#I’ve not done chapter 2 which in my head is actually chapter 1 cause it scares me

[tracle0]

These characters will not show up again but LOOKIT WRITING

[roseghoul26]

Part 4

Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

"'Do you love me?' You asked, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Arthur nodded, gazing at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

'Then say it. I promise you, nothing bad is gonna come from it.'"

Synopsis: A retelling of the mission "Blessed are the Peacemakers", where instead of Arthur getting kiddnapped, it's you.

Tags: fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut, smut, torture, mentions of sexual assault, no actual SA, dutch is father figure, so is hosea, arthur morgan deserves everything, fem reader, afab!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, not beta read

Author’s Note: this part is the smut part, with some story too. i struggled with this chapter cause i’ve only written smut like twice so here we go lmao.

next fic i’m thinking of doing javier or charles (loml), and i have different ideas for both. and i’ll def. write for arthur again, and feel free to send requests or ideas (or literally send whatever i love getting messages)

Taglist: @photo1030

part 1 ❉ part 2 ❉ part 3 ❉ part 4

And it was a long ride, done in silence as the two of you made it to the meetup place. The cowboy occasionally looked over his shoulder at you, but other than that there was little interaction. There was tension between the two of you that was on the cusp of snapping into a million pieces, but there was nothing you could do about it right now. Mustering what patience you had, and also pushing down your desires, you made your way to Emerald Ranch. 

Lenny arrived a short while after you and Arthur, sweaty and anxious, but thankfully alive. And he wasn’t followed, so you thanked the universe that luck was on your side that day. 

After meeting up, you’d sold the stolen goods to the fence, and with the combined cash you’d pick up, the three of you had a nice haul of about 750 dollars. After everyone received their cut, there was almost 400 dollars left to donate to camp, which you stuck in the box with a proud smile. Not bad for your first job back, you thought. 

Dutch seemed to think so too, complimenting you as you wrote in the ledger. “How we managed to survive those weeks without you, I’ll never know. Thank you, dear.”

You just shrugged. “Don’t mention it. And you can thank Arthur for keepin’ us afloat.”

Dutch didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he lit a match for his cigar, moving so his back was facing his tent as he smoked. Now facing you, you saw him in your peripherals observing you as you finished writing, letting the ink dry before closing the book. Not appreciating his staring, you questioned him with a look. 

“Take Arthur to Saint Denis to… look for leads. Yeah, go look for leads.”

“Huh? Right now?”

“That’s what I said, right? I’ve heard that the hotels ‘round there are brimming with opportunities. And take as much time as you need, if you catch my meanin’.” He gave you a wink, but you continued to stare at him like he grew a second head. “You’re smart, dear. You’ll figure it out. Now go, before I change my mind.” He dismissed you with a wave, staring out at the open water as you left.

“Oh… o-okay?” You were halfway to your tent when it dawned on you: Dutch was giving you permission to leave camp for a bit, which was convenient, to say the least. You turned to thank him, but he seemed lost in thought, so you saved it for later. “Make sure Lenny gets sent out too,” you still shouted out, hoping that Dutch heard you. 

Entering your tent, you found Arthur already there, which was no surprise. He had practically beelined there after you all arrived at camp, barely giving you a passing look. You hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but when you saw him hunched over as he sat on the edge of the bed, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the cot, you immediately became concerned. Racing through your thoughts, you tried to remember if it seemed like he was in pain earlier. It wouldn’t be unlike him to get injured and then hide it. 

Rushing to his side, you were on your knees as you looked at him, scanning his body for any blood or obvious injury. When you found nothing, you looked into his eyes which you found closed. “Love? What’s wrong? Are you alright?” you asked, brushing back some of the hair that had fallen in his face, his hat discarded somewhere nearby. His cheeks were rosy too, you noticed.

When he opened his eyes, you were startled to find how dark they were, and he stared through you. “Shit, did you hit your head?” You moved to stand and examine his head further, but a gentle hand on your shoulder had you sinking back down to your knees. 

“I’m alright,” his voice was strained. Arthur didn’t provide any more details, and you heard him let out a huff of air when your hands rested on his knees, your face only a few inches away from them as you peered up at him. 

“Then what’s goin’ on, Arthur? You’re scaring me.” He placed one of his hands atop yours, fingers shaking slightly from the strain of gripping the cot. It tickled when he started dancing his fingers across the skin, but you kept your face still as you watched him. 

“Oh, princess. You’ve got no idea what you do to me, do you?” His voice was breathy, barely audible to you as his hand stilled. Finally, his eyes focused on yours, growing impossibly wider when he realized the position you were in. “Here,” he extended a palm up, offering you to put your hand in his. When you did, he kissed the back of it gently, before bringing it right above his heart and pressing it to his chest. Even through his shirt, which you had just noticed he had a few more top buttons unbuttoned, you could feel his heartbeat, which was beating like the speed of a hummingbird’s wings. 

Suddenly things started making a whole lot more sense with the dilated pupils, heavy breathing, and his sporadic heartbeat. Immediately your concern was replaced with something less selfless, a hungry need growing in you as you took in Arthur being in such a state, and all because of you.

“Since last night, I can’t stop thinkin’... and ever since the house it’s gotten worse. I can barely look at you without remembering the way you felt… and you’ve got me so damn turned on I can’t function.” His voice turned into a growl at the end, and you felt yourself pressing your thighs together, trying to ease the growing tension building between them from his confession. God, everything felt warm. 

Arthur didn’t miss the movement, as subtle as you tried to be. With a knowing grin, he pressed one last kiss to your hand before setting it back on his knee. “It took everythin’ in me to not take you right there in that house,” he said it so casually that you almost didn’t register what he said. Your grip on his legs tightened, and you found yourself sitting up straighter on your knees, now at chest level with him. 

“I would’ve let you,” you confessed, and Arthur moved closer to you, almost touching his lips with yours. Slowly, just like Arthur had done to you, you brought your hands up his thighs. You felt them tense under your touch, and you heard Arthur let out a little noise as your hands traveled up.

And up. 

And up until they rested at his belt, and you toyed with the loopholes as he started down at you. You could feel his breathing grow rapid, huffs of warm breath against your face. As you halted, you heard him groan. “You want me to touch you?” It was a redundant question, but you asked anyway. 

Arthur swallowed. “Yes.” He tried to press his lips against yours, but you kept your head far enough away. The hands on hips helped him stay put, and you relished in the fact that he could easily break free from your “hold”, but he didn’t.

“Then tell me. Tell me what you’ve been thinking of.”

You saw his blush extend past his face and down his chest. “That… it ain’t proper.”

You chuckled at that. “Since when do we care about what’s proper, Arthur?”

“I suppose we don’t,” he agreed, and he relaxed some. A few moments passed, then he was resting his head against yours. “You want me to tell you, or show you, princess?”

“Why not both?”

“Can’t do that.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” You pestered, a teasing grin on your face.

“I can’t, cause there ain’t gonna be much talkin’ when my head’s between your thighs.”

Whatever rebuttal you had died instantly in your throat. “Oh,” was all you were able to get out, your mouth growing suddenly dry at Arthur’s boldness, and that tension growing was starting to become unbearable. 

“Oh?” He mocked, laughing when you softly slapped him on his leg.

“Shuddup,” you rolled your eyes. Placing your hands back on his thighs, you felt the thick muscles there, built from years of a hard life and survival. “Tell me more,” you asked, moving your fingers closer and closer to the zipper of his jeans, looking down at your task at hand. Your face flushed when you saw the very noticeable bulge between his legs. 

“You never answered my question,” you felt rough, calloused fingers under your chin, which gently brought your gaze back up to Arthur’s. 

“Show me, Arthur.”

He nodded, a light smile on his lips. “Alright, princess. We’re gonna have to be quiet though.”

The whole reason why you came into the tent came back to you. “Well, maybe we don’t have to be. And I did say I was gettin’ you out of camp, and, well, Dutch has told me to bring you to Saint Denis to ‘search for leads’,” you said, hoping that Arthur got the hidden meaning quicker than you did. 

“Did he now?” You nodded. “Well, why didn’t you say so sooner. Don’t wanna waste any time now, do we?”

“In my defense, I thought you were in pain when I walked in. You jerk,” you bopped him again. Arthur just shook his head at you. 

Standing up, you supported your shaky legs by holding onto his shoulders. Despite being fully upright, you still held on, not really wanting to stop feeling him. You now stood above him, able to look down at him as he sat on the edge of the bed. Bringing your face lower, you kiss the space between his brows, then moving down the arch of nose and planting one on the tip. Then kissing the apples of each cheek in quick succession, you hovered just above his own, and you cupped his face in your hands. Your thumbs rubbed the stubble of his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel between your thighs. It wasn’t the first time you’d wondered, but you hoped that soon your questions would be answered. 

At last, your lips finally made contact with his. If there was one thing you would never tire of, it would be kissing Arthur. His lips were surprisingly soft, plush yet firm. Even though you had kissed him many times before, each time felt like the first, the overwhelming feeling of him taking over every sense, every nerve in your body buzzing with energy. Eagerly Arthur reciprocated, lips moving against you like they were created to fit with yours perfectly. Before you allowed the two of you to get swept away, kissing his forehead before stepping away.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” you grabbed his hat, affixing it atop your head with a wink as Arthur scoffed. “Let’s go to Saint Denis. I’ve heard the hotels there are… lucrative.”

Arthur stood now, rebuttoning up his shirt and attempting to make himself more put together. “I’m sure they are, princess.” He gestured you out of the tent, and the midday air did little to cool you off. 

Walking toward your horses, you saw Dutch talking with Lenny, before the older man patted him on the shoulder and walked away. Because Lenny was facing you, you gave him a questioning thumbs up, and he nodded in return. “Have a good night then, Lenny,” you called out. 

“You too, miss.” You saw his eyes flick behind you. “Both of you,” he added, before walking to a nearby campfire and plopping down, laughing lightly to himself. Reaching your mount, you patted TT on his neck, and then offered him a sugarcube from the saddle bag. He gladly ate the treat, snorting when he finished. 

You went to mount TT, but Arthur calling your name had you halting, only one foot in the stirrup as you turned over your shoulder to look at him. He stood beside his horse, holding the reins in his hands. “Ride with me?” he asked, smiling brightly when you made your way over to him. 

When you got close enough, after giving you a quick peck on the cheek he placed his hands on your hips. Easily lifting you on the rump of his horse, you immediately wrapped your arms around him when he mounted. Scooting forward as best you could while sitting sidesaddle, your chest pressed against his back, and you rest your head on his shoulder. His hat was kind of in the way, but you didn’t dare take it off. 

After ensuring that you were secure, he began moving, the camp quickly leaving both your visions shortly. He kept his horse at a fast pace, which was nowhere near as fast as you were going earlier, but you didn’t mind. You sighed in contentment, finally able to be alone with Arthur and place any worries about camp behind you, at least for a couple days. No petty squabbles, no jobs, no Pinkertons. Just you and Arthur. 

Arthur seemed to feel similarly, based on the way he relaxed in your grasp, leaning back slightly against you. Letting go of the reins in one hand, he rubbed your leg affectionately. His chest tumbled beneath your hands, and you realized he was talking, but you could barely hear him. 

When you asked him to repeat himself, Arthur turned his head to the side, making it easier to hear him, but it made you have to lift your own off his shoulder. “I said ‘thank you’.”

“Okay? You’re welcome?” you responded with uncertainty. 

“For gettin’ me out of camp like this, and despite how much I wanted to fight it, you knew I needed it.” 

“I mean, I wasn’t the one who got you out. You can thank Dutch for that.”

Arthur shook his head. “Sure, only after you presumably said somethin’ to him. And you’ve been the one trying to get me out all day! Don’t downplay yourself like that.” Arthur paused for a moment before continuing. “And you’ve always stuck your neck out for me like that, even before,” he gestured to your arms wrapped around him, “this. You’ve always seen me as more than the camp workhorse, more than a means to an end… more than myself… and I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is I appreciate it. For carin’ about me.” Arthur sighed. “I don’t really know what I’m saying…” he trailed off, refacing forward.

The sincerity in his voice had you heart breaking, but you also felt angry. Not at Arthur, but at the others, for using Arthur until he wore thin. Angry at the world that told him he wasn’t worthy enough to be loved, to be cared for. And you were angry at yourself, for holding off on telling him how much he mattered and meant to you. 

Grateful that he had his back to you so that he couldn’t see the tears in your eyes, you clung on tighter to him. Your voice cracked as you spoke, and you prayed that Arthur didn’t hear it. “You don’t gotta thank me for that. You deserve more, so much more, but I’ll give you all I have. I love you, Arthur Morgan, and I mean it. I’ll never stop sayin’ it until the day I die.”

Something wet hit your hand, and you realized Arthur was crying. Not sobbing, or making any audible noise; his shoulders didn’t shake either. But a few tears had left his eyes, one of them hitting you as they fell. “Arthur?” You asked, concerned.

Arthur, who clearly wasn’t expecting you to see his tears, quickly wiped them away, his hand no longer resting on your leg. “I… shit. Sorry.” You could tell he was embarrassed, trying to gloss over his emotions.

“I didn’t mean-”

“You ain’t done anything wrong,” Arthur reassured. “It’s just… I never thought I’d feel this way again, not after… not after Mary. I thought this part of me died a long time ago, and I just accepted that. I thought I’d never be loved again.” He chuckled humorlessly. “A part of me can’t believe this all ain’t a dream. I’ve wanted it so long that it seemed unobtainable.”

You knew about Mary, from the bits and pieces you learned from Hosea and Dutch. Arthur had never spoken about her with you, and you never asked, not wanting to push that boundary. Shamefully, you expected to feel some tinge of jealousy at the mention of his ex-lover, but you didn’t. You felt angry at her, for the way she broke his heart, and made him believe that he was unlovable. And strangely enough, you felt the tiniest bit of gratitude, but you weren’t quite sure who it was towards. All you could say is that you were thankful that you were now entrusted with Arthur’s heart, and you were going to cherish it. 

“Well,” you returned your head on his shoulder, “you’re very much awake, and I hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me now.”

“Thank God,” he responded. You couldn’t tell which part he was thankful for. 

Glancing around, you saw the outskirts of the town or Rhodes behind you, and the fence marking off the Gray’s property ahead of you, meaning you and Arthur were well on your way to Saint Denis. Another ten or so minutes of riding would get you there. Arthur had returned his grip on your thigh, and you settled in for the remainder of the ride. 

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

You weren’t a fan of Saint Denis, with the polluted air and dirty streets, and the equally filthy people. Although it was deemed to be the pinnacle of modern civilization, you had to disagree. What “great” city like this would leave parts of their population unhoused, unfed, uncared for. Or elect snakes in positions of power instead of people, whose only interest in mind was their own. Or how the joy of living seemed to be sucked out of the people, and how they’re now only soulless husks whose only purpose was to work and sleep. 

You voiced your thoughts to Arthur as you rode in, the metal archway proudly reading Saint Denis disappearing behind you. Passing by a group of well dressed individuals, Arthur nodded in agreement. 

“And to think, they wanna make everywhere like this.”

Arthur didn’t respond, just continuing to lead his horse though the streets. The sounds on hooves on the cobblestone was quite loud, but it was still barely audible over the sound of machinery and engines. People stared at you two as you passed, and their eyes lingered on you for longer than necessary. It occurred to you that you probably looked quite out of place because of the way you were dressed.

You wore skirts and dresses from time to time, and you liked wearing them, but they weren’t the practical option for days like today, where you’d need to quickly get on and off your horse, and would have to move quickly and silently. But every scrutinizing glance from well-dressed strangers had you regretting your choice of apparel. You told yourself that you shouldn’t care what these people thought of you, but the innate human desire to fit in and be accepted was overwhelming, especially now. 

“You’d think I’d grown a third arm, the way people are lookin’ at me,” you joked. 

“Don’t let ‘em get to you,” Arthur sent a deadly glare to one said person, whose face turned ghostly white as he scampered away. 

Chuckling, you kissed Arthur on his cheek. “My knight in shining armor,” you swooned, earning an eye roll from the cowboy. 

“Not like you need one.”

“Maybe not. But if my knight was you, I wouldn’t say no.”

He chuckled lightly. “What’s so funny?” you questioned, laughing slightly yourself. 

“Nothin’. Nothin’ at all, princess.” 

Turning the corner, you were met with with a rather crowded street with buildings towering over you. But directly ahead of you stood your destination, a large hotel that spanned three floors and the name of the establishment sprawled across the front in a language you didn’t recognize. 

As Arthur made his way to one of the many hitching posts in front, you felt your heartbeat begin to accelerate as you remembered why you were here. Anticipation had your body on edge, almost tense in the way you held on to him.

You were always impressed at the way Arthur seemed to notice every small detail, but right now you found yourself cursing that ability. He took note of the way your body went rigid, and he reassuringly squeezed your thigh. “You good?” You knew that he wasn’t just talking about right now; he was asking if you were still comfortable continuing what had started last night. 

“Yeah,” your voice was breathier than you would’ve liked. “I’m just… excited.” Sure, you were nervous as well, but it was easily alleviated by the trust you had in the man. 

“Good,” he smiled. Bringing his horse to the post, he quickly dismounted, securing his mount with a loose knot. Next, his hands met your waist as he helped you off. Your legs were slightly numb from the way you were sitting, but you stayed steady as your feet made contact with the ground. 

After double checking that his horse was secure, and had plenty of food and water nearby, he held out his hand, pulling you along when you took it. He held the door open for you, and the joke you were about to make fell short as you took in the interior of the hotel. 

Large, swooping archways cascaded above your head, the large vaulted ceilings filled with paintings and statues that observed you as you walked in, your hand still linked with his. It reminded you of something you'd heard about a while back, some chapel in Italy with painted ceilings like this. The walls were stark white, and no less decorated, paintings with golden frames facing you, and the marble floor beneath you clacked as your boots made contact. An ornate chandelier lit the room, located directly in the center of the entrance area. Its jewels glinted in the light, reflecting tiny rainbows across the walls.

It was breathtaking, to say the least. Eyes wide, you let yourself be pulled by Arthur as you took it all in. “Maybe it ain’t so bad they’re tryin’ to make cities like this, if this is what it turns into.” You laughed in disbelief. “It’s beautiful.”

Arthur seemed less impressed than you, eyes barely glancing over the various art pieces adorning the walls and ceiling. “Don’t go changin’ your mind now. This,” he waved his free hand around, “is how they get ya. This is all just a front.”

“You’re no fun,” you chidded, and your vision was suddenly obscured as Arthur flicked the hat down on your head. A very improper squawk left you as you quickly fixed the hat, glaring up at him with no real heat. 

“I’m plenty fun, princess.” By this point, you’d reached the front desk, where a very impatient looking man stood. As Arthur ordered a room, you continued to peer around, not paying much mind to the conversation. We weren’t only distracted by the art now, but your mind began to wander to the events that were sure to transpire shortly. You shamelessly ogled his body, now realizing he left his usual jacket back at camp, only down to his undershirt now. His well built shoulders caused the fabric to be pulled taught against his body, leaving little to the imagination. How would they feel under your touch? Would you grip on to them tight as he took you, letting you leave scratches down his back? Would they spread your legs apart as he-

Your thoughts were broken when you felt a tug at your arm, and you glanced at Arthur who regarded you with an amused glance. Based on the way he was grinning at you, you knew he knew where your mind had gone. “Bath?” He asked, and your mouth felt dry as you tried to respond.

“After.” The clerk couldn’t have done a worse job hiding his disdain, but you ignored him. Arthur took the room key from him, not even thanking him before heading up the staircase behind the front desk. 

