow he had never considered that in the lost years Bruce might have changed, too. It wasn’t that Bruce was unrecognizable. He wasn’t. The Bruce of him was still there, grim and unyielding. The grey in his hair was new, clustered around the temples, not bright enough to be Alfred’s silver but close. There were lines, too, that had been there before, but only as the finest pencil strokes. Now they were cuts, deep and furrowed. They made Bruce look harder than ever, a man carved from stone, but stone that was beginning to crumble. He called Bruce old man, first as a joke and now as a taunt, but this was the first time it almost felt real.

I did Bruce a little dirty here, since by the timeline I use he's still in his 30s here. Oh well. The changes, both from the passage of time and the weight of grief, would be shocking to Jason regardless. Like. That's his dad. He knows what his dad's face is supposed to look like.

His finger stuttered against the trigger. He could pull it. Be done right here, right now. This close, there was no way to miss. It was why he had come to Gotham. It was all Jason could see when he closed his eyes. He didn’t want this.

That's the truth of Jason, the one I think all my fics about his anger and bitterness and resentment have to come to in the end. He wouldn't hate Bruce as much as he thinks he does if he didn't love him with the same intensity. He can lie to himself all he wants, but it's a truth he has to face in the end.

Bruce had him trapped, but Bruce wasn’t fighting. He was… he… was… Crying? Bruce had his face buried in Jason’s hair, and Jason could feel the tears on his scalp and the shuddering breaths rippling through Bruce’s chest. “B?” he whispered.

Is there anything more alarming than seeing your parent cry.

He was lost. He was falling. He was thirteen and wide-eyed, awed beneath his wariness. He was fourteen and reckless, eager to please and devoted to the end. He was fifteen and cocky, unsure of his path but sure of who would walk it with him. He was fifteen and dying, alone and crying for his dad.

I'm pretty sure I've accidentally written this same paragraph like five different times across different fics with different characters. Oops.

Bruce ignored his own tear-streaked face to rub a thumb across Jason’s cheekbone, a gesture of habit formed over a fraction of a lifetime, but the only fraction that had really mattered.

I love that paragraph specifically because I can feel it. Is there a name for that? Like written ASMR?

The end of this fic is so schmoopy in a way I don't normally like to be, but I do wonder how much that speaks to a culturally rooted aversion for male emotions that aren't anger, you know?

Also the end note is a Bible quotation but specifically the version I heard in my head is the Barlow Girls song. And some of you just got hit with 00s memories upside the back of the head, you're welcome.

And lastly, this one fic garnered multiple comments of very nice people saying DC needed to hire me I AM STILL WAITING DETECTIVE COMICS

[mariaofdoranelle]

Look at Us Now — Ch. 9

Fic masterlist

Look who’s back three days late! Thank y’all for your patience, I promise we’ll get back to our usual schedule this Thursday ❤️

I’m using @autumnbabylon’s prompt, and I’d also like to thank @renxzs for helping me with a few chapter titles (my translation was a huge mess)

Warnings: language, Fenrys (he’s on fire today)

Words: 5,7k (I’m never beating the irregular chapters allegations)

Rowan hovered the spoon with chili sauce over the freshly-cut mangos as he wondered if he should pour it or not. Maybe he could put the sauce in a separate container, in case she reconsiders.

One month and a half being in charge of Aelin’s food wasn’t enough to prepare him for some of her cravings. This morning, she texted him asking for hot chili sauce along with her mango, and an onion.

He was still hoping she requested the onion because Aedion’s house ran out of ingredients.

His phone pinged on the counter.

Aelin: where r u

Aelin: im abt to climb on a tree and pick some rose apples

Snorting, he thought about how she made Aedion do that last week. It was June, which meant the Rose Apple trees spread across their military housing complex were bearing fruit, its smell enticing pregnant women’s senses.

Rowan: I’ll be right there.

One quick look at the clock made him rush the lunch boxes into the huge thermal bags. Every day, he prepped several meals and snacks for Aelin to eat throughout the day. Rowan only let her run out of full lunch boxes once, and her reaction was enough so he’d never let that happen again.

Earlier today, Aelin texted him a very cryptic message telling him to meet her at another address, a short walk from his place. Before leaving his house, Rowan didn’t recognize the pair of fancy sneakers beside Fenrys’ at the front door. At least they were quiet last night. He couldn’t think about that right now, Aelin was waiting for him.

Despite his current unease, the sound of children playing at the playground in front of his house made him smile. It was usual for a Saturday morning, and Rowan never gave much thought to it until he realized one day he’d have a little one squealing there too. The reminder sent a soft smile to his lips, feeling the kind of warmth he knew wasn’t due to Doranelle’s sun burning his skin.

Which led him back to Fenrys. Rowan never minded his friend’s parade of one-night stands, but he couldn’t think of raising a kid in this kind of environment. He noticed Aelin’s car parked in front of a white, bare house. He’d have to figure out this thing about Fenrys later.

The front door was open. Rowan knocked on the door, hovering over the threshold until he heard Aelin’s voice telling him to come in. This house has the same layout as his, but it was completely bare. No lighting, no furniture, just the smell of dust.

He found Aelin in the kitchen. Standing on a ladder, its hinges squeaked while she changed a light bulb. Rowan’s heart almost jumped out of his throat as he rushed her way. Careful enough to not startle her, he picked her up by the hips and placed her on the floor, not caring about her squeal of protest.

Aelin rubbed the area below her belly. “You can’t press over a pregnant woman’s bladder. It’s rude.”

“What the fuck were you doing?” Rowan had both hands on her shoulders, his breathing still fast.

“Changing the light bulb.” Aelin took a step back and opened her arms, grinning. “Welcome to my new house.”

“Huh.” Rowan looked around, taking in… nothing. The house had nothing. “When do you plan to move in?”

“I just did.”

Rowan’s eyes widened. “You did not.”

Aelin took him by the hand and started showing her arrangements. “I stole Aedion’s cooler and one old microwave Uncle Orlon had.” She led him to the master bathroom and showed one mattress and a suitcase on the floor. “I’ll sleep here until my furniture arrives next week. I bought it all online.”

Horrified, Rowan slowly shook his head. “You’re not.”

“What?”

“Does Aedion know about this?”

She crossed her arms. “Why’s that important?”

“Aelin…” Rowan looked around, taking all the nothingness of the house in. “You’re not sleeping here. I can’t see one good reason for you to.”

She was glaring at him with a high chin, looking defiant from head to toe. Rowan had been doing everything he could to keep the easy friendship they built in the past weeks, but he couldn’t put his foot down on this.

“Well, it’s my house, and sleeping here won’t affect the baby, so you don’t get to say a word about it.” A pause. “Neither does Aedion, because if I look at him one more time, I swear to Mala, Rowan, I’m going to flip the fuck out.”

He flexed his jaw. “What did he do?”

“Everything!” Aelin flailed her arms around and started pacing around the room. “He’s so annoying! He making jokes about my cravings, and then he goes and steals a bite of my food, and then keeps suggesting ridiculous baby names.” She was finger-counting her cousin’s shenanigans, face reddening with each example of his teasing. “A few days ago, he said—“ Aelin stopped speaking to take a deep breath and look up, but her eyes were already wet. “He told me to name our daughter Wiggly Jiggly!” Her lips wobbled, and she looked away, hiding her teary face. “That’s such a horrible name.”

Oh, fuck. This wasn’t the first outburst of pregnancy hormones he witnessed, and Rowan was sure he’d never be ready for them.

He sat on the mattress and patted the spot beside him. “C’mere.”

Aelin obliged, laying down with her head on his lap, facing away from him. He just caressed her hair and let her be, knowing very well she didn’t like to cry in front of people, even if she couldn’t help it.

“For what it’s worth, I’d never let our daughter’s name be Wiggly Jiggly.”

She groaned. “You find this funny?”

“No,” he lied. It seemed to be all good-natured cousin teasing, but Rowan did a mental note to ask Aedion to tone down the name suggestions.

“Did I tell you he ate half of my mango yesterday?”

“That’s terrible.”

“He apologized when I started crying, but I haven't forgiven him yet. The apology mango he gave me wasn’t as juicy.”

Rowan snorted. “I have a very good mango supplier.”

She sniffed. “I know you do.”

Aelin’s puffy red nose was so adorable Rowan loved and hated it at the same time. He wanted to peck it with kisses because of how cute she looked, and then completely crush and destroy whatever threat made her cry.

“I have an idea.”

Aelin made a sound that was somewhere a hum and a purr. She was no better than a house cat when he ran his fingers through her hair like this.

“If you don’t want to live with Aedion anymore.” He trailed, pondering his words. “You can stay with me. Just until your house is ready,” Rowan quickly added the last part, before she could protest.