It felt like forever, the walk to the room. You’ve had your share of encounters in the bedroom, but it had never felt like this. It never felt this right. 

It seemed like hours went by before Arthur was unlocking one of the rooms, letting go of your hand for the first time to get it open. Like the gentleman he was, he held the door open for you again.

The rooms were no less decorated, but once the original splendor wore off, you found yourself caring less and less. A large four poster canopy bed sat in the center of the large room, a plush fur carpet beneath it. The room was well lit, with a balcony on the right side that was allowing copious amounts of sunlight into the room. The window for the balcony was left open, and you found yourself quickly closing it, the curtains settling as the wind was cut off. A basin with water along with a few towels and rags occupied the leftmost side of the wall with the balcony, with a wooden dresser neighboring it. 

Now in the room, you took off your boots and socks, not wanting to track too much dirt across the carpet. Leaving them near the wardrobe, you made your way to the bed. The fur, which had to be some kind of large white bear, felt pleasant against your bare feet as you approached. The sheets felt even better than the carpet, rich silks flowing through your fingers like water. 

Sitting down at the foot of the bed, you dragged your hand across, and you made your way up one of the wood posts, the material sturdy and well polished. You wondered how much a room like this cost to rent for a night or two. Turning to ask Arthur, you found him at one of the nightstands that framed the bed, unholstering his gunbelt and placing it there, as well as taking off his own boots. 

When he felt your attention on him, he smiled warmly, leaning up against the post you were examining after reaching you. He had his hands on his hips, about where he would rest his hands if his gunbelt were there, looking at you with such fondness that you completely forgot the question you were going to ask. Staring up at him, any rational thought went out the window to your right; the only thing on your mind was him. He must’ve seen this change in your demeanor, pushing off the post and stopping now right in front of you.

“Show me, Arthur.” It came out less like a request and more like a demand. 

Arthur chuckled, a low yes ma’am leaving him before his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft like you were expecting. The force in which he kissed you had you nearly landing flat on your back, but you caught yourself with one arm, the other finding purchase on the side of his face as you cupped it. Kissing you like you were the only thing keeping him alive, he leaned over you now, but the angle he was doing it was not the most comfortable, relying on only his core muscles to keep him upright and not crush you.

Breaking away, you took a gulp of air, laughing at the way Arthur chased after you, like he couldn’t bear to be without you for only a few seconds. Scooching back on the bed until your back was resting against the multitude of pillows available, you opened your arms up. Crawling up after you, Arthur sighed, content, when your touch returned, still holding him in one of your palms.

Wasting no time, he fervently resumed his kiss, teeth grazing your bottom lip gently. His hands tangled into your hair, his hat falling somewhere on the bed, but you were too engrossed to care. One of his knees slotted between your legs, the other resting by your hip. As the tension in you returned, you found yourself inadvertently grinding against his thigh, trying to find some sort of relief. Arthur groaned when he felt you begin to use him, his mouth going slack against yours. 

Moving from your mouth to your jaw, he pressed open mouth kisses as he went along. When you tried to move your head to follow him, you felt his grip in your hair tighten. Not enough to cause any pain, but it kept you still as he continued his exploration. You weren't able to do much but sit there, hips grinding against Arthur, but it wasn’t doing anything except get you more and more heated.

You expected to feel him start to leave hickies across your neck, especially when his mouth started trailing down your throat. But he didn’t, rather he was gentle with the soft skin, leaving no physical evidence that he was there. Before you could even comprehend what you were asking for, you were speaking, combing your fingers through Arthur’s hair like it was going to help convince him. “You can mark me, Arthur. Please. Let everyone know I’m taken.”

Your whispered pleas were not met on deaf ears, an almost painful sounding moan leaving the man as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His breath tickled your ear as he panted, his hands releasing your hair as they framed each side of your head. You thought he was going to turn the idea down, but you were elated when you felt his lips return to your neck, now sucking and biting as well. 

“Anythin’ for you, princess.” He sounded positively wrecked. Traveling down the column of your neck, you felt him leave marks, marks that you were certain were going to be dark purple by tonight.

“Fuck, yeah, you’re so good to me. My pretty boy,”  You cooed, nails scratching his scalp lightly. “Everyone back at camp is gonna see these marks; they’re gonna know what you did to me. They’re gonna know you fucked me so good.”

Arthur sat back on his heels, hair in disarray from your fingers. The sunlight filtering in caused the strands to become golden, like the color of the frames you saw downstairs. He looked almost heavenly in this light, the way the sun illuminated him. God, he looked beautiful. His blue eyes were nearly black with lust, and the normally stoic man seemed to be falling apart. “You- you can’t keep sayin’ things like that… then sayin’ I’m beautiful,” he murmured, running a hand down his face. 

So your thoughts weren’t as secret as you believed. “Why not?” You questioned, a teasing smirk on your face. “I’m only tellin’ the truth.”

“Truth or not, if you keep goin’ on like that, I’m ‘fraid this night’s gonna end quicker than either of us would like.” Glancing downward, you saw Arthur readjust himself. The bulge in his pants looked uncomfortable, painfully even. With a sympathetic noise, you reached for the zipper on his pants, ready to alleviate him. 

You were surprised when he stopped your hand, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. “Next time. I… I need to taste you, princess.”

“Is that what you were thinkin’ about earlier?” You tried to sound unbothered, knowing damn well that you were practically throbbing at the idea of him going down on you. The desperation in his voice added fuel to the fire in you, finding yourself growing increasingly wetter at each thing coming from his mouth. 

“One of many things,” he confessed. “Is that a yes?”

“Arthur, if you don’t get your ass-” your comment was cut short by his mouth on yours. It didn’t last long, before he was returning to where he left off on your neck. This time, however, you felt his hands work at your belt, throwing it somewhere behind him when he got it unlooped from your pants, which were next to go. It took a little bit longer, but eventually they were tossed behind as well, leaving you in only your undergarments from the waist down.

You went to start unbuttoning the shirt you wore, but Arthur beat you to it, his dexterous fingers quickly undoing the buttons. He rested his head against yours, eyes looking down as we worked, grumbling obscenities when one of the buttons was stubborn. Eventually it was off as well, the shirt and the bandana adding to the growing pile on the floor. “I thought you liked me in your clothes,” you teased. 

“I think I like you better without any. Now,” he nudged your arms, “up.” You complied, lifting them to allow Arthur to slip your chemise up and off your body, and, like the other articles, found a new home on the floor of the hotel. The cold air on your bare chest caused you to gasp, goosebumps erupting across your skin. All of that was forgotten when you saw Arthur, the heat in his gaze easily melting the chill of the air. 

He sat back on his heels again, taking in your almost entirely exposed body, the only remaining thing on your body being your drawers. Letting out an appreciative noise that sounded almost like a purr, he rested his hands on your hips, squeezing lightly at the flesh there. Bringing his hands up, more and more goosebumps formed following his path, like your body was mapping out the way he touched you.

“God, you’re so gorgeous, princess. Even more so than I imagined.”

“You imagine me naked a lot, Arthur?”

He was right below your breasts now, running his fingers right below where you wanted him to touch. “You already know the answer to that.”

“For how long?”

Arthur stilled at this, a flash of panic cutting through his lustful eyes for a split second. “You want the truth, or a lie that would make me less of a creep?”

Well, now you were curious. Raising a brow, the man on his knees in front of you gave out an exasperated sigh, no longer looking you in the eye as he responded. “Roughly two years ago. I…” he trailed off, moving to rub the back of his neck, but you caught his hand in yours, forcing his eyes back on you. 

You laughed, mostly at Arthur’s expense, but also at how long you firmly believed that your attraction was one-sided. “You silly cowboy,” you urged him back by tugging his arm, and he rested on his forearms, caging you in. “I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t been doin’ the same.”

He hovered a few inches above you, and you could feel the heat emanating from his body. “I’ll have to see that sometime,” he spoke low in your ear. “You spread open, touchin’ yourself to the thought of me.” He paused for a second. “But that’ll have to wait. You,” he tugged at the lobe of your ear with his teeth, “keep distracting me. Let me get back to work.”

Sitting back up, he returned his hands to your body, still keeping away from where you wanted, just taking you in with his eyes. When you tried to push your chest up into his hands, he gave you a disapproving frown before pushing you back down. “No one ever teach ya patience, princess?” The absence of his body heat caused you to shiver, your nipples pebbling from the cold and arousal. 

His hands brushed over the scars across your body, his touch lingering on the one on your left shoulder, the one the O’Driscolls gave you over a month ago. You didn’t have time to feel self conscious before his lips were pressing light kisses on top of it, murmuring soft words under his breath. Finally, you felt his hands cup your breasts, kneading the mounds in his hands, his mouth leaving marks as it joined his hands in his touch. His hands did feel even better without a shirt blocking them, the callous of his fingers deliciously rough against the soft skin

He didn’t stay there long, his own patience being worn thin. He moved down your body now, pepper kisses across the various marks on your body. His fingers pulled at the strings of your drawers, quickly unlacing the bow there. Lifting up your hips to help him, he pulled them off, and they joined the pile. Finally, you were completely bare to him, and you heard him groan appreciatively. Trailing his mouth down your body, he halted just below your belly button, his hands resting on your thighs. 

He looked up, and his smirk was downright sinful as he lifted one of your legs across his shoulder, further exposing yourself to him. One hand held your hip, the other lying unused by his side. Your hands clutched uselessly at the pillows supporting you, gripping even harder when you felt him part your folds with fingers. His eyes were fully locked onto your cunt now, letting out a whistle when he saw how obviously wet you were. “This all for me, princess?” he asked, peppering kisses along the inside of your thighs. 

“Just for you. It’s only ever you.” You panted.

You felt him smile. “Good.” He removed his hand, and you almost let out a small whine at the loss of contact. You were quickly silenced when you felt those same fingers sweep through you, gathering your arousal on them. The digits were soaked, but you had little time to feel embarrassed before he was running his tongue up them, tasting you. You let out a noise, somewhere between his name and a moan as Arthur cleaned his fingers, his eyes closed as he savored the taste.

“Gonna get me addicted, princess,” he groaned, his fingers leaving his mouth and resting on the inside of your thigh, keeping your legs propped open. “But I bet ya taste better right from the source.” You felt him place one last kiss on your thigh before his mouth was on your cunt, his tongue following the same path as his fingers through you. Going bottom to top, it was a broad sweep of his tongue, not targeting anything specific but you still felt your hips buck against his face when he grazed your clit. 

The hand on your hip moved, resting across your lap to keep you still as he passed his tongue through again, and again. “Easy, girl,” he rumbled, and you would’ve been offended that he was talking to you like a horse if he wasn’t currently buried between your legs. Instead, you threw your head back, the soft feather pillows preventing you from smacking the headboard. Your grip moved from said pillows, moving to burrow into Arthur’s hair. Your fingers went to weave between the strands, but you second-guessed your decision, especially when he started focusing his tongue on your clit. 

You tried to retract your hand, but Arthur caught it no longer holding your legs open. He brought it back to his head, and you gripped on to his hair. Arthur let out a pleased groan at that, and it seemed to spur him on more, lapping at you like he was dying of thirst. Every flick of his tongue sent jolts through your body, cries and whimpers of his name leaving your lips every time. You knew he had a silver tongue, but you never expected to be falling apart on it. 

Because he was no longer holding you open, your thighs closed around his head with both legs on his shoulders, but you were too lost in your pleasure to notice. Now you were able to feel his beard against the sensitive skin, feeling better than you’d imagined. It would probably be chaffed and irritated in the morning, but every time you felt it you’d remember the way Arthur was devouring you. 

You were so caught up on that new sensation that you hadn’t noticed the newly freed hand move between your legs, a gasp leaving your lips when you felt him pressed against your entrance. He stopped at your reaction, but he continued to use his mouth, the tension in you growing and growing at each flick.

When you provided no protest, he continued, slowly pressing his finger into you. It didn’t take much effort, your arousal helping to ease the digit in with little resistance, and within moments he was knuckle-deep. He was big, far bigger than your fingers, and you let out a small noise at the stretch. “You’re doing so good,” Arthur praised, his finger not moving to let you adjust. “My good girl.” His words were muffled, tongue still pleasuring you between words, but you heard them loud and clear. 

You weren’t quite sure why that got a reaction out of you, but a very audible moan left you, and you clenched around Arthur’s finger, pulling even harder at his hair. He let out a surprised groan that turned into a chuckle as he felt you, and you could hear him smirk. “You taste so good, and you’re so tight,” He bent the digit inside you, almost in a beckoning motion, which caused you to see stars. “My good girl’s gonna cum for me, right? Let me feel you, princess.”

You were close, that was certain. That tension, the one deep inside you that had been begging to be released since what seemed like forever, was about to break. You just needed one more push. 

He started slowly pistoning the finger in and out of you, at least as best he could with your thighs in the way. Before long, he was adding a second finger, the additional stretch just about making you finish right there. You tried to convey that to Arthur, but it was coming out as an incoherent ramble. “Arthur… I- I’m… please…”

“I know, princess.” He kept at the same pace, drawing your pleasure out of you. The thing that broke you was seeing Arthur rocking his hips against the bed as he laid on his stomach, trying to find some relief. With a loud wail of his name, you came, trying and failing to thrust against his face as he pinned you down, fingers flexing against your hip bone. It felt like every nerve in your body was alive, buzzing with energy as pleasure wracked your body, and your eyes shut on instinct, which seemed to heighten the sensations you were feeling. Arthur removed his fingers from you, but he kept his tongue moving, obscene noises leaving him as he worked you through your orgasm. 

Boneless, your thighs went lax against his head, hands slumping to the sides of the bed, releasing the man from your death grip. But he either didn’t notice or didn’t care, still drinking you in. But you were starting to feel overstimulated, and you let out a small noise of complaint, which got Arthur to stop. He tried to hide a proud smile as he came back up, but you saw the corners of his mouth were raised slightly as he lay on his side next to you, letting you take a moment to recuperate. 

You took a few moments to just breathe, regaining control over your body and heart rate. Turning your head to face him, you slowly opened your eyes, and you nearly immediately shut them when you saw your arousal absolutely soaking his face. “I-,” if you weren’t flushed before, you sure were now.

Now Arthur was grinning, realizing what you were looking at. He wiped his mouth like he just finished a delicious meal. “I could do that all day.” He brushed his fingers across your body, not demanding anything, but just feeling you. “You doin’ alright?” 

You scoffed. “You’re askin’ me that? I nearly killed you with my thighs!”

“I told you I don’t mind if it hurts. And it’d’ve been a hell of a way to die,” he joked, and you slapped him lightly on the chest, which, much to your disappointment, was still covered with a shirt. You noticed, as your gaze went south, that he was still fully clothed, and you found yourself frowning at that.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked, confusion and worry now etched on his face, and he began to retract his hand slowly.

“You’re wearin’ too many clothes,” you whined, tugging at Arthur’s shirt.

He sighed in relief. “Whatever my good girl wants,” he chuckled, even more so when your breathing hitched. He got up, standing right next to the side of the bed. He slowly began unbuttoning his shirt, and you sat on your heels in front of him, waiting. 

When you deemed that he was taking too long, you started untucking his shirt, working the buttons at the bottom. “Impatient?”

“I’ve waited two fuckin’ years, Arthur.” You hadn’t meant to sound angry, but your patience was truly wearing thin. You didn’t feel too bad when he started unbuttoning faster, the article off before you realized, joining the pile beside him. His pants were off shortly thereafter, the belt still in them hitting the ground with a clang, and he kicked them off his feet. 

You moved back to let Arthur get back in the bed, and he sat where you were minutes prior, back against the pillows and headboard. Straddling his waist, your hands immediately started roaming the newly exposed skin, his muscles twitching under your touch. He truly was beautiful, almost aggravatingly so. He was well built, strong muscles protected by a healthy layer of fat that made him even bigger. 

Various scars and marks littered his body, all proof of surviving a hard life; you kissed each one you saw. Your fingers ran across his abs, the muscles tensing as you went along. You were surprised to find that his entire body was covered in hair, not just his arms and legs, but you definitely weren’t complaining, the pure masculinity from it all the more attractive. 

Speaking of masculinity, an experimental roll of your hips against Arthur’s had the man groaning, head rolling back slightly. But it also let you know that he wasn’t just well built, but well endowed. Quite endowed, if you were being honest.

After giving him a quick kiss, you moved back until you were more on his knees, and you tugged at the waistband of his undergarments. Like you, he lifted his hips up, and you quickly discarded it behind you. 

One look and you knew you were in for a long night. He was long, yes, but thick as well, able to stretch you out in all the right places. You tried to wrap your hand around the base of him, your fingers nowhere close to reaching each other. Slowly, you began to pump him, and he let out a strangled moan. His tip was red and leaking, and you wanted nothing more than to lean forward and lick it. And you tried to, at least, but he redirected you with his fingers around your jaw, bringing his lips crashing against yours. 

The kiss was filthy, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he owned it. The fingers on your jaw kept your mouth open, a moan leaving you when you tasted yourself on him. He pulled back, eyes shutting when you continued to move your hand up and down his length. He stilled you by grabbing your wrist, pulling you back up so that you were straddling his waist again. 

“Y’feel amazin’, princess, I just wanna last.” He let go of you, settling his hands on your waist instead. “You ready?” 

“Please, Arthur.” One hand gripped his bicep, the other on his shoulder. “I need you.”

“And you’ll have me. Just don’t wanna see you hurt.” You felt his hand creep up your front, hovering just in front of your face, and his pointer and middle fingers brushed your bottom lip. “Suck,” he instructed, digits pressing gently against the seam of your lips. You parted your lips, enthusiastically taking them into your mouth, running your tongue alongside the bottom of them. Your eyes never left his, and you felt him twitch beneath you as you bobbed your head up and down. “Atta girl,” he praised, “get ‘em nice and wet for me.”

You’re sure you were soaking his lap at this point, but you didn’t care. Working your tongue along the knuckles, his hand quickly became covered in your drool. With a pop, his fingers left your mouth, leaving you panting around nothing. You watched, transfixed, as Arthur brought his hand to his cock, slowly stroking himself as he coated his length. He let out a soft gasp, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and the delicious noise had you clenching around nothing.

After a few passes, he stilled at the base, holding himself upright. Urging you to get up on your knees, you scooted until you were just hovering above him. His tip nudged your entrance, and you both let out similar moans as you slowly sunk down on his length. Your fingers dug into the muscles of his bicep, most likely leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake. 

“That’s it. Nice and slow now…” he spoke, voice strained and clipped. The hand on your waist was vice-like, Arthur using every ounce of restraint in his body to not just sink you down on to him. 

Even though Arthur had done some prep with his fingers, and your mixed arousal and spit helped to ease things along, the stretch still burned. You rocked up and down, slowly taking more and more of him in you. Small noises left your lips as you worked yourself down, feeling every ridge of him in you, and your face buried into his neck. “Relax,” Arthur murmured, the hand on your hip rubbing reassuringly on your back. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Arthur…” you moaned, your legs beginning to shake at the exertion.

“I know, princess. You’re doin’ so well. Just a lil’ bit more.” He kissed the top of your head, which would’ve been more wholesome outside the current circumstance. 

It took a little bit of you moving up and down him, working yourself open until you were able to take him completely. Eventually, your hips were flush with his, and your head rolling back as you finally felt him fully sheathed in you. You’d never felt so full before, his cock reaching places you’d hadn’t realized existed. 

When you leaned back, it puffed your chest in his face, and his mouth was on you in seconds, lapping and sucking and kneading at the soft flesh there. “Oh, Arthur.” Your hands were in his hair, keeping him close as he lavished your breasts. “You feel so good.”

Not stopping for a second, you heard him something, and the tone was almost proud, but it was hard to tell over the blood rushing in your ears. As you let yourself get used to him, rocking up and down him slowly, you moved your head to the side to let him bring his mouth up your neck, and you saw something brown out of the corner of your eyes. Turning even further, you saw Arthur’s hat a few feet behind you, and a wicked idea crossed your mind. 

It took a bit of reaching to get the hat, causing you to pull yourself away from Arthur’s mouth. He let out a noise of complaint, hands trying to bring you back until he realized what you were reaching for. “Princess…” his usually gravelly voice was even more so, the word barely audible through his clenched teeth. 

“What?” You flashed him an innocent smile. Clutching his hat in your hand, you slowly rode him, sinking up and down his cock. You tried to seem unaffected, but you couldn’t stop the whimper that you let out. 

You secured it on your head, clenching around him when you heard the almost predatory growl that left him. He was losing the battle with his restraint, and you wanted nothing more than to see him succumb to his desire. Running your fingers though the hair on his pecs, you brought your lips close to his, only a hair’s width away from connecting. “Princess.” It was more of a warning than anything, and you felt him let out a huff of air.

“What’s the matter?” You teased. 

“Nothin’,” you watched his eyes flick down to your entrance, watching his cock disappear into you. You would’ve believed that he was content with you just using him for your pleasure, enjoying the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, but you’d seen the look in his eye when you put his hat on, and felt the way his fingers tightened on you as he fought to not to just take you as he pleased. 

You wanted to see him lose the control he fought so hard to maintain. 

“Really? Cause you seem tense, cowboy. Like you’re holdin’ back.” You smiled gently, rubbing his chest reassuringly. 

“Dunno what you mean,” he tried to play dumb, looking away from you as he spoke.

You brought his gaze back to yours, caressing the side of his face as you did so. “I don’t want you to.”

It took a few moments for Arthur to respond, eyes not leaving yours as you continued to ride him. “Are you sure, princess? I…” he exhaled shakily, “It might hurt-”

“I know what I want, Arthur. You’re not the only one who likes it a little rough.” You brushed your lips over his, and you could tell he was still fighting himself. “I wanna feel you for days after this, Arthur. I wanna be able to feel you whenever I walk, every ache I feel remindin’ me of when you absolutely ruined me. I need you to ruin me, Arthur. Please, fuck me-”

Your rambling was cut short when he smashed his lips against yours, muffling your noises as he effortlessly lifted you off his cock before slamming you back down. He set a brutal pace, hips snapping up as he fucked up into you. The kiss didn’t last long, your head rolling back again, hat barely staying on your head as he took you as he pleased.

The sound of your collective moans filled the air, the sound of skin-on-skin muffled by your voice. “Yes, Arthur!” you cried out, and you felt yourself working up to another climax, already worked up from riding him previously. You tried to praise him some more, but you words came out garbled and incoherent, too overwhelmed with what he was doing to be able to develop a sentence. 

“What’s that, princess?” you could hear him smirk. 

You tried to respond, but all you could let out was a loud moan. You were just happy you weren’t back at camp, or else you’d never be able to look anyone in the eye ever again. 

You heard him moan out your name. “You feel so good, you know that?” He panted. “Like you were made for me to ruin.”

You let out another cry of his name, growing closer and closer to your release. “That’s right, let everyone know who’s fucking this pretty cunt so well.”

In the back of your mind, you knew that Arthur was going to be embarrassed as hell afterwards, saying stuff like this. But the filthy words coming from his lips had you gasping, a jolt of arousal shooting through your body. You said his name like a mantra, spurring him on even more. “Arthur, I’m- I’m so close,” you moaned.

“Fuck, me too, princess,” he didn’t slow down his pace, and you felt him bring his fingers to your clit, caressing the bundle of nerves. “C’mon then, cum for me.”

The added stimulation from his fingers, plus the sharp drag of his cock across your walls was enough to make you cum, his hat finally falling off as your head was thrown back in pleasure. This one was much more intense than the the last one, and you swore you blacked out for a second. 

You probably did blackout, because you hadn’t realized you were on your back until a few moments later, Arthur’s hips snapping into you as he chased his own release. He pulled out suddenly, and you felt yourself pulse around nothing, feeling empty at the lack of him. Arthur was on his knees above you, pumping himself quickly as he came all over your chest, hot ropes of cum hitting your stomach and breasts.

He sagged forward once he finished, hands on either side of your body as he laid there catching his breath, being mindful to not crush you. You ran your nails along his scalp, the man shuddering under your touch. A few moments passed, both of you just basking in the afterglow of your release. The room wasn’t cold anymore, the heat generated from the both of you causing a sheen of sweat to cover your bodies. A bath definitely sounded good right now, but you didn’t want to get up, body pleasantly sore and exhausted. 

You felt Arthur sit back up, getting off the bed entirely. You watched him grab one of the rags from the water basin, pouring a bit of water on it before returning to you. You let out a small hiss as the cold water made contact with your skin, Arthur apologizing as he cleaned you up. His touch was light, reverent, his eyes filled with an emotion you weren’t able to place as he wiped down your body. As Arthur walked away, wiping down himself as well, you situated yourself under the covers, the silk feeling wonderful against your skin as you nuzzled into the pillows.

Arthur joined you shortly, the bed shifting under his weight as he joined you under the covers. You watched him open his arms for you, and you gladly let yourself be wrapped up in them, your chests pressed together, and you felt him press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You alright?” 

Smiling, you looked up at him. “I’m amazin’,” your voice was scratchy. “Just sore. And don’t you dare apologize,” you glared at him when he opened his mouth to do just that. 

“We can get you a bath later, if you’d like.”

“As long as you join me.”

You felt Arthur chuckle, his chest rumbling against yours, kissing you now on the forehead. “Whatever you want.”

Sighing contentedly, you stared at Arthur, who had now closed his eyes, his tiredness now making itself known. You were too busy scanning his features that you hadn’t noticed him cracking an eye open, raising a brow quizzically at you. “What?”

“You’re very beautiful, Arthur.”

You watched him stammer for a second, the bright red flush returning to his face from minutes prior. “It’d be pointless to disagree with you, wouldn’t it, princess?”

“Yup,” you giggled. The two of you sat in comfortable silence after that, until a question you’d been meaning for a while came back to you at that moment. “Why’d you call me that?”

“Call ya what?”

“Princess. I thought we already established that I ain’t one.”

“You want me to stop?” 

You shook your head. “You better not. I like it. I’m just curious why you use it.”

“To be completely honest, I ain’t quite sure why either,” he chuckled. “It started as a bit of a joke, before we became serious. But I liked the way you reacted to it, so I kept callin’ you it just to see your reaction. I kept sayin’ it after because you deserve to be called somethin’ unique, somethin’ that’s special to us.”

“Earlier, you said I was something’ better than a princess. What’s that?”

“It’s cheesy,” he tried to avoid the question, but you gave him a pointed look. Sighing, he relented. “You’re, well, you. You’re an outlaw, a gunslinger, a survivor. You’re a confidant, a friend, a leader. You’re my girl, my angel, the best thing that has ever happened to me. All things that are infinitely better than some royal title.” He shrugged. “And sure, maybe you ain’t a princess, but you deserve to be treated like one. I guess callin’ you that, it’s a constant reminder for me to treat you like the incredible person you are, and to not take your love for granted.” 

You held back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. “You’re oddly poetic at times.”

“I told ya it was cheesy,” he grumbled, the bashful smile on his face dropping when he saw the tears in your eyes. “Shit, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Despite the single tear rolling down your face, you laughed. “I love you so much, Arthur Morgan.”

He said your name slowly, wiping away the tear with the pad of his thumb. “I love you too.” You tried to smile at him, but a yawn overtook you, causing Arthur to laugh lightly. “Let’s get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

[embarrassinglastwords]

the results are in!

with 314 votes these were the top 10 stsg moments people can’t believe are canon (top 10 based off of the ones i listed lmao) this will be long but i did say i was gonna make a post of the results so -

10: in last place with only 1.9% - their names complimenting each other + Geto’s robes being called “gojo-gesa robes”

i included these together cause they are similar imo. both being based around the other.

9: “the only one i have”

the iconic quote with 3.2% that is so misquoted cause of that translation that i’m pretty sure people ignore that that’s actually what he says rather than “my one and only”💀 (myself included but for the sake of the poll i did the accurate translation)

8: the light novel in general

maybe i’m biased cause of my user but only getting 3.8% of votes surprised me lmao.

i mean i just think about “Even if everything was different now, there was still one thing- from that very moment it all started- that had never changed” as well as “Geto Suguru It was a name that the Jujutsu tech organization feared…but to Gojo Satoru, he was—“ all the time

i posted more quotes from it here

7: with 7.3% (nanami surprise appearance) we have their official songs stated by Gege.

Shame On Me being Gojo’s

and Come Back Home being Geto’s.

6: 8.9% of votes for this insane moment from the newer chapters after Gojo’s resurrection lmao

him and Kenny are fighting and Gojo offers to fight on Dec. 24th (Geto’s death anniversary) with Kenny replying “How romantic”

this legit made me scream when the chapter came out… anyways

5: i almost didn’t include this moment because i was sure it was gonna win because of how often it’s brought up but i’m glad to see i was wrong💀

but still in the top 5 with 9.6% is Gojo recognizing Geto by smell in JJK0… i have nothing to add to that cause like. what.

4: with 10.5% we have Gojo’s last words to Geto being “3 words” as stated by Gojo’s english va! (which i also mentioned in the post linked above)

(that being paired with the light quotes above and “such embarrassing words” and it being words they had “never said to each other before” … we all know what he said…🙄)

3: with 12.4%, the one that made me spiral and realize Gojo is probably done for, Gege himself saying “one cannot exist without the other” about Gojo and Geto…

so either Geto is miraculously gonna come back or they are sharing a death anniversary lmao

2: at 18.8%!

the infamous vol 0 quotes that are 100% parallels because the entire movie is.

Gojo, to Yuta in reference to Rika: “Love is the most twisted curse of them all” (idk why i said 'worst curse' in the poll lmao)

Geto as he dies: “At least curse me a little at the very end.”

bangs my head into a wall… okay and number 1!!

1: at 23.6% is the stsg moment. “My six eyes tell me you’re Suguru Geto but my soul knows otherwise! Hurry up and answer, who the hell are you?!”

not only was seeing Geto the reason for him getting sealed but he went against his own power, his own technique which makes him the strongest, to listen to his soul. and to quote Song of Achilles (which i made a joke the other day about stsg being modern day achilles and patroclus) “He is half of my soul, as the poets say.”

okay this was the first poll i’ve done like this besides some random funny ones on my other blog and i can’t believe it got 300+ votes. maybe i’ll do more in the future if i can think of some topics.

[dylan-o-yumm]

Little Moments (Part 2)

It's finally here! Im so sorry for the wait but you have all been very lovely and patient, I hope you enjoy the second and final part of Little Moments. Feedback is ALWAYS welcome! AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46338547/chapters/122848546

Warnings: Talk of trauma and PTSD, talk of break-in’s, reader is done with Leon’s shit, SMUT, unprotected sex, cream pie, kitchen sex 

Word Count: 9k

Part 1, Part 2

“I don’t think I’m ready to share everything…”

“That’s okay, dear. Just say whatever you’re willing to say. This is a place to share and cast judgment aside. You’re safe here.” An elderly woman smiled at you comfortingly, her wrinkled hands shaking as they held onto her cane. Her eyes weren’t the only ones on you, there were men and women all sitting in a circle, every one of you sitting on a cold grey chair.

You were in a rather spacious room, it was well lit and the children’s drawings taped to the walls brought a comforting vibe to the space. However, the air conditioning made the room a few degrees too cold, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin as you hugged yourself and looked at a spot on the floor as everyone else’s eyes remained on you.

You swallowed your nerves and cleared your throat.

“I went on a vacation to Spain a few months ago,” you started, releasing a shaky breath and rubbing your arm to rid your skin of the little bumps. “On my second day there, I was kidnapped. I was… held hostage in this small house that reeked of rotting… fruit.” That was a lie, it smelled of rotting flesh but you couldn’t say that to a bunch of small town people who were comfortable living in ignorance. You couldn’t blame them for living that way though. Ignorance is bliss.

“I managed to escape after three days, and hid inside a barn for about… just over twenty-four hours I think. There were people everywhere, but I stayed hidden because I was so scared of what they would do to me if they found me,” you stared through the floor now, becoming distant as the memories plagued your mind.

You couldn’t share too much. Perhaps you had already shared too much. People couldn’t know about all the horrors, the monsters, the infections, the mutations. But did that mean you had to bottle everything up for the rest of your life and slowly turn yourself crazy? Wondering if what happened back then was actually real or if you just made it all up in your head. Having no outlet…

“Whatever… Long story short, I obviously survived and got out of there…” you wouldn’t be here to tell the tale otherwise. You didn’t want to speak any more about what you went through, all these people needed to know was that you had a traumatic vacation. They couldn’t know about Ashley or Leon or Ada. You got as much off of your chest as need be, and now you could openly talk about your feelings, right? — Which is what you had come here for.

“I still feel like I’m there, though.”

No one interrupted you, giving you the floor to say whatever you needed or wanted. That was what this place was for, to open up about things you couldn’t open up about to family or friends. Other people who understood what it might feel like. Maybe not fighting against monsters and mutated people, but they knew the struggles that came afterwards. The trauma, the PTSD. All the people sitting in a circle with you had trauma of their own, and they were all dealing with it somehow.

They were brave for being here and opening up. So why didn’t you feel brave?

“I'm constantly on edge. I'm scared of the dark again, to the point where I need to turn on all the lights in my home- so I'm pretty sure I’m building up one hell of an electricity bill…” you scoffed lightly but no one else found it humorous. Some people slowly nodded along, knowing almost exactly how you felt.

“Whenever I do manage to sleep — which is very rare these days— I have these horrible nightmares where I’ll wake up screaming and thrashing in my bed… I’ve actually worried my neighbors a few times,” you remember the first time it happened. Police had knocked on your door and asked if you were okay. They then came into your home and searched around, no matter how many times you said you were fine and no one else was in the house with you. Having the police check the house however, did bring some comfort.

A few nights later it happened again, but instead of the police, it was your neighbor. They asked if you were okay and you apologized profusely for waking them up a second time. They seemed nice and understanding enough. Until the fifth time when they knocked on your door and tiredly begged you to get help.

Today was your first day out of the house in weeks.

Your eyes stung with tears yet to be shed.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind… I don’t want to live like this. I just want to know when it’ll get better.” A broken, half amused, wet sob escaped past your lips which brought you back to the room you were in. Everyone’s eyes on you started to feel so much heavier and unsettling. You couldn’t help but shrink back into your seat and avoid eye contact with every one of them.

“It does get better. The healing process is different for everyone, dear,” the old woman spoke up again, her smile was sad but comforting. You wanted a hug from her. You were able to meet her gaze for a short moment before looking at, and keeping your eyes fixed on the bottom of her cane. “I hope you’re very proud of yourself for all that you have survived. I know we are all proud of you… isn’t that right, everyone?”

The people around you murmured soft encouragements and nodded in agreement.

—————————————————————

You were emotionally drained on your walk back home, being so lost in your own head that you barely remembered walking at all. First you were at group therapy, and suddenly you were back home, standing in your driveway. You had headphones in your ears but there was no music playing, no podcast, just the sound of silence — blocking out noise of cars passing by or people chatting or birds chirping. Nice and quiet.

You liked the quiet when you weren’t inside your home. When you were inside your home the silence gave you time to think, to be alone with your thoughts. You didn’t like being inside your home anymore. It was too isolating. You didn’t like being alone, you didn’t like being so on edge all the time, thinking there were monsters hiding in every shadow. Yet when you were inside your home, it was hard to leave it.

You stood on your driveway, staring at your home. You were stalling, you didn’t want to go inside just yet. You wanted to stand out in the sun for a moment longer, and feel safe a moment longer. It was an odd sensation to feel safe on the street, but not inside your own home. Maybe something to do with enclosed spaces?

Thankfully you remained outside for a moment longer, or you would have missed the shadow of, what seemed to be, a person walking past your kitchen window. It was brief and you wanted to play it off as your mind just playing tricks on you. Maybe a bird flew past and you mistook it for something else? Maybe the curtains on your kitchen window caught the wind? But no… the uneasy feeling in your stomach was enough to know…

To know that someone was inside your house.

Or… something was inside your house.

Your blood ran cold and your heart started beating rapidly inside your chest— if you were to look down you would have seen the thump thump thump of it hitting against your chest hard and frightfully. You needed to go inside and neutralize the threat, that’s what Leon would do, and that’s what you needed to do. The thought of calling the police hadn’t even entered your mind but you didn’t want to wait around for them anyway. Who knew what that thing was doing in your house. How long they had been inside there for.

Had they been in there before you left for group therapy?

That thought terrified you.

What if they had been hiding somewhere while you were inside? Watching you while you watched tv, while you slept, while you ate and showered. While you were vulnerable... Surely you would have known right? You would have heard something, smelled something. If it were a monster, you would most likely be dead by now.

You needed to stop thinking about ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ and actually do something. You needed to take back your home.

You crouched down and grabbed the closest item to you, which was a solar powered garden light that was stabbed into the dirt — pointy and sharp, a good enough weapon to stab monsters with. Now you just had to sneak inside somehow without getting caught. To be light on your feet and keep your shaky breaths subtle and, preferably, silent.

Thankfully the front door was unlocked, so opening the door quietly only took patience and a steady hand. You were concerned however, because you really thought you had locked the door on your way out. How did this intruder get inside your home? The thought that they had been inside your house all along really started to weigh on you and stress you out even more than you already were.

Slowly and gently opening the front door, you left it open behind you as you carefully stepped inside the house. You raised your arm, pointing the end of the garden lamp up and ready to strike or stab whatever was inside your home, whatever was stupid enough to think you wouldn’t put up a fight… To be honest you didn't know until this very moment that you would put up a fight. You figured you were the cower and hide type, but perhaps the horrors of Spain prepared you for moments like these.

One foot in front of the other, you made your way down the hall and away from the entrance of your house, staying on your tippy toes and being cautious of your weight placement. All it took was one wrong step and your position would be discovered by the enemy. And it just so happened to be your luck that, even though your steps were light and careful, one wrong step on one particularly loose floorboard had you almost crying as panic came over you.

You winced and moved your foot off of the squeaky floorboard, knowing not to step there again. However you didn't know if you had already been found, you couldn't see or hear anyone so maybe you were in luck? Or maybe there was a deaf monster lurking about. You remember Leon telling you about Lickers and the Garradors who were blind but had sharp hearing skills. Maybe there were some monsters that couldn't hear well but could… see through walls or smell you from a mile away?

No.

You still had the element of surprise to your advantage, you just needed to be more careful.

It only took you a few more careful steps until you were in the kitchen, which is where you saw the intruder through the window. You held your weapon tightly in both your hands now, preparing to strike down or lunge forward into a body that could and would probably kill you. But not before you put a couple holes in them.

The floorboards creaked again, but this time, not under your weight.

You yelled and swung your weapon as a figure made its way into your peripherals. You aimed to plunge the sharp spike into the skull of your intruder, however, your arms were unable to come all the way down, something blocking you from eliminating the threat. Your wrists were caught in a strong grip. A strong hand, a male hand, holding you tight and bruising your skin.