Aelin turned her body so she could lie facing him. Her eyes scanned his face, reading how much he meant it. “I don’t know…”

“I have a very comfortable guest room, but you can take mine if you want. Or my roommate’s, I can kick him out.” Aelin chuckled, eyes blissfully closed as he caressed her scalp. Rowan continued, “You can take a nap there, and when you wake up, we can discuss it over freshly baked cookies.”

Her lips morphed into a teasing smirk. “You’ve always been good at dirty talk, Ro.”

It should be illegal, the heat that flooded over Rowan’s body. Especially when they agreed their affair was over. Whenever he looked, scrambling his mind for a decent thought, his brain conjured the memory of Aelin’s flushed face and aroused looks.

He cleared his throat. “Is that a yes?”

“Let’s see how soft your bed is, Lieutenant.”

For Mala’s sake. Rowan let out a string of curses inside his head as he forced his gaze on the ceiling. She had to be doing this on purpose. Which reminded of the other menace he had to deal with.

Rowan: You have 3 minutes to get rid of your boy toy.

Fenrys: how do you know it’s a boy?

Rowan: The sneakers

He helped Aelin get up from the mattress, which was another reason she shouldn’t sleep here. It would kill her with back pain, considering her bump was bigger each day. He opened the chat again.

Rowan: Aelin may or may not spend the next few weeks in our place

Fenrys: nice

Fenrys: does it mean you’ll cook for me too?

Rowan: I already cook for you.

Fenrys: i know

Fenrys: but the pregnant lady stole my chef

When he rolled his eyes and pocketed his phone, Aelin was carefully studying him.

“I was letting Fenrys know you’re coming over.

“For the nap, right?”

He didn’t answer.

Aelin slowly shook her head. “I’m going to disturb your routine.”

Rowan squeezed her hand. “I don’t mind.”

“You’re being a big Buzzard right now, did you know that?”

Rowan tilted his head. “A what?”

Aelin tried to portray a serious look, but she was clamping her lips together, trying not to laugh. “A Buzzard. Because you’re hovering.”

After that, Rowan offered to drive her to his place, but Aelin refused, saying she was pregnant, not disabled. His only response was to chuckle and stay close to her during their short walk, in case she tripped or felt ill.

Rowan didn’t mind being called a Buzzard, as long as she didn’t mind that he acted like one.

˜˜

As much as Maisie deserved the best of the best on her birthday, Rowan felt like this outrageously expensive condensed milk was laughing at his face. He didn’t even pay for it, his parents did, but it was a matter of principles.

From the other side of the kitchen counter, Rory barely acknowledged her son’s distressed state. “Being cheap doesn’t look cute, Rowan.”

“Cheap?” His voice came out a pitch higher than he intended. “I’m not cheap, I just do a cost-benefit analysis before buying something, and it still ends up being expensive. But your groceries weren’t expensive, they were outrageous.”

Rory pointed a finger at her son. “Your job is to parent Maisie and teach her to be responsible.” She pointed at herself. “My job is to spoil her rotten, and that includes baking her overpriced cakes.”

“And giving overpriced gifts,” Rowan murmured to himself while organizing his shelf.

“You’re still bitter about that?”

Rowan looked at his mom dead in the eye. “You could’ve bought her a toy. You could’ve bought her a princess costume.” A dramatic pause. “You bought her an acoustic drum set.”

“It was your dad’s idea.” Rory beamed. “She’ll love it.”

“I will never know peace again.”

“Is Sellene coming tomorrow?” His mother asked, changing the subject.

Rowan resumed putting groceries away. “Just for Skull’s Bay on Saturday.”

After tomorrow morning’s surprise, Maisie had something with Aelin at Orlon’s, and on the weekend they’d go to the pirate-themed restaurant every kid in Doranelle City loved.

“It’ll be just us and Aelin, then?”

“Just us.”

“And Aelin?”

Rowan gave her a hard look, and his mother’s shoulders dropped.

“I thought things were better between the two of you.”

He ran a hand through his hair as if it’s take the frustration out of his mind. Yes, they were communicating better. It only erased one of the problems they had. And to be fair, it’s much easier to look Aelin in the face when she’s shooting daggers at him than when she’s smiling because of something their daughter did. It made him feel more at ease with his choices.

“We’re fighting less, yes, but that doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“You’re not friends yet, that’s alright. But is the birthday yours or Maisie’s?”

“What do you mean?”

“Because you just told me you didn’t invite Aelin because she’s not your friend, but this is not your party. She’s Maisie’s mom, Rowan, it doesn’t matter if you’re friends or not.”

“Well, Aelin’s throwing another party in the evening and didn’t invite me either.”

Rory shrugged. “I don’t care about the guest list for her party. In my parties, Aelin will always be a guest.”

He raised both eyebrows. “Your party?”

It was Maisie’s party at Rowan’s house.

“I’m making the food, which means I have a say about who gets invited.”

It didn’t, but his mother was impossible to argue with.

“Fine. I’ll text her when I’m done here.”

Rowan didn’t even mind Aelin’s presence there, it was just how they operated since last year. But they were better, and maybe he should have more initiative. Rowan scrubbed the flour container clean a lot more than he needed, thinking about this over and over.

“You know how I feel about this, son.” his mother turned to him from the other side of the kitchen.

His shoulders went rigid. “I know, could you not—“

“You should’ve married her.”

Rowan spilled flour all over the counter while opening the sack.

It wasn’t the first time his mother expressed her feelings about this, but they got fewer and far between as time passed. Going from encouraging him to propose while Aelin was pregnant to… this.

“We’re seeing a therapist after years apart. Can you imagine the shitshow we’d be if we were actually together?”

His mom had to understand this. If Rowan had been telling this to himself so much he had the words memorized, it had to make sense.

She didn’t seem to, though. “Every couple has fights, Rowan. It just needs to balance out with how much sex—“

Grimacing, he felt his upper arms quiver. “Could you not?”

”Alright.” Rory sighed. “I’m just saying you chose to have just the bad end of the deal. Apart from Maisie, that is.”

Fed up with this conversation, Rowan felt his pulse faster each second. He identified the anger he was feeling and repeated to himself that he would not snap at his mother over and over as he slowly wiped his hands on a cloth.

“I know you mean well, but I don’t like it when you tell me what I should’ve done,” Rowan explained in a carefully controlled tone. At that point, he had all of Yrene’s pdfs memorized. “It makes me feel…”

“You can talk to me,” Rory insisted when silence stretched, lips pursed as she looked too concerned for his liking. “How does that make you feel?”

Resentful. Frustrated. Hurt. There was no point in admitting that, though. The worst part is that no matter how much Rowan forced his face to look neutral, his mother still read him like a book. He drew out a long breath. “I need to pick Maisie up from school.”

The kitchen couldn’t be more silent after that.

˜˜

Turns out shoving his feelings down his throat was just what Rowan needed to go on with his day. His phone pinged around an hour past Maisie’s bedtime, and he already knew who it was.

Aelin: she’s still up??

Rowan: She’s too excited

Rowan: The first party I’ll be throwing for myself, *if* she falls asleep.

Aelin: lol lmk when i can come

Since they planned two separate celebrations before inviting each other, Maisie was now having two parties on the same day with both parents.

A small smile made its way into Rowan’s lips as he watched Maisie babbling in her kitten pajamas about her birthday tomorrow. She barely noticed he was using his phone, and if his little girl even suspected what was happening soon, her chances of falling asleep would be ruined.

Rowan: You don’t need to, I’ve got this

Aelin: stop fussing

Aelin: and text me when she’s out

“…I also like my birthday because I don’t have to brush teeth.”

Rowan crossed his arms. “Who told you that?”

“Mommy!” Maisie’s voice was more high-pitched than normal, and she looked a little too eager for his response, wearing a maniac smile. His daughter was such a bad liar, and Rowan hoped that never changed. At least not before teen years. She tapped the side of her head. “I have it in my rememberys.”

Rowan felt the warmth in his chest and refused to correct this mispronunciation. They got rarer each year, and he was enjoying the remains of this phase before it stayed just in his rememberys.

“Come on, Mais.” He kissed her forehead. “The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner your birthday will be here.”

She didn’t only close her eyes, but squished her eyelids together as if it’d make her fall asleep faster. “Maybe I can turn 7 and not 5 when I wake up.”

Rowan snorted. “That’s not how birthdays work.”

“But I want to be older than Charlie!”

After a lot of wrangling and lavender sleep spray on her pillow and reading books about hippos and answering that no, tomorrow isn’t Mrs. Hippo’s birthday as well, Maisie’s tiredness finally overthrew her birthday euphoria.

Rowan: She’s asleep.

Aelin: k. i’ll be there in 5

As carefully as he could, he removed himself from Maisie’s strong hold and went to the guest bedroom.

Rowan knocked on the door, even if it was open. “Everything alright there? She’s asleep.”

His parents let out a collective sigh, as if they were the ones fighting Maisie’s frenzy with their lives.

“Finally!” Rory whisper-yelled while getting up from the bed. She tapped on Rowan’s shoulders at the threshold. ”Time to do some baking.”

As loud as his mother could be sometimes, at least she understood that this preparation needed to be as silent as possible. If his daughter wakes up and sees what they’re up to… for Mala’s sake, he doesn't even want to think about it.

Crouching, his dad dragged a huge suitcase from under the bed and opened to reveal the new bane of Rowan’s existence.

Maisie’s acoustic drum set.

Rowan’s eyes widened. “Buying her drums wasn’t enough, you got one kit so big it needed its own suitcase.”

His dad was smiling so much at that thing it showed off every crinkle around his eyes. ”Nothing more than what our Maisy Daisy deserves. And it’s pink!”

Rowan crossed his arms, feeling a little torn. As much as he hated the idea of leaving a very active kid with the loudest, messiest musical instrument of them all, it could be overwhelming when his parents and Maisie were together. Rory and Owen were the kind of doting grandparents Maisie deserves, and it warmed his heart to see how much his little girl was loved.

A notification from his phone snapped Rowan out of his thoughts.

Aelin: where r u??????

He frowned at his phone, confused.

Rowan: At home?

Aelin: GREAT. could you pls answer the front door????

Cursing under his breath, he quickly dismissed himself to get the door.

“Don’t worry about me, son! Sellene sent the link on how to assemble this.”

“Of course she did,” Rowan called over his shoulder from the hall.

Rowan’s heartbeat was a little quicker than he intended while fumbling with the door handle. He didn’t want to upset Aelin tonight, but

“Gods, Rowan, I was knocking for ages!”

“Sorry,” he apologized, but then frowned. “Why didn’t you ring the doorbell?”

Aelin crossed her arms. “And wake up Maisie?”

He grimaced. Their daughter didn’t wake up that easily, but he was actually glad she didn’t take the risk.

“Sorry.” He scratched the back of his head. “Mom’s cooking, Dad’s assembling her drums, I’ll do the decoration.”

She blinked, eyes widened. “I’m sorry, drums?”

“Yes.” Rowan mimicked playing with drumsticks with the dullest face possible, to portray how unhappy he was with it. “Drums.”

“Dear Mala, this—“ Aelin cackled into her palm, shoulders trembling as she tried not to be loud. “You are so fucked,” she wheezed.

He squinted his eyes at her amusement, arms crossed. “Are you done?”

Of course she’d find this funny. The drum set was too big to fit into Maisie’s backpack when Rowan dropped her off at Aelin’s house.

“Alright, alright.” She raised both hands in surrender. “I can’t cook, and I’m not a percussion girlie. What do we’ve got?”

She was carefully silent the whole time Rowan showed his decoration plans.

“You got…” Aelin wrinkled her nose. ”Orange, pink, red and green balloons?”

“Maisie likes those colors!”

“But this is a terrible palette!” She complained, waving a hand at the packs of balloons displayed on the table, but then something about his face made her stop. “As much as I appreciate your efforts, I…” from Aelin’s furrowed brows, Rowan knew she was trying to mentally fit her unkind words into Yrene’s Guide On How To Communicate With Kindness. “I’m not a fan of the color scheme you chose. I think we can do better for Maisie.”

“Alright.” Rowan’s posture relaxed. “I’m listening.”

Rowan still didn’t know how to feel about this new technique. They were always saying how much they acknowledged each other’s efforts and feelings and respectfully disagreed. Sometimes, it made his interactions with Aelin feel too robotic, unnatural. It gave him a weird hollow feeling to see the two of them like this, but it was for the best. They were doing the best they could for Maisie.

After some explanations Rowan didn’t pay much attention to, Aelin decided the pink and orange balloons went better with the number 5 rose gold balloon he bought, and it was settled.

She rubbed her hands together. “Where’s the balloon thingy?”

“The what?”

Aelin gestured with her hands, but he could only understand a small, squared shape. “That thing we use to fill the balloons.”

Rowan tilted his head. “Our lungs?”

“Boo! Boring!” Aelin protested, but she was smirking at him.

He sat on the couch with the pink pack of balloons and tossed the orange one at her. “Come on, I’d like to get more than three hours of sleep tonight.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, lungs too busy to speak, being interrupted only when Aelin groaned about the smell of food coming from the kitchen.

Her eyes were full of mischief. “Do you think your mom will let me take a bite?”

“Only after Maisie wakes up,” his mom warned from the kitchen’s threshold, pointing between the two of them with a dirty whisk. Then she aimed a soft grin at Aelin. “But I’m making those chocolate hazelnut cookies.”

She sagged back on the couch, eyes closed while wearing a small, blissful smile. “Your mom is the best.”

“Thanks, darlin’!” Rory called from the kitchen.

Aelin chuckled and turned to him. “Shall we get the tape?”

Rowan shook his head. “Nope, it’ll ruin the walls.”

“Really?” She had her arms crossed and brows raised. “Are you worried it’ll ruin Maisie’s drawings? Because it doesn’t look like you care about the paint.”

Completely ignoring Aelin’s taunt, he kneeled in front of her and tapped his shoulder. “Hop on.”

Aelin narrowed her eyes at him, but he didn’t miss the way the corner of her lip twitched. “This is terrible for your back.”

“You think I can’t take you?” Rowan wore a playful smile while watching Aelin’s blood rush into her cheeks. “Be careful, you’re about to bruise a man’s ego.”

Resigned, she carefully sat on his shoulders, cursing under her breath when he got up. When Aelin grabbed a fistful of his hair to support herself, Rowan’s body immediately tingled. It brought him back to another time when she’d yank his hair the same way, but he was quick to shrug it off. His memories were a menace.

“Okay…” holding Aelin’s legs, he kicked a balloon up and she caught it with the hand that wasn’t holding his hair. “Now rub it in my hair and put it on the ceiling.”

She was quiet for a second. “You want me to do what?”

He squeezed her calf for reassurance, since they couldn’t see each other’s faces. “I need you to make the balloon electrostatically charged enough to stick it to the ceiling.”

“And that’s better than tape?” He couldn’t see her face, but she didn’t sound happy.

“For Mala’s sake, Aelin, I’m an engineer! Just rub the damn thing in my hair.”

She kicked his torso with the heel of her foot. “Where are the manners Yrene taught you?”

“His mother too!” Rory called from the kitchen.

Rowan closed his eyes for a second, embracing his defeat. He was helpless when the women in his family ganged up on him. “Please.”

“Here we go.” Aelin did as he asked, and let out a squeal of delight when the balloon adhered to the ceiling. “It worked!”

“It had to. It’s a law of physics.”

She playfully kicked him again. “Killjoy.”

This was nice. The weight of Aelin on his shoulders didn’t even cause an itch, maybe because Rowan felt so much lighter right now he didn’t even notice the extra weight on his back. Just like he didn’t notice time running, only realizing how late it was when his parents went to the living room to say goodbye.

After they finished decorating the ceiling, Aelin started on the wall while he rested on the couch for a few minutes. As much as the orthopedist beside him disagreed, there’s no running from back pain after 30. In fact, at this point in his life, if Rowan didn’t wake up in some sort of physical pain, that’d probably mean he’s dead.

“What’re you doing?” He asked her as she grabbed the pack of green balloons, after they made a half-wall of pink flowers.

She filled a small one and placed it on the corner of one balloon flower. “A leaf! You wanted more green.”

That gave him a faint, very tired smile. Rowan barely remembered their disagreement earlier about which colors they were using, but apparently she did.

She sat on the couch next to him after adding a few more leaves to the flower wall. “I can help you with your old man's back pain if you keep teaching me cool Physics tricks. How about that?”

He snorted. “That’s basic high school Physics.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Of course you were the nerd.”

“And you weren’t?”

“Nope. Too cool for that.“ Aelin tried to conceal a distant look on her face as she reminisced, ”I was hot and depressed. Had bigger things going on than physics.”

Rowan stared at her, wide-eyed. “How did you get into med school without studying?”

She shrugged. “I guess I’m just that awesome.”

The TV’s remote control was right by her side, so Aelin turned it on Netflix. He didn’t feel like watching TV yet, though. Rowan didn’t miss the part about her being depressed during her teenage years, especially how she tried to laugh it off. The same way she downplayed her going to therapy weeks ago.