The hand pinched and twisted, angling your hands at an awkward angle. You held onto your weapon for dear life but the hand simply twisted your wrists even more until you were forced to drop it and wince in pain. The weapon clattered to the floor noisily and you gasped as you tried to twist your hands back the right way. You needed to get out of this and fight and scream and make a scene so that hopefully your neighbors would call the police. But right before your lips parted, a scream building up in your belly, your eyes met his…

“I knew you were here but I couldn’t pinpoint where. Keeping the front door open was a smart move — the sound from outside muffled your noises,” Leon quipped, his eyes squinting slightly as he cracked his neck.

You were completely stunned. Calmer now that you weren’t fearing for your life, but stunned nonetheless. What the hell was Leon doing in your house? How did he get into your house? He probably knew how to lockpick but all you had seen him do was kick down doors with his own damn feet. And you don’t remember seeing any boot prints on your door.

“You didn’t want to call out to me and let me know you were here?! I was just at a fucking PTSD therapy circle thing! Now is not the time to be scaring me like this!” You yanked your hands out of his grip and angrily took a step back away from him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, though he didn’t sound disingenuous. It had been a few months since you had last seen Leon. His hair was still straight and styled in a way that shaped his face nicely, his eyes were the same deep blue you loved to swim in, his brow was a little more tense than you remembered. However the main difference was the slight prickly stubble on his face. It made him look more mature, more jagged, more hardened.

You huffed, hands on your hips, glaring at him. You gave yourself a moment to calm your racing heart, to get out of your fight or flight mode.

“Why are you here? I thought I’d never see you again,” you couldn’t help your snippy and impatient tone. You had said goodbye to Leon, you had prepared to never see him again, to move on and find someone new. You had almost stopped thinking about him and pining over him and now here he was standing in your kitchen? Uninvited?

“I just… had to make sure you were okay,” He answered a little bashfully, forcing himself to hold eye contact with you but you could tell he was a little nervous and maybe even embarrassed.

“Why would I not be okay?”

“Well, you live alone for starters,” he stated bluntly and gestured loosely around the room as if to say ‘I don’t see anyone else here to keep an eye on you.’

“Thanks. I'm aware,” you sassed, rolling your eyes as if he were just rubbing it in your face that you were single and living alone. Did he live with someone? He was single… right? He wouldn’t have kissed you back at the hotel if he had someone at home waiting for him. Leon was a loyal guy, it didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

Why did you care though? You had your chance and he was the one that walked away from you. You didn’t think you did anything wrong to make him walk away, so maybe he just wasn’t into you like that. Maybe you were a lousy kisser and he didn’t have the heart to tell you. Maybe he was holding out for Ada.

“You’re not happy to see me,” he stated. It wasn’t a question.

“You shouldn’t be here, Leon!” You snapped, your eyebrows raising into your hairline, pleading with him to understand where you were coming from — how confused you were and how painful this would turn out to be. You had just gotten over him, and now he was back? Which could only mean you would have to get over him all over again. “When you dropped me back off here all those months ago, and you turned around and left, that was meant to be the last time I saw you!”

“I thought you’d be happy? Especially after how we left things at the—“

“Don’t even get me started on the hotel room incident.” You quickly cut him off, hands on your hips and a sour expression on your face. He looked so innocently confused, maybe even a little hurt. His eyes weren’t very expressive, he was rather good at hiding his emotions, though if you looked close enough, you could see right through him.

“That makes it sound like it was an accident,” his brows pinched together and you hated that you thought he looked cute.

“Wasn’t it?” You shrugged, having an expectant look on your face. You wouldn’t be disappointed again, you couldn’t be. It was too hard getting over him the first time, you couldn’t do it again. Not now, not when you had finally started trying to do better for yourself.

Leon was silent for a moment.

“I don’t know.” He finally answered, quiet and dejected.

It hurt.

Knowing that he might say it was a mistake, might consider it to be a mistake. It wasn’t like you two slept together, it was just some kissing, and hugging… and sleeping, but no sex. It was a gentle, tender moment between two lost souls who just survived something that might as well have been out of a horror film. You needed Leon at that moment and you thought he needed you too, but maybe it really was just a big mistake— something that would only hurt your feelings again and again and again.

At least with Leon, he knew your pain and you knew his. Maybe not all of it, but you were bonded through trauma. It wasn’t like you could date any random person and expect them to deal with all your baggage that you carried off that damn island with you. Leon at least had the same type of baggage as you so there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you, something that no one else could have with you.

But you couldn’t fool yourself. It wasn’t meant to be, and even Leon knew that.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced down the burning sensation that lingered behind your eyes, threatening to bring the tears. You would be an immovable rock, staring down Leon Kennedy where he stood.

“Why are you here, Leon?” You asked once again... slower and quieter, but more firmly this time. He would not feel welcome here and you would make sure of it. It was for your own good.

“I kept having this dream— nightmare.” He forced the words out like he was ashamed to admit he had any nightmares at all, but you’d be more concerned if he didn’t, given his line of work. You can’t see all that horrible shit and then come out perfectly fine on the other side. You weren’t okay and you had experienced, maybe a quarter, of what Leon himself had gone through. “You were all alone here, and… I had to make sure you were okay.” He continued.

“A nightmare?” You asked skeptically, wondering why that meant he would want to come here. So you continued, “about me?”

He nodded his head. “You were hurt. Needed me,” he stood stiffly, trying to remain cool, calm and collected, but whatever he dreamt about had clearly shaken him. You could see the nightmare playing behind his eyes, the way his eyes felt muted and dulled, and his features slackened as if just the memory alone took all the energy from him.

Whatever he had dreamt about you, it was enough to make him worried. So worried that he would drop everything and come all the way here, on his day off, just to see you. So worried that he couldn’t even tell you the details of said nightmare. He knew it was just a nightmare and that you were safe… He wasn’t here for you, he was here for himself. To ease his own fears. At least you knew he cared for you somewhat.

You decided not to press him about what happened in said nightmare, you weren’t sure you wanted to know anyway.

“How’d you get inside?”

“I remembered where you kept your spare key,” he responded, a little life coming back to his face, obviously glad for the topic change. And his answer relieved you, knowing that there wasn’t a smashed window somewhere or a faulty lock on one of your doors. You thought about moving the spare key from under the doormat but then, how would Leon find his way back inside then? That was, if he was even planning on coming back.

Did you want him to come back?

Him being here was already confusing your mind and your heart.

“How did you get here?” You continued questioning him.

“I rode here. Motorbike,” he gestured outside with a faint tilt of his head. You looked out the kitchen window and sure enough, there on the side of the street curb was a sleek, black motorcycle with a black helmet dangling off the handlebar. You scoffed at the thought of him riding all the way over to your home on a motorbike — however then you realized you didn’t even know where he lived, so maybe he was rather close by and the ride was shorter than you were expecting? You just assumed Leon was too far out of your grasp, physically and emotionally.

“Is that meant to impress me? Mr. Leon Kennedy rides a motorbike?” You turned back to him and cocked an eyebrow. He was subtle in the way he was smirking, his eyes constantly on you and watching your reaction, even when you turned to take one last glance at the bike sitting on your curb.

“Is it working?”

“No.” Yes.

“Then no.”

You huffed, looking down at your shoes for a moment to take your eyes off of his gorgeous blue ones. You really had a weakness for them, if anyone could resist their charm, you’d think them psychopathic.

“Did you check in on Ashley too?” You asked, feeling a pang of jealousy at the thought of him going to check in on her before he came to check on you, but you didn’t let it show on your face.

“Ashley has bodyguards.” So that was a no, you gathered. He only came here to check in on you? No one else?

“Is that why you’re here…? To be my bodyguard?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest and tilting your head, trying to maintain your minimal patience attitude.

“No. I wish I could, but I can’t.” He scoffed and your heart cracked a little, not because you wanted a bodyguard but because his words echoed in your head. They had been echoing in your head for the last few months.

“There it is again. ‘I can’t.’” You scoffed back at him.

“Again? What do you mean?” His brows pinched together in confusion.

“Back at the hotel. While Ashley was showering. You know, before the incident. You told me you can’t… Can't what, Leon?” You reminded him, staring deep into his soul and knowing you were making him uncomfortable by putting him on the spot, but you didn’t care. He made you uncomfortable by breaking into your house unannounced, so if he wanted to do that, you would pay him back by grilling him for the answers to the question that you had been pondering for months now.

He sighed and his posture sagged, your words immediately took ten years off of his life. He had an answer but he didn’t know how to say it, it was complicated— everything about his life was complicated.

You stood there staring at him for a few long seconds before he finally spoke up.

“You know what.” He told you in a quiet but stern voice.

“I wanna hear you say it.” You quickly retorted. Because after all these months of pondering, you had a good idea of what he had meant back then. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, Leon was a selfless guy. And he had been acting selfless for as long as you’d known him, except for today. It wasn’t very selfless of him to come see you.

So he didn’t say anything, he didn’t respond to you, but he didn't have to.  

You signed.

“It’s my choice, you know.” You folded your arms over your chest and told him blatantly how it was.

“Don’t these things usually need two people to be in agreement?” He sassed.

“It is my choice,” you stopped him from talking, not wanting to hear his witty remarks and cheesy one liners. “If I want to sit and worry for weeks or months while you’re away on a mission, that’s my choice. If I want to put my life in danger just because I want to be around you more, that is my choice.” You explained angrily, wanting him to either get it through his thick skull or to leave your home.

He huffed a short, heavy breath, resting his hands on the kitchen counter as he leaned forward and dropped his head down, his chin almost touching his chest. “You don’t even know me.” He sounded sad, and you realized that he probably felt like a lot of people didn't really know him. He was never in one place for too long, he didn't seem like the kind of guy to have friends outside of work, only because his life was his work. No one knew Leon personally.

“I know enough.”

“No. You don’t. I'm just some guy who saved your ass. Ever heard of trauma bonding? It’s when you-“

“I know what trauma bonding is!” You quickly cut him off, knowing that what he was saying could potentially be true – you did experience a lot of trauma alongside him. But it felt like more than just a trauma bond… Though how could you ever truly know? “I haven't known you for a long time but I don’t need to… You’re gentle and kind. You made Ashley and I feel so safe. You put our safety above all else.”

“It was my job-“

“I saw the way you spoke to Ashley after she attacked you. When she was scared of hurting you again. I saw how much you hated seeing her in pain when we were in Luis’ lab, how you held her hand through it all, even though you were seconds away from being infected yourself… Forget the fact that you saved our lives. I’m focused on the little moments. The moments where you weren't just doing your job.”

“I can’t…” he refused to meet your gaze but you didn’t give him the chance to shut down. Not yet. You stepped closer to him.

“When Luis died. You lit a cigarette for him. You comforted him in his last moments even though he was a pain in the ass… You also ended Krauser’s suffering. You didn’t care about how it would affect you, you just knew that you had to be the one to do it. And even though he kidnapped Ashley and he tried to kill us multiple times… I believe you when you say he was a good man. Because I trust you, Leon.”

He was still quiet, refusing to look at you but you could see his face, see the way he took in your words and the way his body relaxed slightly. Maybe it was all obvious to you, how good he was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need to hear it.

“I’m never going to have a decent night's sleep again because of all the shit I've seen, but if you told me you needed me to go back to that village for whatever reason. I would do it in a heartbeat. I would do it… all over again. I’d do it for you.”

“I would never ask that of you,” he whispered, finally looking up to give you a shy glance through his hair.

“That’s all you got from my speech?” You cocked your hip and frowned.

“No. I just… I don’t want you getting hurt.” He turned his body to you completely now, one hand resting on the countertop while the other hung by his side, itching to reach out and grab you. You stepped to him again, holding eye contact even when you could tell he was feeling flustered and embarrassed. Your chest was close to pressing against his.

“It’s my choice. Hurt me.” You whispered back.

His eyes remained on yours, you could see every emotion running through his mind, every thought, every feeling. He was fighting with himself for the first second — trying to convince himself out of whatever it was you were trying to get him to do. Trying to convince himself that he should just leave your home, he checked in on you just like he intended to, you were fine and safe. He could leave now.

However, his mind wasn’t as strong as his heart was.

Like two lions lunging at one another, you and Leon pounced at the same time. His hands grabbed your face and your hands buried themselves in his dirty blond hair as your faces squished together. Teeth clacking against teeth, nose pressing against nose, trying to bury your way into each other's skin.

His lips were on yours but the both of you were pressing so hard into each other, you could only feel your top lip being sandwiched in between your gums and his lips. So hard that your lips swelled almost immediately, as did his. Not that you had a chance to look in a mirror or even part from him long enough to see just how swollen his lips were, as you were too busy pushing him back into the kitchen counter while toeing your shoes and socks off.

His back bumped into the counter and something clattered onto the ground, you didn’t take a moment to care what it was, even if it was your most prized possession, you couldn’t care at that moment. Leon’s hands remained on your face, holding you softly and sweetly no matter how hard his lips pressed against yours, but you wanted him to touch you elsewhere.

Instead of using your words, your hands slid out from his hair and down his neck, over his pectorals and down to the hem of his shirt. You kissed him a moment longer before slowly pulling it up, holding your lips against his for as long as you possibly could until the hem of his shirt had been lifted up to his chin, which meant you had to pull away to take it off.

Finally now you could get a look at his puffy lips, his flushed face, his lust-filled eyes. The both of you panting heavily to catch your breath as you lifted his shirt off of him and discarded it on the floor. Your hands immediately touched his warm skin, feeling the curves and definition of his abs. He was hairless, smooth and a little shiny from the thin layer of sweat he was building up, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of the v-line dipping into his jeans.

Leon’s hands came back to your face, gently cupping your cheeks and brushing your hair behind your ear. Your eyes were torn off of his body and pulled back up to meet his gaze. Panting softly now, having filled your lungs with enough air, you reached up and took his left hand in your right. His eyes watched his hand as you moved it off of your face and down past your neck. Your eyes however, remained on his.

His hand flattened out once you guided him to your chest, though where you wanted him to tear your clothes off or grope you mercilessly… he instead paused for a moment to feel your racing heartbeat. His lips parted and he breathed out softly but just heavily enough for you to feel his breath on your skin.

“Leon?”

“Are you sure about this?”

You huffed, tilting your head to the side disappointedly. His self doubt was not going to ruin this moment. You took his hand, peeling it off of your chest and bringing his open palm to your lips where you gave him a soft yet lingering kiss. His eyes softened at the gesture and you could make out a hint of a smile on his face before you then guided his hand back down to your chest, over your right breast.

His hand slowly closed around the clothed mound and squeezed softly. “I guess that answers that question.”

You smiled, a soft chuckle coming out your nose before your hand stopped guiding him and instead went back to burying itself in his soft hair. His face remained quite red as he watched what his own hand was doing, massaging and rubbing your breast with soft, gentle fingers. You couldn’t help but find it so endearing, the fact that you told him to hurt you and yet his touch had never been gentler.

“Are you a virgin?” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them, a teasing smirk unable to while itself off your lips.

“What? No. I just… We’re in the kitchen, I’m not sure w-“ you cut him off instantly with a scoff, smacking his hand away from you playfully and turning your back to him. He was worried that he had offended you or hurt you somehow, but he watched as you jumped up onto the kitchen counter, sitting down with your legs spread the perfect amount for him to come stand in between.

He didn’t move just yet as he continued watching you. Your hands grabbed the hem of your own shirt and pulled it up and over your head, tossing it on top of Leon’s shirt that was also discarded on the floor. The sunset behind you, streaming in through the open window, surrounded you and made your body glow. Leon finally moved forward and took his place between your open legs.

“I don’t have to tell you what to do, do I?” You teased him a little more and his eyes had never looked so young and innocent. It was incredibly hard to believe that this man had killed a whole village full of zombies. Yet here he was, pressing against you, his jeans tight and his zipper digging into his groin painfully. He shook his head no, to answer your rhetorical question, but his hands finally started moving again.

Starting on your thighs, his hands slid upwards, his thumbs coming incredibly close to where you throbbed and craved his touch. But his hands followed the round of your hips and settled on the waistband of your pants. His forehead rested against yours as he looked down, watching as he tugged the fabric down.

“Lift your hips,” he told you and you obeyed, leaning back on your hands and raising your pelvis as Leon slid your pants down your thighs. They stopped around your ankles but Leon didn’t want to bend down and leave your space for even a moment. So you watched and gasped as his boot came down between your ankles and stomped the material down in one swift motion, having them off your body and on the floor in an instant, but something about the action made your body even more tingly.

Left in nothing but your panties and your bra, Leon looked down at you and admired your body while your hands grabbed at his belt and loosened his pants. Once he was free enough that the zipper was no longer digging into him, he stopped you from what you were doing and suddenly captured both your wrists in his firm grip.

“Leon? I’m sorry, am I moving too fast or something?” You worried yourself for a moment but Leon settled your fears with his lips on yours. His kisses were remaining hard and rough, but everything else about him was gentle and loving. Your eyes fluttered shut and his grasp on your wrists lessened a little, but he pushed forward with his lips until you were about to fall backwards out the window, only he released your hands in time for you to place them behind your back and save yourself.

“Stay like this,” he whispered, and you realised he had just done that on purpose. He wanted you to lean back and take what he gave you, he wanted your hands behind your back and no longer focusing on him. He wanted you to relax and enjoy yourself.

His hand started on your stomach, thumb stroking your skin and following the dip of your navel. You watched his hand, lips parted and a soft gasp escaped your mouth. He was barely touching you but he had already set your skin ablaze.

Your heart started pounding faster and faster as Leon’s hand lowered down to your panties, sliding over the top of the fabric and settling between your thighs. The subtle touch over your clit had you jolting and bucking your hips, desperate for more of his touch.

His eyes met yours for a short moment, making sure you were okay, before his fingers slipped your panties to the side and started stroking your wet folds with his knuckle.

Your head tilted back and you sighed, turning into liquid under his touch. He watched you with hungry eyes, continuing to stroke your slick folds until his finger was covered in your fluids, lubricating him enough for the tip of his finger to dance around your hole. You bit your lip and lifted your head back up to watch as he, ever so slowly, sunk the tip of his index finger inside your tight walls.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned breathily as you spread your legs open even wider. Leon slid his finger in until the heel of his palm was flush against your clit, curling his index finger to find the soft and spongy spot inside you that had your toes curling. He was slow and deliberate with his movements, keeping his finger inside while doing a come hither motion, making you wetter and wetter until a second digit prodded at your hole.

“You feel good,” he whispered breathily while watching his own fingers slide inside you and coax out your arousal, completely transfixed on the sight while you laid back and enjoyed what he was doing to you.

“It’ll feel better when you use your dick—“

“Shhh… we’re going slow. I’m gonna make sure you’re ready first… I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised, leaning in and pressing his nose to the space just below your ear, breathing in the scent of your shampoo and body wash as he closed his eyes and melted into you. His lips were next to touch your skin, leaving soft open mouthed kisses against your neck while he continued to finger you nice and slowly.

His breath was warm against your skin, and his lips were soft like pillows. He had you shuddering and whimpering when he added his tongue into the mix. He started out with gentle kisses where the tip of his tongue lightly teased your skin, moving around to find the part of your neck that had you giving him the best reactions. Once your breathing got heavier, he flattened his tongue and licked a long, slow stripe up to your ear before nibbling your earlobe into his mouth and sucking softly.

You couldn’t help but dig your heels into the counter to pull your body onto Leon’s fingers more, doing your best to grind against his palm as you got completely lost in your pleasure. Your walls fluttered around his two fingers as he thrusted them into you and curled them just right, you wanted more though. You wanted him to roughly fuck you with his fingers, to plunge as many fingers as he wanted into you while the sound of squelching filled the room. But he was so gentle instead, so soft and sweet.