“So…” Rowan cleared his throat. “How are you now? With the… Yrene stuff.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “We’re doing better, right? At least that’s the impression I got from the last few weeks.”

Now that he was paying more attention, he realized Aelin sometimes talked about family while answering his questions about her. Rowan didn’t know if this was intentional, so he didn’t pressure her to correct her answer, but he didn’t like it either.

“I think so too.”

“And now that we don’t fight as much and I don’t spend half of my time being angry at you, I realized I have all this energy I can focus on something else.”

“Like what?”

He glanced at Aelin from the corner of his eye. She looked calm, relaxed. Maybe she didn’t lie to him about the reason she was seeing a therapist. Maybe Rowan was just being a worrywart and worrying about things he shouldn’t.

“I’m reading more, but sometimes I think about getting back into playing the piano too.” She paused, biting the inside of her cheek. “And sometimes I think maybe Maisie could use some siblings.”

“You’re pregnant?” Rowan blurted, completely ruining the mood they were in.

“What?” She jerked at the couch, staring at him. “Why would you think that?”

“You just brought babies up!”

Why in hell was Rowan’s heartbeat so fast?

“Gods, no.” She sighed, relaxing again. “I just get pensive around Maisie’s birthdays, that’s all.”

That definitely wasn’t all. Considering having more kids just because one turned five isn’t a thing. Rowan felt his chest burn and tighten. It felt wrong to have his family fixed just so she could finally grow another, but maybe not in Aelin’s head. Maybe he was naive to think just him and Maisie would be enough for her.

Sensing something was wrong with him, she pressed play on a half-watched show on his TV. Good. His eyelids were starting to drop, but he was a trained military man. He could survive under the hardest conditions, especially exhaustion.

˜˜

Rowan woke up with Fenrys Moonbeam slapping the side of his head. He was laying on the couch with his legs intertwined with Aelin’s, who apparently fell asleep with her head on the other end.

Turns out his friend crashed into his daughter’s birthday breakfast because he assumed there’d be food, but everyone just shrugged it off as Fenrys being Fenrys and went on with the party.

As predicted, Maisie was a little bubble of excitement. Rowan had no idea what kind of bribery his parents would do to take her to school after that, or why they insisted on doing it in the first place.

It was all nice and easy, but the second Fenrys got him alone in the car, the questions started.

“Did a bug bite your ass on that old couch?”

Rowan had his eyes narrowed at his friend. “What do you mean?”

“You’re too stiff for your daughter’s birthday. Spill.”

He grimaced, hoping Maisie didn’t notice that. There was one thing going on inside his head today, but Rowan decided to give Fenrys some other answer. “Did you see my parent’s present? I’ll never enjoy silence again.”

Fenrys clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he turned off the radio. “When Maisie pisses you off by being a little hellion, you do that thing where you’re making pissy faces while trying not to smile. Now you’re just full pissy.”

Rowan’s shoulders slumped, and she ignored the hollowness inside his chest as he recalled part of his conversation with Aelin last night. He was probably going to regret sharing this, but it was done now.

“She definitely wasn’t just thinking about it. She’s on the hunt.”

Rowan tilted his head. “The hunt?”

“Listen, man, Aelin’s different. The way she’s lighter when she talks, you can’t fake that shit.” Fenrys was counting on his fingers with one hand the same way they’d do on a mission, before becoming drill instructors. “She’s happier. Each year, her ovaries only get closer to the shrinking age or whatever. She’s on the hunt. She wants Mr. Right, and she wants him now.”

Rowan faked a bored look now that his friend could look at him during the red light. “Go on. Without the ovaries part, please.”

It was so frustrating how easily he engaged in Fenrys’ nonsense. But if he did, it must hold some truth, right?

“We need to avoid The Sam Mess from happening again.” Fenrys’ voice was so serious Rowan could barely believe it came out of his friend’s mouth.

He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a mess. She didn’t- green light!” Rowan winced when the car harshly took off. There was a reason he didn’t let Maisie drive with Uncle Fen. “Aelin didn’t tell me about him, probably to avoid said mess.”

“Nope, I’m talking about you. You were a mess.”

“What’s your point?” Rowan was definitely going to snap at Fenrys if he mentioned Lieutenant Cortland again.

“My point?” His friend raised his hand in surrender and Rowan gripped the steering wheel to save them from a car crash. Fenrys immediately got back to it, cursing. “My point is to save my best friend from endless heartbreak.”

“Not an endless heartbreak, that ship sailed years ago.” A pause. Fuck, he was too curious to shut Fenrys out now. “But what do you mean?”

“It’s a complicated plan with many, many steps.” His friend gave him a look as if daring Rowan to disagree or find it funny. “But when the time comes, you’ll need to be fucking someone hotter than her.”

Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. Like it was an easy task.

Over the years, he had a few flings. Real flings, not the kind where people move in and have children together, since Aelin insists on labeling what they had like this. But these affairs happened sporadically, and Rowan never considered turning any of them into something serious.

Showing up with some arm candy out of the blue just to spite Aelin sounded petty and desperate. There was no way Fenrys was talking him into it.

His friend continued, “Being hotter than her next boyfriend works too, but that’s harder to control.”

“You know, I’m almost regretting telling you this.“

“You have an advantage over Aelin—“

“If you’re trying to suggest I’m near as good-looking or interesting as her—“

“Not that.” Fenrys gave him a quick apologetic look. “But you’re a dude. Dudes are like taxi drivers.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Not one of your theories again.”

“Not mine. Sex and the City’s.” Fenrys raised a finger without taking his hands off the steering wheel. “We see someone there who looks like they won’t kill us, and they hop in. That’s how dudes work. Have you ever put your love life on hold because you were hoping to get the right person?”

Rowan refused to answer this question. “This is so sexist I can barely believe it’s coming out of a queer person’s mouth.”

“It’s Sex and the City wisdom, man. Those four chicks just know things.”

“So, basically…” Rowan sighed, weighing the absurdity of it all. “You’re telling me that being a slut will make me feel better about Aelin looking for a new family.”

“That’s the quick fix, yes. You should really talk to Lorcan too, though.” Fenrys glanced at him, smirking like the devil. “But in the meanwhile, I can even help you with a Tinder profile.”

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[archduchessgortash]

Banite Ranks

For my fics, I'm reworking Banite lore, the church ranks in particular.

In the established lore, after Bane was killed in his mortal form, Cyric stole most of his worshipers and wiped out nearly all of the rest (Circa 1361 DR). During this time, the High Imperceptor of the Church of Bane was on the verge of converting to open worship of Cyric. There had already been a schism, and the church was kind of a mess. An offshoot group began worshipping Iyachtu Xvim, Bane's son, and Bane would eventually use him for his own resurrection. Upon reclaiming his portfolio, I imagine the Dark One would have been none too pleased with his faithless previous High Imperceptor.

Fzoul Chembryl, a Chosen of Bane, helped bring about Cyric's downfall and aided greatly in restoring the church of Bane, but I haven't found reference to Chembryl having the rank of High Imperceptor. He was so loyal that Bane raised him up as an Exarch for his service.

Fast-forward the age of Bilbo Baggins at the start of the Fellowship of the Ring (111 yrs for the unlettered, spoken in a Gale-like voice), and we have the Banite-laden plot of Baldur's Gate 3, without a single character I can find using the rank names in the previous century's lore for the church. Because of this fact, I arbitrarily decided, for the purposes of my fics, that Bane recreated all the positions in his new church so I could have rank names to use that felt less off than incorprating the old ones. Deleting the entire rank system that included the unfaithful feels like a Bane thing to do, ya know?

I decided that since, in more recent years, the church fosters cooperation to gain power and influence, I'd create a small ruling body with new titles, incorporate the titles found in-game into the ranks and flesh those out a bit.

Thus was born the Black Hand of the Church of Bane...

The Black Hand includes the Chosen and four others, or the Chosen may sit above all five ranks if they prefer to be less hands-on (pun intended). Should they wish to be part of the Hand, the Chosen is granted the highest rank, whether or not that seat is currently occupied. What happens to the current occupant is entirely at the whim of the Chosen.

The Chosen's rank will be the Prime Digit, Black Sovereign, or Dread Patriarch/Matriarch. All these names are the same rank/person. The leader of the cult (the Chosen in this case) selects their preferred title.

The Chosen corresponds to the thumb of the hand. It is the digit without which a hand loses the most versatility. Hence, one of the names for the top rank in the cult is simply the Prime Digit.

The other four are the 1st - 4th Digits and are sometimes called the Fingers of the Hand. They have titles as well. They work in conjunction with one another and report directly to Gortash. He doles out the orders, but status reports, etc, go to his assistant.

The thumb is the Black Sovereign (Gortash).

The first finger/digit is the Black Claw.

The second is the Black Gavel.

The third is the Black Binder.

The fourth is the Black Needle.

Sometimes, we drop Black from the titles.

For Gortash, when he isn't called simply the Chosen or Director, he prefers Sovereign and Prime. The leader he replaced in my fics preferred Patriarch, and to say Gortash did not get along with him is putting it lightly.

Classes:

The Claw and Gavel are usually high-level fighters or clerics.

The Binder is invariably the most powerful magic-user in the cult.

The Needle is always an alchemist.

Black Gauntlets are the most numerous Banites in-game. I've placed their ranking directly below the Hand, as the stronger ones act as Gortash's guards in Wyrm's Rock. Low rank Banites wouldn't be given that responsibility, though some Iron Consuls are considered his bodyguards, so I put them directly below the Gauntlets. I've decided that Black Gauntlets are similar to high-ranking military, and the Iron Consuls are lower ranking but still are officers of a sort.

For my purposes, I've decided that the strongest Black Gauntlets can obtain a rank on the Black Hand. Thus, some in-game Black Gauntlets will have Hand ranks in my fics.

Almost every Banite we fight is a cleric or a fighter, and this feels truly silly to me. (Though I do love how laughable their clerical powers actually are, befitting Bane's current status as a quasi-deity). I've also seen no instances of them using healing magic. It makes sense from a might-makes-right deity, but it also makes his clerics comparatively weak.

I've created additional consul ranks for more variety in function.

The new consul ranks I've added are as follows:

Iron: Fighters (and the uncleric-like clerics), Rangers & Monks

Bronze: Rogues & Warlocks

Gold: Wizards, Sorcerers & Bards

Obsidian: non-combatant thinker types (Gortash's assistant is this rank)

Malachite: bottom rung office workers

Below these are the Fists of Bane.

I'm debating whether it was Bane who changed the rank names or if Gortash did it instead. His memoir notes say he re-established the Banite cult (though I have beef with so much in that document's timeline, particularly in how it deviates from the tiny bits of Durge's actual memory that come through in narration). The scrunkly tyrant is arrogant and ambitious enough to have arbitrarily decided to alter a hierarchy that had been in play for thousands of years. He's going to rule the world, after all.

[bokettochild]

According to my sister, rabbits feel safer when they can’t see.

Just something I thought I’d share :3

Well I WAS just going to coo and give some sort of answer, but this is a rabbit thing and I have a weakness and had some free time sooo......

How about a very barely relevant fic based around a story I heard as a kid and barely remember + this particular idea?

Full fic under the cut

The Selkie King

  There are many times it's easy to forget how young his fellow heroes are.  

  As a soldier, the Hero of Warriors has seen boys and men alike on the field, fighting, dying. He's held many a hand in final moments, his own still stained with blood more than not as final words and regrets are spilled to him by grizzled veterans and terrified teens.  

  Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that one of his brothers qualifies under both of those titles.  

  He tries not to see the other heroes like he does his soldiers. Tries to remember them as people and not pawns. It’s hard, after so many years tipping back whiskey to forget the humanity of those he’s had to slay, trying to retrain his mind to seeing others coldly, to remove emotion from his dealings with those who fight beside or against him on the field.  

  It hurts, getting attached.  

  He’d made the mistake countless times. Some, he regrets, others, like Mask and Tune, he’d never think twice about.  

  Still, even with his brothers, even with no regrets given for having let himself care about them; cry for them and treasure them, it’s easy to forget certain realities. It’s easy to forget, when he sees them with weapons in hand and blood dripping from crown to toes, that half of them are merely children themselves, and those who aren’t were hardly even adults when fate stole their lives from them and burdened them instead with the lives of all of Hyrule.  

  It’s easy to forget that Sky is hardly old enough to be served in a bar, that Twilight is still stumbling through the early years of his twenties. It’s easy to forget that Four and Hyrule are innocent to many of the greatest evils of the adult world, or that Wind- pirate or no- is still only just starting to go through the joys of puberty. It’s easy to forget that even for all of his scarring, Wild is still just barely learning how the world even works, in many ways still a child in his mind even if his memories, what few there are, are those of a man and a soldier.  

  Time, it’s harder. Time, he still remembers holding in his arms, rocking the kid to sleep because the motion helped, because the promise that he was still small enough to be held to begin with was a precious assurance the poor boy needed to feel secure enough to close his eyes. He’s wiped tears and wrapped injuries and tucked the now older hero in so many times that the child in his mind in many cases has blocked his vision of the man his son has now become.  

  And then there’s the vet.  

  Legend isn’t like the other heroes. He’s distant, reserved. There’s almost nothing they know about him save that he carries an arsenal fit for a whole battalion and knows more magic than the lot of them could ever hope to see performed.  

  He knows the veteran hero as a powerhouse and a threat.  

  He holds the vet at a distance, just as Legend does with them. Out of all of their group, the pink haired hero is the one with the least to share and the most to say. He's quick to redirect, to refocus, to tease and quip and jest, and despite all, he’s still capable of holding them away from himself with a wariness that makes the captain wary in return.  

  He’d like to claim that that is why it takes so long for him to realise. He’d like to claim that he'd been distracted by all the red flags, too much to see the similarities. No one would blame him if he’d claimed that his concerns were what prevented him from seeing the truth, but Warriors won’t lie to himself; he just didn’t look close enough.  

  It’s a night at an inn that opens his eyes. Twilight, Time and Wild usually room together. In a group of nine, it makes sense to get more than one room, and to keep it fair, they have three in each when they can. More often than not, he pays. Unlike his brothers, the captain has a steady salary, and the princess is personally financing his investigation into this increase in monster attacks, so while Legend may claim he’s broke, he does have a hand in the royal purse to use at his discretion. Providing beds for his brothers when they can find them is no issue. Tonight, that means that the wolf trio has their own room. Wind had insisted on having Four and Hyrule room with him, claiming they rarely got a chance to be alone and “without adults” and honestly, Warriors gets it. He trusts the sailor, and he understands the need for space. Granted, rooming with Legend of all people isn’t his first choice, but at least Sky will be there as well, and at least the Chosen Hero is someone they both can get along with, even if neither of them truly have much fondness for each other.  

  Honestly though, he’s not all too picky about where he lays his head. It’s been a long day, and he’s soaked to the bone, as are they all by the heavy rainfall currently going on. Time says it’s normal for spring in his world. Warriors doesn’t care. There’s mud all up and down his boots, his clothes are clinging to him and Nayru knows the combination of chain mail and rain isn’t pleasant for any of them.  

  At the least though, Legend’s been quiet today, so maybe there won’t be any hang ups. Hopefully. All Warriors really wants right now is a bed and a change of clothes. Well, he’d like more, but realistically speaking, he’d settle for just a bed and something dry to wear, neither of which are much of a hassle. Getting out of his wet things is a bit of a struggle, and chain mail wasn’t exactly designed for one to be taking off and putting on alone, but Sky is a blessing to Hyrule in general, and the man lends him a hand that Warriors willingly returns while Legend does whatever he does in the background.  

  He’s just tugging on a new shirt, dry, clean, and only minimally stained with blood, when the first flash of thunder rolls over the inn.  

  Sky flinches. “I hoped that wouldn’t happen.”  

  “Unavoidable I’m afraid,” he consoles, clapping his brother’s shoulder firmly. “No worries though. It’s distant.”  

  Another roll sounds over them.  

  “It’s moving though,” he muses, the first bolt of lightning flashing across the window and sending strange shadows dancing over the dimly lit room that has only a simple fireplace for both warmth and light. And Hylia knows it gives precious little of either. Ah well, the beds are soft. “Travelling towards us, I think.”  

  “Wonderful,” Sky drawls, shucking his tunic and then going about peeling off the first of his undershirts. “Just what I wanted.”  

  He chuckles, meeting Sky’s rueful smile before moving to settle on his bed. He’s not tired yet. Well, bone tired actually, but his mind isn’t ready for sleep and he’s rather inclined to fill out his daily report and maybe enjoy some poetry before actually getting some sleep.  

  He has the chance for neither. Another clap of thunder sounds and only seconds later there's a bolt of lightning that paints everything, from the bed to the walls to the floor to the ceiling, to their crumpled clothes on the floor, in cold white light.  

  Legend starts.  

  The vet’s been a wreck all day, predicting the storm by the ache in his joints alone and watching everything like a hawk. He's been tight lipped too, more so than usual, and not even his characteristic quips and barbs made an appearance as they wandered down soaked paths and sloshed through mud and mire in order to make it to the closest town before nightfall. Warriors hadn’t thought much of it besides that maybe the vet might just be in a lot of pain, but now he’s given a chance to think differently.  