His free hand that had been gripping your waist moved around to the small of your back. He trailed his palm up your spine slowly until his fingers skilfully unclasped your bra in one swift movement. He quickly tore the fabric off of your chest, freeing you from your bra so your breasts were on full display for him. That was a little rougher than he had previously been and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your cunt clamp down hard on his fingers.

Leon pulled back from his assault on your neck and ear to get a nice long look at you, admiring your breasts and pert nipples. “Fuck,” he sighed and you blushed under his gaze, but he soon had you moaning and panting once again as his head dived down to press kisses along the curve of your breasts before latching his mouth onto your right nipple.

And it was then that he finally started fingering you with a bit more force and speed. With his tongue swirling around your hardened nub and his fingers fucking into your tightness, you held back a squeal as your legs instinctively shut and clamped around his arm. He didn’t care much however, as he was strong enough to continue the work with his fingers, speeding up more and more and more until you had to squeeze your eyes shut and your whole body tensed up.

“Leo-fuck! Slow d-down! Fuck fuck fuck!” Your whole body curled up as Leon continued finger fucking you at such speeds your mind had completely gone blank. Your hands left the kitchen counter and had wrapped your arms around his neck, forcing his face to be trapped against your breasts. He growled against your skin and you fought the urge to kick your legs and accidentally hurt him as a wave of boiling hot pleasure waved over your whole body. Starting at your stomach and then spreading outwards to the rest of your limbs.

You came with a grunt, almost sounding angry because how dare he be so fucking good at that. How dare he make you feel so fucking good before you had even dared to touch him, before you had even seen his body. You came and he still had his pants on. How dare he!

Though you didn’t have much time to calm down from your first orgasm or to even cuss him out for his stupidly skilled fingers, before he was slipping his fingers out of you and fumbling with his belt to lower his pants.

He let out a choked sigh as he revealed himself, the cool air kissing the hot, angry skin of his cock as it sprung free and slapped against his lower stomach. The tip just reached his belly button and smeared a little mess of precum across his navel which almost had you salivating and spreading your legs even wider like a needy pornstar.

You watched as he grabbed himself, using his wet fingers — wet with your cum, to lubricate himself. You could watch his hands move and stroke himself for years, he was clearly a little shy doing so in front of you, but you were far too excited to feel him inside of you that you had no room for embarrassment at the moment.

“You comfy there?” He asked, one hand stroking his cock while the other reached out and squeezed your inner thigh.

“Yes. I mean no, but if you make me wait any longer we’re going to have a problem,” you huff desperately, and he either didn't much care for your comfort or he saw the way your cunt was throbbing and weeping, begging to be stuffed, because he didn’t bother suggesting you move to a more comfortable spot. Instead he fought a smirk and cocked his head.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lining himself up with your needy hole, he rubbed against you a little, feeling the tip of his cock catch on your opening. His hands then took your hips and he pulled you onto him instead of pushing himself into you.

He stretched you open nice and slowly, pulling silent moans from you as your lips fell open and your head tilted back. He wasn’t too thick that it hurt— or maybe he had just prepared you really well, which of course he did. He definitely wasn’t thin either though. The more he slid inside you, the more full you felt, like he was morphing your insides to the exact shape of him.

Your elbows, which were propping you up on the counter were sore and red and your tailbone could have been better, but that was all a problem for later. Right now, Leon was reaching balls deep inside you and his needy, shy expression as he held in his desperation to moan aloud, was far more enticing to pay attention to than any kind of pain your body was in.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him trapped deep inside you for the time being. You could feel him pulsing, feel him twitching. Though he could also definitely feel you pulsing and twitching too, as your walls gripped him and begged him not to leave. He didn’t look like he wanted to leave, not as he brought his lips to the curve of your collarbone and left featherlight kisses on your skin.

Slowly, he pulled out. And slowly, he pushed back in.

Though with each new thrust, he gained a little more speed and force. Each clap of skin against skin became louder and quicker in succession. Like a round of applause slowly ramping up after a moving performance. He soon found his preferred pace and stuck with it, needing to pull back from your collarbone so he could get a good look at your face to make sure you were enjoying yourself.

Your eyes were mostly black, no colour in them as your pupils had blown wide in lust. You always thought that you’d be more excited watching what was going on, getting to look down and watch as Leon impales you on his cock, or watch the way the muscles in his arms contract and shift as he grips you and guides your hips. However, you couldn’t take your eyes off of his. And he seemed to have the same problem.

Locked in a stare, you could see every emotion he was feeling, as he could see every emotion you were feeling. You could see how his eyebrows crinkled slightly, how his lips refused to touch as little moans and whimpers escaped him. But you could also see how he looked at you, how you knew he never ever wanted to hurt you. How he was scared to lose you.

His eyes had never been so expressive.

You lifted yourself up enough to shake your arms out a little, having lost feeling in them since resting on them. But the moment they came down on Leon’s shoulders, he was all you could feel. And thankfully, he seemed to read your mind as his hands scooped you off of the counter and held you against his body. You could feel more of him, get more contact this way. You could feel his warmth and smell his musk. He could hold you like this.

However, he was a few steps ahead of you. Holding you snuggly so as not to hurt you as he lowered you down onto the kitchen floor, he hoisted one of your legs up, high up so that when he slid back into you, you’d feel every inch, every vein, every twitch and muscle spasm.

You cried out, arching your back both from the feeling of him massaging your insides and the cool tiles of the kitchen floor pressing against your skin. You gripped at his back and shoulders desperately while he panted and whimpered into your neck. You could tell he was clenching his jaw when you heard him moan softly. Knowing your body made him feel so good made you feel even better.

“I’m so close, Leon. Don’t stop,” you whisper to him and he makes sure to keep doing exactly what he’s doing. He massages your insides and the tip of his cock continues to brush against your g-spot, and not that you need any added pleasure to help you reach the finish line, but his pelvis rubbing against yours and just barely creating friction for your clit makes it all the better.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he grunts back, his hands in your hair, gripping and caressing your locks. He doesn’t warn you when he’s about to cum but the surprise is what sends you over the edge.

He moans quietly but that only makes him sound more delicious as his hips stutter and his balls tighten. You feel each pump of his cock as thick ropes of cum paint your insides, leaving you feeling even more full and warm than before, which you didn’t know was even possible. He doesn’t stop moving though, knowing he came before you did, he doesn’t give up. But you’re cumming right there a second after him anyway.

You held your breath as electricity spread throughout your body. Your thighs tense and stiff as they twitched and shook, your backside clenched, your lips parted wide as you moaned loudly. You couldn’t see anything but white light as Leon continued thrusting slowly, rocking his hips against yours. He was watching your expressions closely, listening to the beautiful sounds you made. He wanted to see you like this again and again and again.

Your eyes closed and you let out a shaky breath finally, getting your breathing back to normal as the energy in your body slowly fizzled out. The pleasure felt like it lasted hours before it finally began to lessen, leaving you a puddle on your kitchen floor as Leon held you in his arms. The ground was cold and unpleasant but you wanted to stay here forever. With Leon.

“Oh my god…” you breathed out, reopening your eyes to look up at the man who just turned you into putty.

“Not God. That was all me,” Leon quipped lamely with a wink, which, to your annoyance, had you smiling widely and chuckling at his dumb joke. He wasn’t usually cocky and full of himself like that, but hearing him say something so corny made you somehow fall for him even more. Or maybe you were just biased after that amazing orgasm.

You rolled your eyes and playfully swatted his upper arm, to which he smiled back at you, clearly proud of himself as he rolled off of you and slipped out of you. You sighed at the feeling of being empty now and brought your knees together, feeling your mixed climaxes oozing out of you and down your backside where it inevitably dirtied the kitchen floor. Leon rolled over onto the floor beside you, his hand finding yours and softly intertwining your fingers together.

“Haven’t done that in a long while,” he breathed out as you both looked up at the ceiling. “Glad it was with you.”

Your heart fluttered at his words but you also felt a pit growing in your stomach. Was this just a casual one time thing for him? Were you just the closest person around for him to stick his dick in?

No. You saw the look in his eyes while he was with you. That was more than just casual sex that he could have had with anyone. He wanted it to be you, and you wanted it to be him. You weren’t sure if you believed in fate but this felt like it needed to happen. Not one moment felt like a mistake.

Was this love?

Love is complicated and messy but also beautiful, warm and safe. And you never felt safer than when Leon was by your side. Leon himself was complicated and messy, you knew it would be a long twisted road to get to your destination with him. There were no detours, no straight roads to where you wanted to go, but you were okay with that. It made the end goal more rewarding.

What was the end goal though? Getting married? Having kids? Sharing a house together? Apparently you weren’t even sure about the destination. But that didn’t matter.

“Will you stay?” You asked softly, staring at the ceiling, holding your breath as you waited for his reply. This would determine everything, wouldn’t it?

“If that’s what you want.” Leon nodded, turning his gaze to your face, he admired you for a brief moment before you turned to look at him as well. You brought your interlocked hands to your chest, pressing the back of his palm against where your heart would be.

“Are you dumb? Of course I want you to stay.” You frowned softly and squeezed his hand desperately, as if you were determined to never let him go. Like concrete welding you together forever.

He remained facing you but his eyes lowered to your intertwined hands, watching while he felt your heart beating against the back of his hand. How fast, how strong, how scared it was.

“I don’t want to make any promises that I can’t keep. My job, it will always be an issue. No matter what kind of relationship you want to have with me… But I will try. I’ll try my best to be here for you.” He was determined. And that was all you could ask for.

“For us,” you smiled softly, rolling onto your side to get closer to him. Your lips found his and you kissed as the sun set. Hours ticked by spent in each other's embrace, holding one another, sharing the same space, loving each other.

Love is messy and complicated. But the little moments like these make it all worth it.

[little-paperboat]

Through Shadows To The Edge Of Night (3)

Here we goooo! Final chapter of "Through Shadows" is out, one day earlier than planned! 🧡 I'm super excited, it was so much fun to write! It's over 6,600 words too!! Twice as long as my usual chapters, which I didn't expect initially, but during the editing process I chose to merge the ending dialogue with another one that I had written for a later chapter, as I found it made more sense.

I'm glad that Tav and Rolan are finally having more interaction... and a little misunderstanding I was craving to write since the beginning, including that *one* scene that I imagined all those months ago and made me want to write this fic 😏

I hope you'll like it! The next part of the series will finally bring us to Baldur's Gate and to Sorcerous Sundries, and well, who knows what will happen then 👀 I'm planning to release it on next Saturday. You can follow the tag "series:forbidden fire" here on tumblr to not miss it when it comes out 🌸

And of course, I'm so grateful for all the comments, kudos and support! The Holy Rolan Empire is truly a gem, you guys are wonderful and it's super heartwarming to be part of such a kind community with so many talented artists and writers 🥹 ❤️

Read on AO3 (3/3)

Read Part 1: Wild Winds Are Death To The Candle (2/2)

She took a step towards him.

“Rolan?”

This broke him out of his stupor, his eyebrows perking up, frowning, and finally coming closer. Had he always been this tall?  

“Tav,” he replied sternly. 

Her name rolled off his tongue with ease, and something surged within her; wishing that he’d say it more often, whisper it against her skin, his lips caressing the shell of her ears— Wait, what? No! She had done so much for him, against her better judgement even, and he had been nothing but rude and a pain in the ass. No: she wouldn’t be so easily swayed. The ball was in his court, and her expectations were high. She wouldn’t be distracted by nonsense. 

She crossed her arms, unimpressed, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

“You brought them back,” he said finally, his eyes finding hers, a hint of hesitation colouring his deep voice. Once again, she found herself hypnotised by the golden flames dancing against the moonless sky of his eyes. “I thought my entire family was dead, and you… you brought us back together.” His voice was soft, almost emotional. She didn’t even know he could speak like this.

“Don’t mention it,” she croaked out. What was wrong with her? Gods, she needed to get a grip, now.  

“You have no cause to be humble. You did the impossible and you went out of your way to help us when most people would’ve left us to die - or worse.” 

Maybe she liked it better when he yelled at her, after all. At least it didn’t make her heart beat so fast. 

There was a pause, but before she could speak, he continued.

“I’ve lashed out at you, drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway.” She fought back a smile, biting the inside of her cheeks to physically stop her lips from stretching. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry. And, thank you.”

Was this real? Was this really happening? She tilted her head up at him and wished that she didn’t imagine his own gaze flickering to her lips. 

“Why are you being nice?” she asked in a hushed voice. 

“Because you were. I still don’t quite understand why you decided to help us - to help me, but you did.” He seemed to remember something, and handed her a small purse. “It’s only right that you get something in return.” 

A bag of gold sat in the palm of his hand, heavy and full. She paled, suddenly ill at ease. Was he giving her his savings? 

“Rolan, no. I can’t accept it.” It was absurd. Actually, it was offensive.  

His eyes darkened. 

“No? Is that not good enough for you?”

“On the contrary, it’s way too much. Really, I… I don’t need gold. I don’t, I swear.” 

She didn’t know how to explain to him that the sum he was handing her was probably less than her weekly allowance as a teen. 

Not that she was the kind of selfless person who refused to be paid for her services. Quite the opposite, actually: half her life so far had been dedicated to finding ways of getting and spending money, without any concern in the world for those who didn’t have any.  

But, well. Being catapulted in the middle of a refugee camp without any gold piece to spare had somewhat altered her perspective, and now she did feel bad about taking money from people in need when she knew her own coffers were still overflowing at home.

“I don’t need a reward,” she continued. “You keep it, for you, and Lia and Cal, for when—” 

“Take it, Tav.” He cut her, annoyance sharp in his voice. Clearly, he would obviously feel beyond insulted if she refused it, but at the same time, she really didn’t need it. Although, it could benefit the group, if only temporarily…

She chewed on her bottom lip, indecisive, before reluctantly taking the coin purse from him, swearing to herself that she’d find a way to give it back somehow. Her obedience seemed to please him, and he gave her a satisfied smirk that ignited a fire in her belly, a violent desire coursing through her veins. 

She wanted to know how his lips would feel against hers, how his body would react to her touch; to see pleasure etched over his handsome features and to hear him say all those nice things again, and then some. To see him happy, pleased; to make him lose his composure and show him how good it would feel to not be a stuck-up prick.  

She wanted to kiss him - she really did. 

And she wanted it now, even if he hated her. 

She had dealt with worse than that. 

“I didn’t tell Cal and Lia about what happened,” she said instead, inching just a bit closer, batting her eyelashes just so - giving him that one sultry look that always got her tangled in bedsheets under an hour. 

“I know,” he said with a strained smile. 

“You’re welcome,” she teased.   

He let out a breathy laugh.

“I thanked you once already. Don’t be greedy.” 

A glint of mischief burned in his eyes and she felt herself smirk, the flames of desire burning brighter. Oh, she was greedy alright - all she needed was a sign that he wasn’t just being polite, something, anything to let her know that he was also curious about her, and she would show him exactly just how greedy she could be.

— Read the rest on AO3 :)

(c) divider by saradika

[rhondafromhr]

Chapter 3 of the nerds corruption au

Update: this is still consuming my life and I’m not even mad about it. I’m just straight up having a good time.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

“We’re Gonna Become the Bullies” - Chapter 3: Hold Me Closer Than Before

Peter can’t believe he��s actually doing this. He’s going to go confront Brad Callahan. Not only that, he has Max goddamn Jägerman psyching him up to do it. The same Max Jägerman that was beating him up for trying to talk to Steph not even a week ago. If Max still objected to it now, he probably would’ve said something about them holding hands, so it looks like they have his blessing. Pete’s really glad Steph joined them. It’s both endearing and kind of hot how fired up she is to defend him.

They finally track Brad down in the hallway and corner him. Max takes the lead, shoving him up against a locker and snarling, “Did I not make myself clear that Spankoffski is off-limits now? Who the fuck do you think you are that you get to talk to him like that? The order of things here at Hatchetfield High has changed and there’s nothing your weak ass can do about it, so you’re going to show him some goddamn respect from now on.”

“Oh, what, just because I called him one little name? He’s suddenly too cool for ‘Micro-Peter’ just ‘cause you said so?” Brad fires back.

“What are you, new here? Yes he fucking is, that’s how it works! Don’t forget, I’m your god,” Max says, staring him down with unbridled fury in his eyes “And now, so are these two. So we’re going to make sure the message gets through your thick skull this time. Steph, I believe you mentioned something you’ve always dreamed of doing.” Max restrains him while Stephanie raises her arm and backhands him hard, her other one still gripping Pete’s. How’s that for learning to multitask, Miss Tessburger? she thinks smugly. God, that was fucking cathartic.

Max turns his attention to Peter, Brad still in his grip. “Okay, Pete, you’re up! Throw a punch, show me what you’ve got!”

Peter reluctantly lets go of Stephanie’s hand and begins winding up his fist. He has no idea what he’s doing. The closest he’s ever gotten to a fight was that one time he tried to stand up to Max and that didn’t exactly work out in his favor. Or maybe it did? It was the catalyst for the Waylon place incident, which is the whole reason he’s in Max’s good graces. But, he realizes, if he wants to stay there, it would do him some good to impress Max and not throw a weak, half-assed punch right now. To motivate himself, he thinks back to the pantsing incident, growing angrier and angrier as he remembers how small and humiliated and helpless Brad made him feel. Suddenly, punching Brad square in the face as hard as he can stops being an obligation to hesitantly fulfill and becomes a long-overdue opportunity he absolutely relishes. As Pete’s fist slams into his face, Brad tries to play it off like it doesn’t hurt, but the pained groan he lets out is unmistakable. Holy cow, Pete realizes, he gave him a black eye!

“Good job! That was actually really good for a first try. I could feel the righteous fury just radiating off of you. Chills. I’ve got chills right now,” Max says encouragingly.

“Oh, um, thanks. That’s what I was going for,” Pete replies, a little dazed.

“You, too, Steph. The form on that slap? Absolutely impeccable. You might even be able to teach me a few things.”

“Well, I have been training for this. At this point I’ve probably done like ten thousand practice runs of this scenario in my head,” Stephanie deadpans.

“Well, team, this has been fun, but we’ve gotta get to class now, so this trash’ll just have to deposit itself into the nearest receptacle!” Max releases Brad, who books it to get away from them. Looks like their message sunk in.

Later that day, Peter sits in Calc and as hard as he tries to focus, his mind keeps wandering back to the incident with Brad. Even if he didn’t do it alone, he can’t believe he actually beat somebody up. He feels like he should feel at least a little bit guilty, but he doesn’t, and he feels a little guilty for that. Then again, why should he? When has Brad been anything but a complete asshole to him? Still, it kind of concerns him how good it felt to be the one in control for once. Before he can dwell on it too much, a stern, clear voice over the intercom interrupts his internal debate.

“Would Stephanie Lauter, Peter Spankoffski and Max Jägerman please report to the principal’s office immediately? I repeat, Stephanie Lauter, Peter Spankoffski and Max Jägerman to the principal’s office.” Well, there’s a sentence he never thought he’d hear. Even just “Peter Spankoffski to the principal’s office” would be unusual. He really should’ve been prepared for this, but the possibility didn’t even cross his mind. Somehow, it felt like being with Max would give him some sort of immunity. He packs his things and stands up to leave, hyper-aware of his classmates’ curious gazes burning into him.

When he arrives outside of Principal Blim’s office, Steph and Max are already there waiting for him. Stephanie slouches in the cheap, blue plastic chair and seems more bored than anything. Much to her father’s dismay, this is a pretty familiar scene for her. Max just looks confused and possibly a little nervous. Peter supposes that makes sense; there’s a good chance he’s never been here, either. Max has been doing stuff like this for years and hasn’t gotten in trouble once. The school cares way more about keeping their star quarterback on the field and beating Clivesdale than they do about bullying. Principal Blim cracks open the door and pokes his head out.