  Now, Legend starts like a cat whose tail has just been pulled, and, in a motion that honestly surprises the war captain, the vet’s first action is to cover his eyes.  

  “Vet?” It’s Sky who asks it, but they’re both staring. Trained warriors watch every sudden motion, but that one had been... strangely out of character. “You okay?”  

  There isn’t an answer, but when the next rumble sounds, he knows he sees the vet tremble.  

  It’s.... startling.  

  Not the storm, Hylia knows he’s seen his share of those over the years. A storm like this isn’t even the worst he’s seen, but the vet... cowering- honestly there’s no other word to be used- it's... it’s odd.  

  “Legend?”  

  A shuddering breath is his answer, the soles of gnarled hands being pressed ever closer to tightly shut eyes, and suddenly the captain is stuck by the fact that Legend looks very, very young.  

  The vet is small, they all know this. He's the third shortest in the group, with only a literal child and someone with confirmed stunted growth ranking below him. They don’t have an age, but he’s always assumed, based off of skill and sarcasm, that Legend must be at least in his twenties, if not a bit older. When standing beside Sky, he seems older, beside Time, he’s just as seasoned and strong. Here on a bed in an inn, with lightning and thunder joining the cacophony of rain outside though, he looks like a kid, eyes hidden in his hands and breathing ragged.  Warriors can’t name what it is, but he looks like Mask.   

  “Ledge, hey, you alright?” Sky stares at him for the softened voice, well used to an exchange of heated barbs and insults, but the captain hardly takes note as he crosses from the bed that he’d fully intended to stretch out on to the one the vet sits on, curled up tight and trembling. “Vet, hey,” he’s gentle when he brushes fingertips over slight shoulders, and it’s shaking to realise how small the vet feels when he’s actually touching him.  

  The title says it all, paints an image of an adult with years under his belt, but the Hero of Warriors tends to forget that many of their number start young, and experience may be one thing, but it’s no promise of age.  

  “Hey there,” his voice is dropping soft and low without his consent, but he can’t help it when Legend flinches back at the mere brush of his fingers, and when he settles himself on the bed beside and the vet shifts away, he knows the change of tone is for the best.  

  Sometimes, people who distance themselves aren’t plotting and scheming. Sometimes, people who shy away from transparency are hiding, protecting themselves in the only way they know how. That's how Mask had been, hiding behind masks both physical and metaphorical, sharp tongue and acerbic wit defences against loss and heartbreak.  

  He’s struck, sitting there, that perhaps the same could be said for others in their number.  

  “Legend,” he tries again, and then there’s another flash and roll, right overhead this time, and the vet freezes.  

  “Oh,” Sky breathes, his own lightning scars still on full display as he pauses midway through changing, his own eyes wide as he watches the hero who’s gone from distant and inscrutable to small and childlike in what seems to be the blink of the eye- or, if one wanted to be more direct; a single clap of thunder.  

  It’s instinct that has his body moving before his mind has quite caught up to what he’s doing with the brother who he knows the least, hands catching slight wrists and dragging away, holding even as breath hitches and shoulders tremble. They cease though when he settles his own hand, so much bigger in comparison, over tightly shut eyes. He can feel the flutter of lashes against his palm, surprise evident as the other pauses, seems to miss entirely the next clap in favour of registering the new situation. Warriors takes the stillness as an invitation, settling closer, hand holding its place, pressed gently but close against freckled skin, blocking out light to the best of his ability.  

  “Okay, that helps, yeah? Okay, I’m moving closer now, alright?” And he does. Legend says and does nothing but sit there, but he feels the twitching under his hand and watches ears swivel towards him as he moves closer, leg brushing thigh as he moves as close as he considers safe, hand still held still and solid as his own ears track ragged breaths.   

  He's acting on impulse alone. Mentally, he’s questioning what the dickens has gotten into himself.  

  Legend stiffens further at the close proximity, but pressing a bit firmer, hand held closer, seems, somehow, to make that stop.  

  “There we go. You good, mate?”  

  A light shudder.  

  “Legend?” Sky murmurs, tugging his shirt on the rest of the way and starting closer towards them. The vet’s response is immediate, ears flicking towards him and head turning to face him, but Warriors, for some reason he can’t even begin to name- but which he thinks might be affiliated with Mask- prevents it. His hand tightens its hold again, the second settling on the other hero’s arm, just above the wrist but not confining, firm but not tight.  

  “Breathe.”  

  The order is obeyed.  

  “Sky is coming towards you right now,” because he’s now beginning to recognize the panic for what it is, and while apparently having his eyes covered helps, Legend still seems keen on being aware of those around him at all times. He’s still tightly wound though, so Warriors turns his attention on Sky as he continues to speak. “He’s going to sit across from us on the other bed, okay? He’s right here.”  

  Assure where people are, assuage uncertainties about actions, positions and behaviours, and provide some source of grounding. Or at least he’s pretty sure that’s what that therapist Zelda hired had recommended, before he’d stormed out and refused to come back anyway.  

  “I’m right over here,” Sky reaffirms, and it’s amazing to watch how the vet’s posture eases at the sound of the other man’s voice as Sky settles close, but not close enough to touch.  

  Legend’s breath rattles through the room again.  

  “Do you not like the storm?” It’s the size, he thinks, it must be the size. He knows that Legend’s a capable fighter and warrior, but the size and the shaking and the sheer childishness of the vet’s motion; covering his eyes against the storm, has a part of him that he’d tried locking away peeking back out and gentling his voice and hands.  

  A shudder is his answer.  

  “I’m lifting my hand now,” he says, just a moment before the motion is done. Legend’s breathing hitches, but when it’s the hand on his wrist that lifts, it starts again, although still shallow.   

  Huh.  

  “Now,” he continues, reaching blindly towards Sky, who watches him with confusion until he continues speaking “I’m going to have Sky hand me my scarf.”   

  It’s out of reach, on the bed he was planning on lying down on before, but Sky hands it over readily. It's still wet, but it’s honestly his trump card to help younger, shaken up heroes and while he’s never tried it with Legend, it’s worth a shot. The vet’s got to be younger than he assumed, and if the scarf works on Wild, there’s a chance that however old the other is, it could still work on him too.   

  “Can I bring it over here?” He asks.  

  Twisted fingers twitch, raising a bit, reaching out blindly. Legend makes no move to shake off his hand however, so Warriors doesn’t lift it. For some reason, he gets the impression that the lack of sight is somehow actually comforting.  

  “Okay,” he shifts a bit, hand holding over twitching lids but moving just enough for him to shift position, “I’m pulling it towards us, and I’m going to set it over your shoulders, okay?”  

  It’s telling that Legend doesn’t complain about him breaking down every motion and explaining it as he does it. Telling in a way he really doesn’t like. Just as telling though is the way the weight of the fabric, damp as it still might be, has the younger hero relaxing some, and on impulse the captain adds to the weight by settling an arm around thinner shoulders.  

  Legend all but sinks into him.  

  Oh crap. Yeah. It’s happening.  

  He feels like shit honestly. He totally missed a kid in his group, and he’s been treating them like an adult this whole time. It was a mistake with Mask, trying to respect his insistence that he was an adult and should be treated like one, but it’s more of one with Legend.  

  He can only imagine, based off of listening to the kids, what it’s like being a hero at a young age. His first adventure saw him nearly a teenager, and despite a demon at the end of the tracks, there had been fun and games and a trusted companion by his side the whole while. Not everyone has that. Legend is purported to have completed- at the least- six adventures, and he can only imagine what the laundry list of traumas associated must look like. Settling such a weight on young shoulders is a sure recipe for distrust and distancing.  

  Suddenly, the vet’s reservation around them makes a whole lot more sense.  

  And hurts more, because he should have noticed.   

  Thunder makes itself heard again, and while Legend doesn’t shift much, he still feels the other press just the slightest bit closer, head ducking and hand raising to pull his hand along after. There’s no need though, he’s already following along, arm wrapping just a bit tighter around slight shoulders even as he hums lowly. “Hey, shhh, I gotcha.”  

  “We’re here for you, Ledge,” Sky murmurs, voice rich and smooth and heavy, like caramel or honey. “Wars has you and I’m right here in front of you.”  

  Another shudder is followed by the slightest of nods; small, so as not to displace his hand.  

  “It’s a big storm,” the captain muses, shifting and finding himself strangely pleased when the teen beside him lets himself be shifted with him. “My sisters hated this sort of thing when we were small.”  

  He can feel Sky’s eyes, and Legend’s too in a more literal way; long lashes tickling the pads of his palm as dark eyes must flicker open. There’s no attempt made though to displace his hand, and until there is, he elects to leave it. Still, he can feel the unspoken question from them both, and he answers it without much undo delay.  

  “I have six sisters. Five younger and then my twin. You’ve seen her actually, but we didn’t get the chance to talk.”  

  “Six?” Sky repeats, blinking slowly.  

  The captain shrugs. “What can I say? My parents had quite the torrid love affair.”  

  The desired result of that statement (although true) is achieved, and while Sky only levels him with a look, Legend, like Mask and Tune before him, shudders, squeaking out some semblance of nervous and flustered laughter at the words.  

  Oh yeah, if stuff like that had the vet flushing red hot under his hand, it’s only further proof that the younger is, in fact, a baby.  

  “Yeah,” he continues, settling into the bed as best he can and rather wishing his back was to the wall or a headboard or something, “all of us have ‘L’ names too. Link and Linkle, Leah, Laura, Lyrica and Lillian- they're also twins- and lastly little Lila.”  

 “Your dad and mum have ‘L’ names too?” There’s not the usual bite to the jest, voice shaken and almost timid, but it’s a relief all the same, and proof he’s doing some good here.   

 He chuckles, looking down to the face settled almost against his chest, his hand covering dark eyes and blocking any sight of expression or thought that may have slipped through the cracks. “Yes, actually. Luke and Lynn Taylor.”  

  Any answer or reaction is lost as thunder rumbles through once more, and the vet under his hands cowers back at the sound.  

  Impulse once more takes the reigns. “Sound like the Selkie King really isn’t having it tonight.”  

  “The what?” It’s Sky that asks, but long ears twitch beside him and the face that was almost buried in his chest now raises again, his hand still over dark eyes even as lashes flutter open a second time, soft and whispering across his nerves like fairy wings, but in no ways hiding the clear curiosity of the younger.  

  It works every time.  

  “The Selkie King,” he says again, and then, “I’ll tell you the tale, but only if you let me actually settle here, I’m too old for hunching over like this, it’ll give me a widow’s hump.”  

  Sky scoffs. “You’re like twenty-two.”  

  He’s off by a few years but the captain doesn’t correct him.  

  Legend’s surprisingly pliable and let’s himself be tugged into the corner of the bed, walls on either side and blankets pulled up, both for warmth and for weight, although the captain says nothing of either, and with the younger pulled against his side, much as he’s done for sisters and sons countess times before, he explains.  

  “The Selkie King,” and goddesses, he’s got to fight at his accent at those words, half tempted to let it on through to add further to the sound of the story, which always sounds so much better in the tongue of the fae or those whose voices carry the remnants of their kind, “was a great powerful creature who lived in the seas to the East. The Selkie are a people who are neither man nor beast, or so they say, but both. A man who, with the donning of a coat of fur, will change into a seal to roam the seas at their deepest, most happy by the water and with eyes darker than night skies.” In retrospect, if he believed in selkies anymore, he thinks they’d have eyes like the vet’s; endless, dark, and always touched with some sort of emptiness or sorrow.  

  “Woah.”  

  He smiles as Sky’s awe, but more so at the settling of a smaller body against his own as long ears prick up but soft cheeks settle against his chest. His fingers slip just the slightest to accommodate, but he leaves his hand pressed where it blocks the next flash of lightning, and though the vet shivers at the next roll of thunder, he doesn’t start away.  

  Something inside wonders whether this clinginess is born of fear or loneliness, and he wonders, for only as long as he dares be silent, when’s the last time someone offered the veteran any form of friendly contact.  

  “Storms-” he continues, once he’s certain he can’t be silent any longer “-they say are caused because the sea and the wind stole from the Selkie King.” he drops his voice, low and almost whispered, like when he’d told the same story to wide-eyed little sisters before tucking them in with kisses and laughter and warm smiles that are long since forgotten. “The Selkie King is the most powerful of the Selkies. He’s said to be strong enough to fight the wind itself, and the seas must bow under his command. With a power like that however, it’s hard. Being strong is a lonely life,” and one his brothers will know well, and the heavy sigh that sounds from beside him is proof of that. “As such, he lived solitary for many years, watching man and his kind and walking among them, but finding none to be his queen and companion, until-” and here his sisters would squirm under the covers, big blue eyes sparkling up at him as they begged ‘till what, Link?’ but his brothers don’t do so. Sky cocks his head, a manner he’s certain is learned from Twilight, and Legend’s face turns up to him again, eyes still hidden, but neither speaks.   

 It makes sense, he supposes. They are Links after all  

 “Until” he continues “one day he came to an island he’d never seen, and met there a maiden with a voice to make any selkie rejoice, and eyes like the seas themselves, the sort the king could only find himself lost in. She had a soul like a bird, and a wish for the beyond, and unlike others who stared and saw the uncanny way of the selkie, she saw to the soul of the Selkie King, and it was in her heart that he found solace from the loneliness of the world.”  

 Sky’s eyes are misty, that distant smile in them that means he’s thinking of his own Zelda, and Warriors almost, like so many times before, lets himself change to story.  

 He doesn’t. The point is to give an answer to the roar of the sky and the fury of the lightning. It’s all fairy stories made to make the remnants of Demise’s fury less a terror to small minds, but there’s no age limit for fairy stories, as he well knows.  Still, few end in a truly happy manner.  

 “Life is cruel though,” and how cruel. He’s not told this story in some time but it’s now beginning to make his own heart twist up in memory of how deeply he’d felt similar things to what the Selkie King would as he continued. “As time passed and their love grew, the seas and the storms began to brew. They wished to rebel against the Selkie King who had tamed them, to make war with him, and though he had no wish to leave his maiden, he was called from the island beaches and her side to fight the sea once more, and the storms with it.   

 “The oceans rose in those days, the sky dark, much like tonight. All that could be heard or seen was the fury of the sea and the wind as the Selkie King sought to bridle them. He fought them, I know not how long, but when at last they were calmed, the Selkie King turned to return to his island and his maiden, only to find both sunk beneath the waves that had risen in his fight.”  

 There’s a shudder beneath his hands, and dampness touches his palm as long lashes once more stir against skin. It’s sad, he’ll grant. He’s not sure if Legend’s young enough to be crying at fairy stories, but he won’t judge. Heroes grow up too fast, and by his knowledge, they haven’t the time to let their minds and hearts age as they ought. He’s not about to judge a few tears at a sad story.  

 “The Selkie King searched and searched,” he continues, “but the sea had already taken away, in final vengeance, what he loved. They say,” and thunder rolls right as he speaks, “that the thunder is his shouts to the sky and sea for their cruelty, and the lightning is his magic, light surging across land and sea to light his search to find what was lost to him.”  

 “What about the girl?” Sky asks, looking startled himself at the turn of the tale, “what happened to her?”  

 His only answer is a wry smile. His sisters would ask the same thing the first time he’d shared the story his grandfather had told him growing up, but the answer is always the same: “she was lost to the sea, as though never there.”  

 He’s not expecting the sob, or the hand that clutches in his shirt as shoulders tremble and tears dampen the hand still held over eyes not unlike those of a selkie. At first, he thinks it’s just the panic catching up and hysterics taking over, but after the first few sobs are over and they just get stronger, the captain realises there might be more to it than that.  

 “Legend?”  

 There's no answer, only inconsolable tears that seem to flow without end, even as he lifts his hand for the first time in a while to try and wipe them away. The younger hero’s face finds its way to the front of his shirt near immediately after, and he’s left trying to hold his brother, clueless as to what he’s said or done to incite the new rainfall that drenches the one clean shirt he’d had.  

 “Vet?” Sky is starting up from the bed, but he doesn’t touch, likely aware that doing so unprompted and without warning isn’t a good idea right now. Warriors though, closer, is free to wrap his arms around trembling shoulders and meet sapphire eyes, questions unspoken flying between them as confusion clouds the air where agonised sobs and tears do not.  

 In the end, he elects to leave it be, soothing gently and running one hand up and down a spine he can count every bone of, hushing softly all the while until the tears finally run out and Legend is limp against him.  

 “I'm sorry,” he says at last, not sure what exactly he’d done wrong. “That one usually helps my sisters feel better about-”  

 “He wasn’t a selkie.”  

 The captain pauses. “What?”  

 “He wasn’t a selkie,” comes the soft words again. “He was mer.”  

 “It’s just a story, vet, he wasn’t-”  

 “They were real.” And it’s so desperately spoken that it stops all other assurance in his throat as a hand tightens in the front of his shirt. “Her name was Marin. She wanted to fly, she wanted to see the world. I promised I’d take her, I wanted to show her everything.” There’s something so broken about the vet’s voice, and when he looks down the eyes of the younger are still closed, but there’s clear agony on the face of his brother. “I didn’t want to destroy her; I never wanted it to fade.”  