“Oh, good, you’re all here. Take a minute to collect yourselves if you need and come on in. Let’s start a dialogue,” he says.

Stephanie notices how tense the boys both look. She can’t help but crack a smile. It goes without saying that Pete is adorable, but the sight of literal monster Max Jägerman dropping his tough-guy persona and acting like a scared little kid about getting a scolding from their (honestly pretty chill and understanding) principal is pretty entertaining, too. She squeezes Pete’s hand and gives Max a little pat on his shoulder.

“It’ll be alright,” she whispers as they all head in. It seems to relax them a little bit.

Principal Blim’s office is surprisingly cramped. Or maybe it just feels that way due to almost every inch of wall being covered in cheesy motivational posters, many of which feature adorable cats in ridiculous situations. Peter thinks maybe it’s supposed to brighten up the room and make it feel less intimidating, but to be honest it’s having the opposite effect on him right now. What is it that Max always says about intent versus impact?

“Well, I assume you all know why I called you here today,” he says gently. Stephanie shakes her head and gives him the most puzzled look she can manage. Max and Pete follow her lead.

“You know, owning up to our mistakes is the first step towards doing better. But you don’t seem quite ready to do that, so I’ll spell it out for you. You’re here because the three of you attacked Brad Callahan this afternoon. Quite frankly, this is, as the kids say, ‘out of pocket’ for all three of you, but especially you, Mr. Spankoffski.” How is this in any way out of pocket for Max? Peter always assumed the school administration chose to look the other way on his behavior, but maybe they really are oblivious to it. “Now, I can’t let this slide without issuing some sort of punishment, but I’m willing to hear you out before I make any decisions. You’re all good kids, why did you lash out at Brad like that?”

“He was, um, he was picking on Hannah Foster again!” Stephanie exclaims “We all saw! He’s always making fun of her for stuff she can’t even help and he won’t stop no matter what we say to him! We had to do something, but we just felt so powerless. Believe me, we didn’t want to resort to violence but we just didn’t know what else to do.” Man, being able to cry on command would be awesome right now. Maybe Ruth knows some theater kids that can teach her.

“Yeah,” Peter adds “we couldn’t just stand by and let him pick on a defenseless freshman! Being a bystander is just as bad as bullying. You said so yourself at the anti-bullying assembly!”

“I did say that,” Principal Blim admits “And this isn't the first I’ve heard about Brad giving Hannah trouble. I can see where you’re coming from. Standing up to bullying is always admirable, although your execution was less than ideal. I’ll let you kids off with a warning for today, but if you see Brad bothering Hannah again please just come to me with your concerns instead of escalating things to the point of physical violence.”

“We will! Thanks, Principal Blim! Go Nighthawks!” says Max cheerfully.

“Mm-hmm. Go Nighthawks, fuck Clivesdale. Stay out of trouble, you three.” On that note, he ushers them out of his office.

Once they’re safely back in the hallway and out of earshot, Max holds one hand out to each of them for a fist bump, which they awkwardly return.

“Good thinking back there,” he tells them “you guys are so smart!”

“We learned it from watching you,” Pete points out “using anti-bullying rhetoric to perpetuate bullying is kind of your signature move. I hate to admit it, but it’s pretty clever. And it clearly works.”

“Yeah, it really came in clutch today. If my dad got a call from the school about this, he’d hold my phone hostage even longer. You’re kind of genius for coming up with it,” Stephanie adds.

Max sniffles. “Thanks. That’s, like, the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Wow,” says Stephanie, feeling a sense of déjà vu “that’s really sad.”

“I guess it is.” Max chuckles. “It’s just, I don’t feel smart most of the time. I have horrible grades in most of my classes, even remedial algebra. My dad’s always on my ass about it, too. Says I’m lucky I can throw a football because I don’t even have two brain cells to rub together.”

“Well, what the fuck does he know, anyway?” Stephanie spits, suddenly furious at this man she’s never met. This hits way too close to home for her. “Grades aren’t everything. Look at me, my grades are abysmal, but read my takes on Twitter sometime. Some say I’m the voice of a generation.” She hopes her encouragement makes him feel a little better, at least, but she knows all too well that it’s not enough to heal years of having a shitty dad who loathes your existence and devalues you at every opportunity. She thinks of the striking parallel to her own father’s favorite jab: “I want to have an intelligent conversation with you. In other words, shut up.”

“I concur,” says Pete “Ruth and Richie both have really good grades and they’re absolute disasters sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, I love ‘em both, but it’s true. Even they’d probably agree with me. Ruth’s an anomaly, I’ll never understand how somebody who regularly blows off homework to write erotic Star Wars fanfiction keeps her GPA so- You know what, I’m getting a little off-topic, but the point is you’re smarter than you think you are, Max.”

A lump forms in Max’s throat and his eyes water. “Thanks, guys. That, uh, that means a lot.” He pulls them into a group hug more gently than either of them would have thought possible for him. They hug him back tightly and after a solid thirty seconds they reluctantly let go. Honestly, all three of them could stand to be hugged more.

[kamiversee]

oooOOH okay - the way i forgot abt the songs BUT i'm gonna have to straight up make a playlist for these men (as if i don't do the same thing when i'm writing anywaysss)

incoming YAP SESH

so when you mentioned it in the last chapters, i immediately went back listened to 'sober' [childish gambino] BUT i forgot abt 'die for you' [the weeknd] sooooo he's a mini gojo analysis for that song for all my fellow gojo girlies (RAAA):

'i just can't say i don't love you / cause i love you'

this one is obvi lmao the way bro is like "hey btw i LOVE you" every chance he gets

'you hate that you want me'

bro literally says this almost verbatim when he's like "you shouldn't care abt me" but also "it's not a crime [to miss me] love" (ch45)

'i would die for you / i would lie for you ... i would kill for you'

REALLY seein the references to this one in chapter 45 lmao when he's like "i've done worse, for you" and he's said SOOO many times that he'd do anything for you and is explicitly like "the person i am around you now is not the person who fell in love with you"

so here's where i might be wayyy off base again but - what if the list started bc of something gojo tried to do for you, to show how much he cared about you? so like order of events:

years ago, gojo does something bad (ex: hurting someone, manipulating people in your life he views as "bad") in the name of helping you -> sukuna either catches him or he needs sukunas help -> sukuna uses this info to blackmail satoru

the deal for the blackmail is that you either have to complete this list that's made to hurt gojo so badly by punishing the woman he loves AND turns her against him (which is why gojo is so set on the fact that the reader can't have feelings for him, bc he's the one who's supposed to be punished by this whole thing) OR sukuna will kill gojo

which i know is like BIG but ! think about how gojo is always saying he'd do anything for the reader: he was ready to die for her; he had no intention of doing the list. when he walks in on her in ch1 he's like genuinely surprised that an opportunity like that "presented" itself to him, so he really wasn't planning to blackmail you ever

and when you finish the list, gojo is genuinely surprised and relieved that you finish it (ch45) !!!! he's also said that there was no time limit on it but that there actually was one, that it needed to be done by the end of the year i think??? somethin like that i don't remember but that always felt weird to me, so that's probs what sukuna's deadline for gojo was

--

anywhooo i also think sukuna put choso on the list bc he felt bad for hurting him (bc i'm refusing rn to think that choso lied abt the abuse which is the basis of my other theory but it bums me out so i'm just ignoring it lmao) and sukuna saw how obsessed w you gojo was and he was maybe like "hmm ok so this girl must be somethin special" and that's why he was making you hook up w choso !

yap sesh OVER (apologies this got so long and the way i was pulling out citations lmao) i will send more theories when i'm actually awake but i just read your response to my ask and HAD to do a song analysis! love you kami xoxoxoxo

-🩷

Okay this is yap session 1/2 that I’ve received & it’s not as long as the other so I’ll reply normally!!

To start, ty for this theory & semi-breakdown!! I rlly do love reading these ><

1. I LOVE how you broke down the song reference because every lyric from that damn song applies to Mr. Gojo in this fic🙏 Die For You applies more than you guys realize but it’ll make even more sense when we finally receive his backstory <3

2. You & ☃️anon have similar theories with how this whole thing started & it’s fun to see you guys on the right track & nearly hitting the nail on the head ^.^

The first theory about Gojo & Sukuna’s situation is… it’s a wonderful theory, I’ll say that. I will not say if it’s right or wrong but, since TFL is over, I think it’s safe to say you’re definitely on the right track :)

3. The Sukuna & Choso theory at the end is OH MY FUCKING GOD. I’m going to just burn my fic plans atp because I’m pretty sure you guys somehow have access to it 😄 /hj

Anyway, don’t consider that response as me confirming what you just said but DAMN you cooked & the kitchen might be on fire! :3

TO CONCLUDE, ty for the yap sesh, I love u & these sosoosooo much !!

[nanuk-the-bat]

Tagged by the phenomenal @phenanthreneblue (I wasn’t gonna do it, cause I’ve only been at this for like a couple years, but why not :p ) thanks for the tag.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Technically 24, but only 17 are fics. The others are art/podfics as I jump around with my hobbies.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

198,671. Actual story words are probably about 198,000. Not terrible?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Control. I wanted more Darling fics. So I got off my ass and learned how to write them myself. I do have a draft thing for Alan Wake but it’s little and will probably stay stashed away in my notes files for the rest of eternity.

4. Top five fics by kudos

I’m just astounded that people found my stories amusing enough to leave kudos in the first place. The most popular one is Anachronisms Welcome

5. Do you respond to comments?

Of course. Might not be eloquent, but I’ll respond in kind.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I’m more of a fluff and smut gal at heart…but anything I’ve written for Trench x Darling tends to lean that way.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I wouldn’t say my fics have happy endings, in the sense that the protagonists ride off into the sun set just that they have mundane or hopeful resolutions. For A Cup Full of Resonance I was originally going to have Darling sacrifice himself for Dylan to return and leave it ambiguous whether or not he survived corporeally. Like a coffee cup appears on Jesse’s desk after they save Dylan, just how Jesse likes it, as a sign that Darling is still watching over her, but I ended it on a happier note instead.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No. Thankfully people haven’t given me shit for my silly ideas.

9. Do you write smut?

Yes. But only when I’m in a specific headspace.

10. Craziest crossover?

Haven’t ventured there really. I included Scratch in one chapter of Anachronisms Welcome, but beyond that, no. Would love to do a Fallout or BG3 crossover with Control. But I don’t have the brainpower for it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No one would want to steal my stuff XD

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I like doing podfics sometimes.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Anachronisms Welcome turned into a collaboration when the shower scene happened and horny head voice Jesse was born. (because I can set up humor, but executing is not my specialty…I always want to explain the joke 🙄) My partner/familar/sometimes editor threw a dumb idea out there, we played with it, and head voice Jesse became his distinct recurring character. We refer to her as an extra planar being/ personality who manifests as Jesse’s id. Those internal monologues, the dialogue sections Jesse has with herself, those are cowritten with my familiar voicing that Jesse.

14. All time favourite ship?

Jesse x Darling. I know it’s not canon. And won’t ever be canon. But something about them appeals to my creativity and when I see stuff for them little confetti/ dopamine canons fire in my brain.

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I feel like this applies to all my wip’s…I can only write when the stars align.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Not pacing or plot haha, but sometimes I can come up with decent metaphors and descriptions.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

All of it…I’m still a fledgling fic writer and it’s learn as I go. I really struggle with plot, which contributes to the shit pacing. With thinking in terms of tension and seeing a story as a whole and not a jumble of stuff I feel like writing about. If I ever write another long fic, I’ll plot it out with all the story beats, and the motifs, and actually have a solid plot line or two running through.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I’m personally not a huge fan of having to scroll to the bottom to look up translations but if it’s done sparingly or as in canon I don’t mind. Depends I guess.

19. First fandom you wrote in?

Control.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

In Contribution of Entropy it’s shameless fluff ridden smut, but for my craving at the time it was the equivalent of getting a free triple scoop of bubblegum ice cream mixed with cotton candy topped with rainbow sprinkles on a 102F summer day…and the last chapter is some of my best imagery.

Tagging: @blessedpictures @annachibi @laudanine and @wondrouswendy

[wri0thesley]

A Well Rounded Education (1): Suspension (Fem!Reader x Toji Fushiguro, 5k)

series synopsis: You are a teacher’s aid to teacher Gojo Satoru, training to be able to take over your own class next year by shadowing and helping him out. Gojo does not make things easy for anybody.

chapter synopsis: One of your favourite students has been suspended for fighting, and Gojo has palmed off the meeting with his guardian to go through all of the paperwork and facts and conditions on you. “Don’t worry,” Gojo says. “It’ll be Megumi’s sister, she always takes care of this kind of stuff!”. Gojo is wrong.

NSFW. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. dom/sub dynamics, light fearplay and predator/prey elements. piv sex.

(a well rounded education m.list and navigation)

1.

“I’ve got all these other parents to deal with,” Gojo whines at you, pushing the papers into your hands. “And I hate paperwork, and I don’t have time to meet with Megumi’s family today – hell, if it were up to me, the kid wouldn’t even be suspended! Those guys had it coming!”

Gojo is not a very good teacher. Both of you know that – no matter how justified – violence never solves violence. Gojo, you think, would let these kids fight it out in an arena instead of solving things like an adult. You heave a large sigh as you look down at the papers detailing Megumi Fushiguro’s three-day suspension for fighting during school hours.

You’d seen Megumi before he’d gone home. He hadn’t had so much as a scratch on him; his face set in a frown, his arms crossed, his eyes downcast. You’d sighed at him and asked him if he was alright, and he’d shrugged.

He’s not a very talkative boy at the best of times, and you suppose that the suspension and the fight and the mini uproar it had caused in the school aren’t helping be any more verbose. You’d said goodbye to him and said that you hoped he thought about what had transpired today, your heart aching a little bit that you couldn’t be any more help to him.

You’d seen the three boys Megumi had got into a fight with, too. They had not gotten off so scot-free – they were bleeding noses, scraped cheeks, bruised eyes. At the very least, you don’t think any of them will get on Megumi’s wrong side again.

Gojo has to meet with all three of their parents tonight to give them the full story of why their children are so roughed up and what’s being done about it; a position that’s been doled out to him, you’re sure, because Principal Masamichi blames him for the incident and is punishing him. You can’t deny that seeing Gojo actually get punished for something is nice, but--

“Won’t they be mad to see me instead of you?” You ask him, biting your lip. “I mean . . . you’re his teacher. I’m just your aid.”

“Oh,” Gojo’s eyebrows rise behind his glasses. “No, it’ll be Megumi’s sister who’ll come, she’s a sweetheart! She’ll nod at you and say mournfully that she’ll talk to him and you’ll give her the paperwork, and that’s all – job done! Honestly, if I could palm this off on you and talk to Tsumiki instead, I’d do it in a heartbeat--”

“This is your job,” you tell him, exasperated, and he laughs wide and open. You’re not really supposed to get like this with him – if he were any other teacher, you’re sure that the exasperation and sighing and half-snapping you do would have had you thrown out of their class – but Gojo treats your irritation with him as if it’s the funniest thing that has ever happened. “You’re supposed to be good at dealing with this kind of thing!”

He shrugs.

“You’ll be fine!” He tells you, again. “Honestly, this isn’t the first time this has happened with Megumi and it won’t be the last. That kid’s got a right hook that could knock out an elephant!”

You do not ask him how he knows this. Asking too many questions of Gojo is always flirting with danger; you never know when his mouth will flash into a grin and you’ll suddenly be barraged with a flood of words and stories that don’t quite make sense and never seem to have a concrete end. But you can’t resist one last question – just in case it comes up. After all, it seems that Gojo has spoken to Tsumiki enough times for him to at least kind of know her--

“His sister?”

Gojo looks at you, and for a moment the shroud of capricious energy lifts from him, and he seems entirely serious. You’ve noticed this particular change in him only a few times – and often, those times have been about the more difficult backstories of students.

“His father isn’t around very often,” he says, eventually. “He’s some kind of something or other, Megumi never really says, but whatever he does, there’s a lot of travelling involved. Tsumiki’s his older sister – she’s twenty one, and she’s been more of a parent to him than it seems like his dad has.”

No wonder Megumi always seems suspicious and tired of Gojo. Something about his flighty nature probably strokes the back of Megumi’s psyche, where annoyances about an absent father are kept. You sigh, turning away and shaking your head to rid yourself of the idea of psychoanalysing the students.

“Alright,” you say wearily. “I’ll talk to Tsumiki.”

2.

You’re nervous as you set up for the meeting. You know Gojo had said that this would be easy, that Tsumiki was very sweet and would probably apologise to you for Megumi being a problem – but still! This is the first time you’ve ever met any of your students’ guardian figures in any capacity. You feel kind of bad that it had to be for this kind of news, actually – ordinarily, you like Megumi a lot. He’s very intense and serious and clever, and you think that he has a bright future ahead of him when the trials of being a twelve year old boy finally are over – but this meeting isn’t for saying things like that. This meeting is for giving details of the three day suspension that Megumi has gotten for – you check the paperwork again – fighting three boys by himself on one of the sports courts, making them bleed and . . . breaking one of their arms? No wonder Gojo had seemed so miserable at the thought of meeting with the victims’ parents.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, making sure that it still sits as neatly as you’d arranged it that morning. You check the clock to see you still have two minutes before anyone is due – you discreetly check your lipstick in a compact mirror (yesterday you’d had it on your teeth and you hadn’t realised until Mai had pointed it out with a laugh in her voice), smooth out your pencil skirt, tug at your stockings to make sure they’re pulled up and not wrinkling about your ankles . . .

And then, you wait.

The clock is straight across from you, so you’re able to see as Tsumiki is five minutes late, and then ten minutes late, and then fifteen. The tick-tock echoes in the room as your leg bounces against the floor, anxiety making you want to gnaw all of the carefully applied lipstick off of your mouth. From what Gojo had said, this doesn’t sound like Tsumiki at all – you’re just about to give up and pack all of your things away, figuring maybe she’d called into the office to say she couldn’t make it and telling you had been neglected, when the door slams open.

You rush to your feet, your sensible heels clacking on the ground.

“Miss Fushi--”

Your voice peters away.

The person stood in the doorway is, you’re certain, absolutely not Tsumiki Fushiguro.

For one thing, it’s a man. For another thing . . . well. You’re not entirely sure that a man with that expression on his face would ever be described to anyone as a ‘sweetheart’. Your frightened eyes linger on him for another moment, really taking in the broad shoulders and the muscles and the hair falling over his face, the dark, green eyes that are glaring at you like you’ve interrupted something very important. There’s a scar by his mouth that you also do your best not to stare at, just in the same way you avoid staring at how the form-fitting t-shirt he’s wearing clings to a muscled abdomen.

“It’s Mr, actually,” he says, which seems absurd in the face of him, standing there. He raises one eyebrow at you. “You were expecting my daughter, right?”

(You don’t know it, but Toji Fushiguro has gotten a read on you in less than a moment. He’s seen the wide eyes and the pretty mouth and the neatly appointed outfit, the pencil tucked behind your ear, the slightest tremble faced with his imposing presence – the fear as you’d seen the scar and the smoulder and the body. You’re adorable.)

“I . . . uuh--” Your cheeks are hot. You nod, weakly, and he walks into the room proper, the door swinging shut behind him with a deafening click. There’s danger in every one of this man’s movements, like a wolf who has finally cornered a little rabbit. You are feeling inexorably like prey, at this moment in time.