 He has no context, no clue, but some part of himself, the part that remembers holding another young hero like this and listening to agonies and losses, knows that something said in the story, some part, has brought a memory or loss back afresh, and his attempts to sooth have only reopened wounds.  

 Warriors wraps his brother tightly in his arms, draping blue fabric over tighter shut eyes. “I’m sorry.”  

 “I didn’t know it wasn’t real until it was over,” the younger hiccups, “I- I wanted to live there forever. It was so... it was so peaceful!”  

 Somehow, that single word, and the agony behind it, stabs through a heart blocked behind stone walls and chain mail.  

 Why should a wish for peace sound so desperate from the lips of a child? What right have gods to burden someone so small with sufferings that would lead their greatest desire to be for something so devastatingly evasive?  

 It’s cruel. It’s familiar in its cruelty, and all that the captain hero can do is hold tighter still and murmur soft comforts that are as empty as the praises lauded on shoulders such as their own. “I know, Link, I know. It’s not fair.”  

 “I fought him three times,” and it’s naught but a whisper, “is it so wrong to want to be allowed to stop?”  

 He’s going to find Hylia and murder her.  

 Once is enough. Once is too much for a kid. Thrice? And twice as many adventures? Oh, no, no-no-no, he’s going to be having words with the Golden Gals when he gets to see them, even if that means fighting his way to the Goddess’ Realm himself. He’s sure he could convince the deity to help him under the right circumstances.  

 Aloud though, his answer is softer. “No. It’s not wrong. They’re wrong to ask so much of you,” words he’s whispered countless times to the hero who is now their leader. Looking at Time, he knows that peace has been achieved. The ranch, the wife, the beautiful home and satisfied smile, the longing look in his eyes after the days have been long since last they’ve visited; it all points to a life now granted chances to be lived and lived well. He only wishes the same could be meted out to all who’ve suffered as they have. “You deserve better,” he assures. “And for what it’s worth, I understand. Not everything of course,” and he’d never meant to tell, “but I get it. Losing someone, it’s hard.”  

 “I loved her.”  

 “I know.”  

 What sort of love, it doesn’t matter now. Be it puppy love or that of a far more intense sort, love is still love and when lost it can shatter. No wonder dark eyes hold longing deeper than the sea and desolation like the coldest of desert nights.  

 Sky stares but doesn’t speak or move.  

 Legend though, shifts, and dark eyes lift to him for a moment before being shut again as another flash disturbs the room. Without thinking, he raises a hand to cover the younger’s face, tears still fresh against calloused skin. Despite all this, the question in desolate eyes is still spoken aloud. “Who was yours?”  

 And his heart nearly stops, lodged in his throat, but he breathes and guides a pink haired head to settle against his collar, cheek resting in downy soft hair to hide further his face from both. “My wife and son.”  

 One trembling hand settles over his own, awkward in placement but intent clear. “I’m sorry.”  

 His smile is real, although pained, as he wraps his brother tighter, pressing, without thought, a kiss to a crown. “It wasn't your fault.” It was his own, his pride and his folly and his failure that had left him with his son ripped away and his wife turning her back. There’s none to blame but himself and fate’s cruel hand.  

 Despite this, there seems to be a word on the tongue of the younger, indeed, on Sky’s own too, but he cuts both off. “How about a lighter story?” he’s deflecting, he knows, but tonight is not about his losses and mistakes, and suddenly he’s gone from wanting nothing more than dry clothes and a warm bed to being content to hold one smaller and offer what meagre comforts and distractions he can while covering sorrow-ridden eyes and avoiding sapphire stares that bore with sadness for both himself and their little brother.  

 Legend hiccups. “Seriously?”  

 “I’m an excellent storyteller,” he returns, smile real but pained despite himself as he looks down at a face blocked by his own hand, “I’m a father and an older brother after all, I have no business being anything less than skillful with bedtime stories.”  

 “I’m too old for bedtime stories.”  

 He’d beg to differ. Someone still small enough to be held as he holds his brother is still of an age for bedtime stories, and he resolves to find the best he can to share. Not one about heroes though, or about lost love or Selkie Kings. Instead, he tells the story of the Goddess’ Rabbit and the stars it set in the sky. Instead, he holds a brother who he only now knows to see as anything more than another of Hylia’s soldiers, and he treasures the whisper of a chance to redeem some of what was stolen by fate.  

 Maybe it feels like redemption for himself too. Just a little bit.  

[triptychgrip]

Chapter 3 preview of Put It In Reverse For Thirst: my story about married Viktuuri writing a role-reversal fanfic

I love writing established Viktuuri stories, as it's a way for me to envision how comfortable Viktor and Yuuri would have grown with one another through the years, post-canon. I've especially had a blast writing this meta story, 'Put It In Reverse For Thirst', which is the cringy title that Yuuri and Viktor give the role-reversal fanfic that they write and then proceed to roleplay.

The premise of their fic is one where 23-year-old Viktor Nikiforov has just finished performing Eros in competition for the first time, after a year-and-a-half of working with his coach/idol: retired "Living Legend" Katsuki Yuuri.

And though Viktor gives the program a stellar debut, he's confused as to why Yuuri is so reticent in the Kiss and Cry. In misinterpreting the literal waves of sexual tension emanating from his coach, he believes that Yuuri is embarrassed by his performance. When he proceeds to confront him over his hurt feelings, their subsequent conversation takes a very sappy (and steamy) turn, which, of course, makes for a dynamic roleplay situation.

Chapter 3 might be my favorite to write so far, as it'll contain the extremely sappy love confession (which, of course, makes real life Viktuuri emotional when they're reading it). I wanted to post a preview, below -- FYI, anything in brackets with big spaces before and after is their fanfic, to distinguish from their 'real life' conversation -- which I hope piques your interest.

I hope you'll consider checking this story out, or my other Yuri!!! on Ice work!

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[Knowing what he knew now, that he must have seemed so diametrically opposite to what Yuuri had been expecting, which was the charismatic and gregarious Viktor Nikiforov in those banquet photos…

Well, the subsequent realization stole his breath. 

Because it meant that Yuuri had seen him at his very worst, fully in the throes of his grief and depression, and had chosen to keep coaching him, anyway. Indeed, to keep coaching him long after the parameters of their relationship began to change, and once Viktor gradually found his way back to himself. 

Did that mean what he hoped it did…what his hammering heart so fervently yearned for?  

That somewhere along the way, that Yuuri had grown to realize that he needed Viktor, too? And, that just as Viktor’s heart grew ten sizes every time he opened up and discovered that Yuuri [Y: his Yusha] would meet him where he was, that perhaps it was the same for him, in turn?]

Viktor knew he’d failed to hide his sniffling when Yuuri paused to hug him (for what felt like the seven thousandth time, tonight). 

“S-sorry, Yusha,” he whispered, actually having to bring a hand up to his mouth to try and quell the noise. “I guess the floodgates have really opened up.”

“Silly, what is there to be sorry for?” his spouse asked in reply, sounding equally choked up. “As if I could ever be upset with you for being so moved by anything, but especially this? It might be a role-reversal, but this is still our story.”

Viktor nodded, expelling a noise that was half-laugh, half-sob, his embarrassment vanishing when he observed the way that Yuuri’s eyes were similarly brimming over with feeling. 

“I think we should update our tags,” he tearily mumbled, happily rising from his seat when he saw how Yuuri had scooted his chair back and extended his arm out in invitation. “After the ‘Men Crying’ tag, we could write in ‘and you might, too, if we did this right’.”

His husband made a sniffly noise of assent and tugged him onto his lap.

“Excellent idea, Vitya,” he affirmed, before encircling an arm around his waist and trying to coax him to rest his head against his chest.

“Can you take this off?” Viktor asked, tugging at the lapel of his suit jacket. “I don’t want to get snot and tears on it.”

Yuuri just gave him a knowing smile before doing as he’d asked, and he knew that he’d been found out; it always made him feel more grounded when he could listen to Yuuri’s heartbeat. As he lost himself to the steady thud in his ear, they both tried to compose themselves. 

His love returned to reading a few minutes later, propping the current page of their draft in between two paperweights so that he could still hold onto him with both arms.

[“It’s suddenly very obvious to me why you came after seeing the video Georgi uploaded, but why did you let me stay in Hasetsu, afterwards?” Viktor shakily demanded, stepping out of Yuuri’s blissful hold. 

“The Viktor Nikiforov that you danced with at the banquet, the one that made you feel alive…that’s the version of me you were looking for when you first came to St. Petersburg and then arranged for me to come back with you to Japan.”

It was a statement, not a question. As he looked into his coach’s bottomless gaze, he dared not read into the burgeoning softness in it.]