“I was expecting a man,” he says, shrugging. He sits at the chair in front of Gojo’s desk, pulled up just for him. He looks huge in the classroom; his shoulders too wide, his biceps bulging from the sleeve of the shirt. You don’t think this man was intending to be in a school classroom right now. “I guess you’re not Mr Gojo, huh? Gotta say,” he shoots you a grin that’s dangerous, everything about him is threatening. “I much prefer this development.”

“Oh,” you’re blustering, and it’s so cute. You sit back down in the chair with a quiet displacement of air, agitation in your fingers as you rake through the papers on the desk. Said desk is incredibly messy; Toji doesn’t think it’s yours. He ought to feel mad that they’ve palmed him off on some little assistant who’s probably not even fully qualified yet – instead, he’s watching your hands trembling and your teeth nibbling on your pretty mouth. “Y-yes, G-Gojo’s dealing with the parents of the other party--”

“My kid got into a fight, yeah?” He asks. “Decked ‘em pretty good, from what I heard.” You wince at his words, and that’s cute too.

“Megumi’s a good boy,” you say. “He’s just . . . got his own sense of justice, I think.” You look down at the papers, and your eyes seem to focus, back in a more comforting zone. “He’s been suspended for three days, and when he comes back, he’s on probation.”

“What’s that mean for him?” Toji asks, promptly, though something about the way he says it suggests to you he doesn’t really care. There’s a lightness, an airiness in his tone that sets you all off-kilter.

“It just means we’ll probably keep an especial eye on him. He’ll get a report that’ll need signing off on at the end of every period, someone will check up on it--” You see one of Gojo’s scrawled notes in the margin of the paperwork. You wince. “I’ll be in charge of it, actually. Making sure everyone’s happy with his behaviour for a few weeks--”

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

The question makes you jump. You’re like a doe in headlights, looking up at him. You blink slowly.

“I—I don’t think that’s an appropriate question, Mr Fushiguro,” you say, prim. That’s cute, too. He likes breaking prim and proper things like you. “I’m—I’m doing my training. I’m working as an aid here for a year, and then I’ll be qualified to be in charge of my own class.” There’s a hint of pride in your words, there.

“Toji,” he says. “That’s my name. You haven’t gotta call me ‘Mr Fushiguro’. I’m not tryna’ be pushy,” but he’s inched forward. His elbows are resting on Gojo’s desk, in front of you – he rests his chin on his folded hands, sharp eyes regarding you as if you’re something he wants to devour. “Y’just look tense.”

“This is the first time I’ve met a student’s parent,” you admit, though the minute it’s left your mouth you’re regretting it. Like you’re admitting to some kind of weakness. This close to him, you can see there’s a dark red stain on one of his wrists, like dried blood. Your stomach is tying itself in knots. It’s not helping that his forearms are so big, ridged with muscle.

“That so?” His eyes gleam. “What d’ya think of me?”

You don’t actually need to answer him. He can see it in the way your eyes keep nervously skimming over him. The way your lips are shining in the light. The bob of your throat as you swallow.

“Mr Fushiguro--”

“I told you to call me Toji,” his voice is almost mocking. You watch him lean over the table like you’re somewhere far away from the action – watch his hand reach out and cup your face, calloused thumb brushing your cheek, like you’re a ghost in the corner of the room. His palms feel like they’re burning hot. “You’re tremblin’, little lamb.”

You had thought you’d felt like a rabbit – shy, ready to run at any moment. But the moment his hand is on you, you’re docile – too scared to scamper away. You suppose you are like a lamb, staring a wolf straight on in the face, too stupid or too pliant to use your common sense and run.

“I . . . I shouldn’t,” you say, voice trembling just as much as the rest of you. Toji’s smirk hasn’t left his face. You’re saying you shouldn’t, but he just bets if he reached further down and unbuttoned your blouse, your nipples would pebble for him – he just bets there’s a wet stain on your underwear, right now. He can always tell when someone’s turned on by the idea of playing with fire.

“I wouldn’t mind spendin’ a few weeks with you in charge of me,” he muses, and then chuckles humourlessly, correcting himself. “Sorry. Lemme rephrase that. I’d rather be in charge of you, but--”

Oh, he sees that. The little flash in your eyes, an imperceptible contract of your shoulders. If you weren’t behind the desk, he bets he’d have seen your thighs press together too. Girls like you are just so fucking predictable, and he loves it every single time. There’s just something that’s so much fun about breaking them – making them submit, admit that him being so close with the scent of something-that-might-be-death clinging to him turns them on like nothing else. Your attempts at being haughty and polite and proud have just made the stirring between his thighs harder to ignore. You’re such a cute, neat, demure little thing – by the end of this meeting, he’s going to have his way with you, you bet.

“M-Mr Fushiguro,” you say, trying to wrest back control of yourself – honestly, he’s pissed you aren’t listening to him, but the title’s kind of endearing. You’re trying so hard! Pity you’re going to lose all of your manners when you’re bent over this desk with his cock inside you. You haven’t even moved your face away from his hand. “I-I have to give you these papers.”

He stands up, pulling his own touch away from your cheek. Stretches. Your eyes are drawn to the brief expanse of his stomach, just above his trousers – the dark line of hair leading down to . . . Oh, God. You shouldn’t have thought about that. The grin on his face is cocky, and you know that he knows you were looking.

“I’m just gonna throw ‘em in the trash, sweetheart,” he says to you. “Now. Let’s talk about the elephant in the room, yeah?” He steps closer to you. You totter to your feet, half-unsure, half driven by the low ache between your legs and the thrum of desire that’s been reverberating through you since the moment he’d carelessly thrown out how much happier he was to see you than Gojo. You have to tilt your head up a little when he comes closer. You’d thought you realised how massive he was when he’d walked through the door, but that’s nothing compared to how his size seems to dwarf you. Every unkind thought you’ve ever had about your body or your face seems to have gone out of the window as his heated green gaze hungrily drinks you in. You know it’s the stare of some predator who’s going to devour you, and you still feel transformed. Your breath catches in your throat as his hand idly comes to the top of your blouse buttons, a finger brushing the place in your throat where your pulse is beating its unsteady rhythm.

“Whaddya say, little lamb?” He grins down at you. “Gonna let yourself be caught by the big bad wolf?”

You’re supposed to be telling this man about his son’s misbehaviour, giving him all of the paperwork that Gojo had thrust at you, getting him to say he’ll talk to his kid and try and make sure that it won’t happen again. You shouldn’t be tipping your head back further, letting his fingertips lodge dangerously in the hollow of your throat, flirting with the place where your windpipe is. You shouldn’t be breathing out, all of your pretty prissiness and good morals and pride disappearing where you stand in the face of one of your students’ really hot dad.

“Yes,” you breathe.

And Toji wastes no time.

3.

He doesn’t even bother unbuttoning your blouse; just drags his hand down, and the buttons pop off, scattering on the floor. You gasp at the show of strength, and Toji is still grinning, clearly enjoying that you’re admiring him. His hand pulls at the fabric, until your breasts are fair falling out of it, the blouse wrestles off your skin.

“You’re wearin’ something like this at work?” He asks you, giving a tug to the gore of your bra. You hadn’t done enough washing this week, and the one you’re wearing is all filmy white lace. “Almost like you knew I was comin’ huh?” His grin is crooked. You tremble as you reach behind you, undoing the clasp – and for that, you get a murmur of ‘good girl’ that has your knees turning to jelly.

He whistles as the bra drops from you, his gaze admiring. He takes in the spill of your breasts, the little peaks of your nipples. He takes handfuls of them, squeezing them in his big hands, his fingertips digging in so painfully you can imagine that you’ll have bruises in the shape of his fingers tomorrow. The idea doesn’t disgust you.

He lowers his head to kiss you. He’s not gentle with you for a moment – his teeth immediately nip at your bottom lip, kissing you hungrily like you’re the first taste of sugar for a man who’s lived on nothing but bread for months. His tongue licks at your lips, begging entrance – dancing against your own when you helplessly open those same lips, demanding in the exact same way Toji is.

He pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger, delighting in how quickly the bud hardens. He rolls it between them, toying with it, enjoying the soft noises you make that get caught in his mouth. If he wasn’t kissing you, he thinks, you’d be bleating like a lamb right now. Huffing and whimpering. When he finally gets his cock in you, he’ll have to remember to clap a hand over your mouth so you don’t attract too much attention.

Your other nipple is given the same treatment, hot lightning bolts of pleasure ricocheting from the touch of Toji’s calloused fingers to the spot between your legs. You’re grateful for how solid Toji is – if he were any less so, you’re sure you’d be buckling over where you stand.

He pulls back with a final, marking nip to your lower lip, almost hard enough to make you bleed. You whine, and a dark chuckle spills out of his lips in response.

“Toji,” you whimper as he pulls away. You miss the feel of his body pressed against yours like a physical ache. His hands encircle your thighs, pushing you up onto the edge of Gojo’s desk, clever fingers already pushing your tight pencil skirt up so it’s bunched around your waist.

He kind of misses ‘Mr Fushiguro’ now it’s gone, but the sight of your stockings digging into your thighs soon chases the thought from his mind. He guesses your skirt is more than long and tight enough to make sure nobody gets a glimpse, but oh . . . that you’d be walking around all day, like that, with nobody to fuck you silly--

He can’t help but let his hands knead the soft skin, the flesh, his thumbs imprinting so hard in the plush that you squirm. He’s pressing your thighs apart, now – revealing the modest underwear, the soaking wet patch where he can see the outline of your plump labia lips.

With your legs spread, he can smell how turned on you are. Oh, yeah – he knows your type, alright.

“Ain’t you cute?” He says, chuckling. “You really want me to do you over this desk?”

“You can’t leave me like this--” Your voice is reedy, breathy, almost petulant – at another time, he’d make you beg for it. He’d take his time over you. But although the idea of being caught fucking the cute little teacher’s aid is briefly appealing, he doesn’t really want to make a whole load of trouble for himself when his cock is practically begging to be sheathed inside your wet holes. “Please--”

It’s the please that does it. It’s always the ‘please’ that does it for Toji. He chuckles, smirks, crooked grin – all of it feels like it’s mixing together in your mind, your throat very dry as nothing seems to matter right now except the fact that your sex is practically pulsing with how empty it is, and you think that the hot hard stiffness pressing against your thighs would really help alleviate some of that.

“Aww,” he says, fiddling with his zip and underwear, grabbing his cock and giving it a cursory pump just so you can admire the sheer size of him. “Don’t worry, little lamb. I’ll give ya what you need.”

He gets what he wants. Your eyes, as big and dark as the eyes of a doe – the soft choke of breath as you get to see the size of it, so big his own fingertips don’t quite meet. It’s the kind of cock that could ruin you for somebody else – and you’ve had sex before, of course, but you’ve never taken anything quite like that--

“That’s cute,” Toji murmurs, pressing forward, nestling his slick cock-head between your soaking wet thighs. “Wish you could have seen what a picture your face made just then. Afraid I’m gonna tear you in two?”

He might – he might, you think. But you pout at him and Toji’s cock throbs, as he glides the slick glans through the mess of your arousal, wetting himself even further. Your breath hitches, your hips doing a cute little jerk as it brushes your swollen clit. He can’t help himself but swirl the head over it some more, making your breath catch and whine, bleating like a little lamb--

He sinks his hips forward, and your fingers flex on the edge of the desk, knuckles white, at the relentless sear of his cock driving you open. You feel so stretched out, and he’s barely a third of the way in – he can’t help but watch your expression. He always likes to see someone the first time they’re impaled on his cock – the glassy eyes, slack jaw, the pleasure-cum-pain in their faces. He wants to take a picture of you and keep it in his wallet so he can pump one out to the sight of you when he’s on business trips and too busy to go out and find himself a hole to fuck.

“How’s that feel?” He asks you, so soft and low that you barely catch it. Another slow inch. He lets you feel every ridge, every vein, every bump of his shaft. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“F-full—” you gasp.

“I bet,” Toji replies – and then, he bottoms out inside you. His eyes look down to where the two of you are joined; the slick fluid leaking out of you, all heat and needy. “You fit me like a glove.”

Your cheeks heat at the compliment, at the lewd way he’s looking at your spread open cunt – the way your hole is fluttering around him, the peeking pearl of your clit. He’s studying you like he wants to learn you by heart.

“Head’s up,” he says. “I’m gonna fuck you now.”

You’re about to open your mouth, and ask him what he’s doing right at that moment if he hasn’t started fucking you yet – but then, he’s dragged almost the entire length of his cock out of you in one savage thrust and is immediately spearing it back into you, his pace brutal. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your back hitting the solid, flat surface of Gojo’s desk so that you’re flat out with your thighs wrapped around Toji’s hips.

If he weren’t so entranced by the feel of your walls fluttering around him, trying to suck him in further and deeper, so tight that you’re basically a vice, he’d grab you by your hair and force you to stay seated whilst he fucked you. But right now, you feel so good that all he can think about is his own release. The wet sounds of his cock gliding in and out of you, the squelch of your arousal and slick making every pump easier and easier. You feel so good. You’re tighter than he even imagined you could be, so good that he kind of wants to take you home and have you take up permanent residence in his bed.

You’re moaning, your back arching with every one of his thrusts – taking it admirably. There’s pain in your moans, yes – he supposes he could have prepared you better, had you come on his fingers a couple of times, if time were not of the essence – but they’re the pained moans of someone who likes to be hurt a little bit.

With every rock of his cock inside of you, he hits some new spot that you’ve never had stoked before, makes the heat and need inside of you swim just a little bit closer to the forefront. You don’t even notice you’re moaning and whining until a big hand slaps over your mouth, rough, hot palm against your lips, smearing your lipstick.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and stay quiet,” Toji says to you, through those savage thrusts of his cock inside of you. “You don’t want your . . . your fuckin’ . . . anyone walkin’ in on you being railed by your student’s dad, do you?” You shake your head, but he feels the throb of your cunt around his cock, the way your walls contract, and he adds it to the store of things he’s learning about you. Always the quiet ones, right? Always the proper ones who look as though they’ve never even seen a cock--

The feel of him inside you is absolutely dizzying, so much and so full that you can no longer think. His cock batters against a certain place in your channel, a textured wall – and before you know it, everything is going dizzy and black and white like exploding fireworks, your chest bursting into heat, your inner walls getting so tight around Toji as you come that he thinks you’ll be the one to fucking break him.

Oh, you’re adorable, creaming on his cock – the slick gush of your arousal around him, the dreamy cast in your eye, the fact he can feel you drooling against his palm. He increases the speed of his own thrusts, chasing his release through the weak aftershocks and smaller pulses of you around him, through the over-sensitive squirming of your cute little cunt, the fact that tears are pooling in your eyes at how much everything is suddenly feeling--

He groans and the hand still clinging to your thigh is suddenly pressing so hard you think he’ll snap your bone, ragged breath;

“Fu—fuuuck, sweetheart, you’re gonna take it all, that’s right, good girl--” in between belaboured, ragged pumps, his cock twitching as he manages to pull out at the last moment and his release spills all over your thighs, luridly glistening wet in the overhead fluorescent lights.

That’s another moment he’d take a picture of, if he could.

He’s not the kind of man who waits around. He gives himself ten seconds, to catch his breath, to admire your plush thighs painted with his come, before he’s tucking himself back into his trousers and zipping zippers and doing buttons. He shoves his hands into his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a second – double checking he’s left nothing of his in the classroom.

Yep. All clear.

He turns to leave, air of cocky confidence back – you only just see the shifting muscles in his back as he turns to go, leaving you where you are. You’re lucky he’s so tall, or you’d probably barely have seen him in front of the door frame (you didn’t even lock the door, anyone could have walked in at any time! You don’t even want to know what Gojo would say if he’d walked in to his aid being fucked like a slut across his desk).

“W-wait,” you say, weakly, still sprawled over the desk with his come cooling on your thighs. You manage to prop yourself up on your elbows, but your entire body feels like it’s just taken a battering. He takes a look back at you from the door, dragging a big hand through his hair, his crooked grin still on his face. You look so pretty like that – all fucked out and messy, the shine taken off of you. “T-the paperwork--”

You’re not sure where said paperwork is. Underneath you, maybe? You hope it didn’t get soaked.

“Told ya’,” he says, dismissively. “I’m just gonna throw it in the trash. Thanks for the fun, sweetheart. See y’around, huh? I should do stuff for the kid’s academic career more often.”

The door slams shut behind him.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 325: Deku VS the Outside of U.A. ~Conclusion~

Previously on BnHA: Ochako was all “dear bloodthirsty mob, this kid you see standing before you has fought harder than anyone and put his life on the line to protect you all, so please chill the fuck out, jesus christ. like, putting aside that he’s humanity’s best hope and so it’s very much in your best interests to let him rest and recover someplace safe so that he can keep fighting for us, are y’all seriously going to turn away an injured and exhausted child in front of his sobbing mother?? seriously?? come on now.” I’m paraphrasing here but that’s basically how it went down. Anyway so then the mob was all, “...” and Deku collapsed to his knees in tears, and Gigantic Fox Lady and Kouta ran over to give him a hug but then the chapter ended.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “FINE, YOU CAN HUG HIM”, which, was that so hard?? The U.A. Clown Mob is all “come to think of it, we’ve kind of been taking the heroes for granted this entire time, maybe we should be less passive in the future. anyway so Deku if it’s not too much to ask, can you please save everyone and fix everything.” Deku is all “I sure can, and by the way I forgive you for swarming around all menacingly two minutes ago and trying to deny me basic shelter and stuff.” Ectoplasm is all, “hey Todogang get a load of this. [walks in a circle].” Hawks is all, “that’s literally the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.” Rat Principal is all, “anyway so that’s what your students did today, hope you’re enjoying your new *~*ROBOT LEG*~*, Aizawa.” Aizawa is all “[lots of exposition about Kurogiri and for some reason, Toga, while being all brooding and sexy].” All Might is all “[standing here right outside of U.A. doing absolutely nothing and being foreboding AF]” and that immediately sucked away all of the warm fuzzy feelings from the hugs, goddammit.

each new week has become a waiting game of “when will Deku finally get to take a bath so people will actually be willing to go near him and give him the hugs he deserves.” the stakes have never been so compelling. I’ve almost forgotten about AFO entirely

lmaoooooo

me: for the love of god will someone please give Deku a hug before I die of old age

Mineta: YOU GOT IT!! --

Iida: [SWIFTLY CUTS HIM OFF] NOT YOU

fucking losing it at Mineta’s crying face. he really wanted to hug him. I legit feel bad but this is also the funniest thing I have seen all week, omg

somehow Kouta, who last week was only a hand’s breadth away from touching Deku’s head, is now twenty miles away from him in this new chapter

can I make a Loki reference here. is this recap a good place to insert a joke about someone using a TVA time-rewinding device to fuck with my poor boy Kouta over here. well anyway there it is

AND NOW HE’S BACK ALL OF A SUDDEN OMG

(ETA: since when is he “niichan” omg?? can’t handle this cuteness.)

BUT THEY’RE STILL NOT HUGGING HIM FFFFKFFFFF. WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO. WHO DO I HAVE TO BRIBE AND/OR BLACKMAIL

OH NO KOUTA IS CRYING THAT’S IT I’M DONE FOR

“when I heard that lady I knew that I had to go, but then stop again within inches of actually touching you because you smell like week-old rotten onions.” listen Kouta, I’m not saying I don’t get it, but you all can’t keep doing this to me. it’s the way you guys keep teasing it. like, if you’re gonna hug him, hug him. don’t just stand there with your arms held rigidly out in front of you like a molded action figure

OH MY GOSH BUT HE SAID THE THING

KOUTA SWOOPING IN AT THE LAST MINUTE TO TAKE ALL THE CREDIT FOR FIXING DEKU LIKE THAT ONE KID IN THE GROUP PROJECT WHO DOES ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BUT STILL TAGS HIS NAME ONTO THE REPORT ANYWAY, WHAT A KNAVE

GASP

(  ´͈ ᗨ `͈ )

SHE PICKED HIM UP LIKE A LITTLE BABY OMG?? she just leaned right over and lifted this child like he was a small animal. like a lil baby futon that she was about to hang up to dry. oh my god

-- HEY WHAT

(: well that’s extremely fucked up. though sadly not too surprising given what we just saw these past couple chapters

incidentally, I hope that anyone who was legitimately defending the civilians’ perspective earlier takes note here of how quickly that line of thinking -- “we’re just trying to keep our families safe” and all that-- can lead to straight up bigotry. if you’re willing to deny a child shelter and protection simply because he’s not YOUR child, and because you’ve decided based on Internet rumors (no real-world parallels there, I’m sure) that he might present a threat, it’s really not that much further of a leap to discriminating against entire groups of people simply because you perceive those groups as being dangerous. I’m sure the people who turned Gigantic Fox Lady away also told themselves afterwards that they did it to protect their families. “better safe than sorry.” “she’ll be fine, someone will take her in, but as for us, we can’t afford to take that risk.” people can come up with all kinds of justifications for treating other people as less than human, and the really scary thing about it is how fucking easy it is

one last quick side note, which is that Horikoshi does a great job here of showing how scapegoating works, given that AFO is the one who’s really to blame and who presents the actual threat, and yet Deku is the one who ultimately winds up being the target of the mob’s fear and outrage despite him being as much of a victim as they are. gotta love that irony, which unfortunately plays out far too often in the real world as well.

anyway I’ll get off my soapbox now, sorry about that. let us continue

YES, FINALLY OH MY GOD!!!!

AND THAT’S THE STORY OF HOW GIGANTIC FOX LADY BECAME THE GREATEST HERO. PACK IT ALL UP, WE’RE DONE HERE KIDS

holy shit. the real MVP right there. thanks for getting it done champ

jesus christ I have had it up to here with these people

literally the bar is set so low at this point that I’ll go ahead and take it. helping him because it offers them a tactical advantage is at least one step up from not helping him at all

“WHY NOT SHIKETSU” MOTHERFUCKER I SWEAR TO GOD

-- thank you!!

okay this one guy with the antennae hair is having himself a character development speedrun here

-- okay, but this part?? fucking this part, right here??

can we repeat that again?? the part where this guy acknowledges that the problems of hero society were caused not just by said heroes, but also by said society?? the part where he acknowledges that they treated the heroes like celebrities who were putting on a show for them?? the part where he acknowledges that when push came to shove, the vast majority of those heroes, when faced with a situation that offered no reward, were nonetheless willing to put their lives on the line to protect the very same people who then turned around and blamed them rather than thanking them?? are the civilians of BnHA even allowed to have actual deep thoughts about this stuff. holy shit

bro!!

ANTENNAE HAIR GUY SHOVING KOUTA AND GIGANTIC FOX LADY OUT OF THE WAY TO SLAP HIS NAME ONTO THE END CREDITS AS EXECUTIVE PRODUCER. CONGRATULATIONS SON YOU FIGURED OUT THE CORE PHILOSOPHICAL QUESTION AT THE VERY HEART OF THE MANGA. WAY TO GO BUD

meanwhile, on today’s episode of “one more chapter to go till the big volume cliffhanger, how else can I drag things out let’s see”

it’s a panel. of people’s feet. just a bunch of normal feet. with sneakers and shit

this All Might shirt guy is getting more screentime in this arc than 90% of the class 1-A kids

I guess I’m supposed to feel sorry for this dude now that he’s all “if we let you stay here do you promise to somehow magically fix every single problem that we are now currently facing?” those are some ridiculously exacting standards my dude. come on now

KACCHAN SIGHTING

thank fuck I’m not the only one who’s thoroughly unimpressed by absolutely all of this lol. I feel better now. meanwhile Iida and Kouda and Kiri are ready to run over there and hug them all. you guys are way too forgiving. damn you and your pure hearts

anyway so Deku’s like “yeah, definitely”

(ETA: almost forgot to comment on the “I’m no longer alone” part – he basically corrects the guy and says “sorry, but you’ll need to direct that question towards all of us, not just me, because moving forward we’re a team.” good stuff.)

you know what though, all joking aside... fuck yeah. because perfect victory, right. the strongest guys don’t settle for anything less. so I guess Deku has pretty exacting standards himself

also can you all just take a look at this fucking kid who’s got so much light in his eyes now that I’m gonna need eclipse goggles. hot damn. “you’re welcome” says All Might Shirt Guy as he is frantically interviewed by several local news networks asking him how he daringly managed to save Deku all by himself. “well I guess I’ve just never been the kind of guy who can sit back and let a bunch of rabble-rousers blame a little kid for all of humanity’s problems. someone had to step in and take action, you know?”

oH MY GOD THE SCENE IS FINALLY ENDING

don’t let the door hit you on your way out All Might Shirt Guy

but meanwhile, sudden Tododrama action??

oh shit

there are honestly so many ways in which Ochako’s very moving speech could have wildly backfired that I genuinely have no clue where this is headed lol. how exciting!!

so now Horikoshi is once again stalling for time with random filler panels, but this one is 10x better than the shoes lol omg

(1) was Ectoplasm’s jacket always this oversized. (2) did you guys know that if you go back to chapter 319 you can see that Horikoshi gave us a sneak peak at Enji’s Sad Detective disguise and I in fact made a joke about it in the 319 recap not realizing it was actually the stone cold truth. (3) did Shouto deliberately speed up out of impatience because Hawks was walking so fucking slow and he couldn’t take it any longer. (4) and what, I ask you, is up with these dramatic speedlines. so many mysteries here. what a masterpiece

everyone is acting all shocked about something ahh what’s going on

wait what

what the heck. did they just loop around behind everyone. what was the point of that lol. “anyway, so this is what they look like from the back” well okay, thanks for that Ectoplasm

(ETA: so it seems like they were actually hanging out someplace else away from the crowd this whole time, I guess? here I thought they had more faith in Enji’s disguise. I guess Shouto and Hawks don’t particularly want to attract this crowd’s attention themselves right now either, though.)

I am so fucking confused lmao

speaking of All Might WHERE THE FUCK IS HE lol. but yes, good, OFA brings everyone together, and Hawks is very deeply moved about this out of the blue all of a sudden. you know how it is

aw heck yeah now this is another filler panel I can get behind

Mineta really wants that hug, good lord. I genuinely love this actually. Mineta if you could just stay little and cute and keep crying about how much you love your classmates in a non-gross way for the rest of the series I would be so appreciative. you’re doing great

IIDA IS HOLDING DEKU’S HAND THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ONE TIME WASN’T ENOUGH FOR MY MAN HE’S ADDICTED NOW

what did I tell you. Kiri wants to get all of the mob’s autographs now. Kiri you’re a peach

Shouji having a conversation with another mutant type is a very nice touch! we really need to get to his backstory soon. I feel like that casual remark from GFL earlier was kind of hinting at more to come

is this the first time we’ve ever seen the Yaoyorictionary in action?? never forget that Viz tried to call it the “Yaoyorozu Reference Book” because they hate fun

last but not least, KAMIBAKU IS BACK ON THE MENU, FUCK YEAH. Kaminari trying to spice things up and introduce a little bit of controversy by smacking Kacchan on the back of the head for god knows what. I will be deeply disappointed after this if I can’t find at least one person unironically declaring that KamiBaku is now toxic and abusive

lfkdlWLWK TODODRAMA??

oh my god. Shouto’s face. Enji’s face. the back to “oyaji” again. the blunt, not-taking-no-for-an-answer, “I don’t know how much louder the universe can scream at you that doing things alone is not it, so hopefully you got the point” directness of it. fffdlkslj I’m so ready for this Horikoshi please don’t fuck it up my expectations are so high

HOLY FUCK

I SCROLLED DOWN AND HE WAS ALL “( ❛‿❛)” AND I JUST WASN’T FUCKING EXPECTING THAT OKAY. JESUS CHRIST. GIVE ME A SEC

lol okay moment over and now Enji’s pulling his hat down all dramatically like a world-weary Cowboy

OH MY GOD WERE YOU FACETIMING??

AHHHHHHHHH

(ETA: not to put Iida down or anything, but it’s kind of strange that Aizawa is all “the class rep sure did great” when Ochako is the one that was giving that whole big speech for like twenty minutes just now lol.)

(ETA 2: “thank god Iida stepped in just in the nick of time to keep Mineta from hugging Deku.” sorry Mineta I really do like you lately but it’s still low-hanging fruit lol.)

HE LOOKS SO SAD??! HE LOOKS LIKE HEARTBREAK ITSELF??! I AM BESOUGHT WITH THE URGE TO REACH INTO MY SCREEN AND PULL HIM INTO THE SAFETY OF MY ARMS??? MY GOD, AND I THOUGHT DEKU NEEDED HUGS

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH okay I was gonna just hold down the letter H for a full minute and count it out loud but within about ten seconds I realized I needed to chill lol

-- but then again NO, I DON’T NEED TO CHILL, I HAVE ZERO CHILL, ACTUALLY, BECAUSE IT’S AIZAWA WITH A ROBOT LEG AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

COMPLETE WITH ROBOT TOES FOR THAT EXTRA TOUCH OF AUTHENTICITY!! I LIKE HOW HORIKOSHI PUT ALL THIS EXTRA “!!!” EMPHASIS AROUND IT IN CASE WE COULD SOMEHOW POSSIBLY FAIL TO TAKE NOTICE. “REMEMBER, EVERYONE?” SAYS HORIKOSHI HELPFULLY. “REMEMBER THAT TIME AIZAWA CHOPPED OFF HIS OWN LEG?” oh wow now that you mention it we somehow forgot all about that. like who do you take us for

OH NO NOT THE SAD BOYFRIEND ANGST THAT I WAS SECRETLY LOOKING FORWARD TO WITH GLEE

well at least he’s not M.I.A. or back with the villains again like I thought he might be. still, that’s gotta be brutal to know your friend is in there somewhere, but to not be able to reach him again no matter how hard you try. that’s the kind of angst that pays off in final battles just when you most expect it. such is my hope, at any rate

what’s this now??

trying to decide if this is Horikoshi’s way of saying don’t worry about that, or his way of saying definitely worry about that lol

anyway so Aizawa is out here being all irresponsibly handsome once again. when is someone going to do something about him

here for Sexy Robot Leg Eyepatch Aizawa clenching his fists and making speeches about revenge. pretty sure we’re all here for that

WELL, WELL, WELL

IT’S ABOUT FUCKING TIME

I’M VERY GLAD YOU’RE ALIVE AND SEEMINGLY WELL, THOUGH!

BUT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK THOUGH, ALL MIGHT

ffff. bracing myself for that cliffhanger next week. you’d better not touch one hair on this man’s head Horikoshi. I’m watching you 

[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 93]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41

Going to work a bit this afternoon. Getting stuff ready for my summer class.

Chapter 42 (Patton)

“Come on,” Patton urged. “You’re already all dressed up.”

Virgil made a dissatisfied noise like a cat that had just been picked up from its spot on a heated blanket.

“We’ll barely be outside five minutes,” Patton said. “You won’t even notice the cold.”

“Will so,” Virgil argued back.

Virgil’s return to the castle proper had been relieving. Everyone had been content to let him curl up on the floor near the fireplace and sleep for the past couple of weeks, but life did move on, and Patton and Logan had talked. They had agreed that Virgil’s constant anxiety about the weather probably wasn’t good for him. It had played a major part in making him stressed out enough to hit Logan which had caused the entire mess with him disappearing.

They’d brought it up to Virgil gently and, while they’d had to dial it back on requests like actually playing in the snow, the suggestion that they take the short trip from the castle to the horse stables was met with some interest. However, now that the time had come to make the trek, he seemed to be having doubts.

“Honestly,” Logan said. “I don’t think you’ll even feel the cold in that get up.”

They had, indeed covered the boy from head to toe. He currently looked a couple of inches taller and wider than he actually was bundled up with every piece of extra snow gear they could find.

He looked adorable with only his eyes uncovered even if said eyes were glaring at them both. However, Patton was a little worried he’d overheat if they didn’t leave soon.

“I don’t like snow,” Virgil said.

“We know, Virgil,” Logan said. That was the problem. They were hoping that a little minimal exposure would help him calm down just a bit. “The path’s been cleared of snow and ice though and it isn’t that much of a walk. You’ll be fine and then we’ll be able to look at all of the horses.”

Virgil still looked unconvinced.

“Just half an hour, Virgil, please,” Logan said.

“…Fine,” Virgil relented.

“Great,” said Patton, grabbing his coat sleeve and tugging him towards the door. Logan followed behind and Princess Marisol seeing they were going somewhere, got up and padded after them.

They made it all the way to the door nearest the stable. Patton could see when he opened it that the path they were to take was well cleared. Virgil still did not appear enthused. He glared at the outside like it had a knife.

Princess Marisol, for her part, saw Patton open the door, hissed, and abandoned them to strut off towards the kitchen.

“She knows what she’s talking about,” mumbled Virgil.

Patton sighed.

“Come on Virgil, I promise it won’t be that bad.” Patton offered a gloved hand. “You can hold my hand the whole way.”

Virgil was still frowning up a storm that would rival the one that had caused the snow in the first place, but he did take Patton’s hand. Patton used his grip on the hand to pull him forward through the door. It was still very chilly, Patton thought as they walked outside. Patton had chosen a coat that was a bit lighter since they were only walking to the stable and the wind bit him through it. He really hoped Virgil’s outfit was warm enough to keep him from freaking out.

Luckily, it did seem to be keeping him warm enough because, while he was tense, he still let Patton lead him forward.

They made it to the stable faster than usual since all three of them were quickening their pace. Patton gave a sigh of relief when he entered the stable and the warmer air inside of it. The stable wasn’t as warm as the castle, but it was warm enough that most of the stable hands only worked in light coats most of the winter. At least, they did inside the stable.

The head stable hand had already been warned about their visit beforehand and was waiting for the three of them at the door. “Good morning,” she greeted them, and… Virgil was already hiding himself behind Patton’s back.

“Hi!” Patton said cheerfully. He stepped to the side, so Virgil was no longer hidden. Virgil glared, reaching out to grab the edge of Patton’s sleeve and tugging on it in discontent. “This is Loraine, Virgil,” Patton said, nodding at her. When he glanced her way, he became a lot shyer, looking down at her feet instead of at her face. “She takes care of the horses. Say hello.”

“…Hello,” Virgil said quietly.

“Hi,” she said. “I hear you wanted to see the horses.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, we have plenty for you to meet and they’re mostly all inside because of the cold. Usually in the summer most want to spend a lot of time in the pasture. Let me show you around.”

Loraine showed them around the stable a bit even though Patton and Logan already knew where everything was. Virgil slowly got a little bit more comfortable, even asking a couple of questions unprompted. Surprisingly, there weren’t many basic questions about horses like Patton had expected. On the contrary, he seemed to know a good amount about horses already.

“Have you worked with horses before?” Loraine asked a bit into the tour after Virgil expressed interest in what they were feeding some of the older horses.

“I used to help take care of horses sometimes when people came to visit the orphanage,” he said. “They’re nice.”

“Do you ride?” Loraine asked.

Virgil shook his head. “I just fed them and cleaned up after them,” he said.

“Well, maybe you can try to learn when it gets a bit warmer,” she offered. “It’s a lot of fun.”

He nodded. “That would be nice,” he said.

After that, she mostly let them wander around looking at different horses in the stalls. She even let them feed some of the gentler ones who didn’t have a specific diet.

It was about 25 minutes into their adventure and while Virgil obviously liked the horses, Patton could already tell his anxiety was rising every time he took his glove off to feed a horse and it hit the chilly air. Patton glanced at Logan.

“Right,” Logan said. “We should probably be heading back inside, but I would like to stop by and see Mr. Apples before leaving. Otherwise, he will be cross with me.”

“Mr. Apples?” Virgil asked.

“He’s one of the horses,” Logan explained, moving to where the different treats were kept for the horses.

“Why do you need to see him in particular?”

Logan paused, his hand hovering briefly over the container of red apples before reaching in to grab one. “He was my Pa’s horse,” he said. “He likes when I visit him.”

“Logan’s the only one he likes visiting him,” Loraine added as she started to lead them towards where Mr. Apples’ stall was.

Patton had learned long ago that Mr. Apples could be a bit crabby. He wasn’t as mean to Patton as he was to some people, but he wasn’t exactly nice either. Patton tended to keep his distance whenever Logan went to visit.

Now, he stood on the other side of the hall from where Mr. Apples was as Logan stepped forward to greet him.

Logan spoke to him softly for a bit and he nuzzled his face against Logan’s shoulder with a huff. Eventually, he offered a piece of apple which Mr. Apple happily took.

“Can I say hello to him?” Virgil asked.

Logan glanced back at him. “Sure,” he said, “though be careful. He doesn’t like… anyone besides me.”

Virgil nodded and stepped forward cautiously. “Hello,” Virgil said. Mr. Apples turned his head to look at Virgil. There were a couple of seconds of silence and then Mr. Apple’s snorted softly. Virgil took that as permission to stretch out a hand.

“Wait,” Logan said. “He bites actually and…” Mr. Apples pressed his nose to Virgil’s hand softly and Virgil gently stroked it a couple of times.

“Huh,” said Loraine. “You’re officially the third person he’s ever liked, and you could say Prince Logan was cheating since he was grandfathered in as a baby.”

“Really?” Virgil asked. “He seems nice enough.”

Loraine rolled her eyes. Patton noticed she was standing a good distance away from the stall herself. “Oh no,” she said. “Trust me. He’s a bastard to everyone else.”

Virgil just frowned and pet the horse’s nose again. Mr. Apples leaned forward to nibble at his hair a bit.

Logan smiled at him and handed him one of the apple pieces to feed Mr. Apples which Virgil offered to the horse on a flat hand. “Red apples are his favorite,” he told Virgil. “He refuses to eat green.”

Logan and Virgil finished feeding Mr. Apples his treat and then it was time for Virgil to face the cold once again to return to the castle. Patton hoped this positive experience of going outside would make him more open to it in the future.

  Chapter 43 (Logan)

Logan woke once again being strangled by an assassin. He sighed and attempted to squirm away. Virgil made an unhappy grumbling noise at the movement and squeezed him tighter. “I am just,” Logan said, shoving at the arm around him, “trying to get into a position where I can breathe.”

Unfortunately, there was no reasoning with an unconscious Virgil. Getting into an upright position was a battle and the boy was laying across his lap by the time he managed it, clutching one of Logan’s arms.

Logan huffed at his sleeping form, reaching over with his free arm to switch on his bedside lamp.

Despite how warm the room was, Logan assumed the temperature outside was extremely cold today. Virgil seemed to have some internal thermostat that seemed to know how cold it was outside even while snug in Logan’s bedroom. The tighter the boy clung in his sleep, the colder Logan knew it must be. Logan looked down at Virgil’s face. He and Patton had wanted to convince Virgil to spend a bit of time outside today, but if it was as cold as Virgil’s behavior indicated, perhaps they should wait for another day.

Logan reached over for the book on his nightstand that he’d learned to keep there for this exact reason. His reading speed had actually increased since Virgil’s arrival at the castle which was impressive. He’d only gotten this book two days before and was worried he’d finish it before Virgil woke this morning.

Luckily, he was incorrect, and Virgil began to stir a bit earlier than he usually did. Logan glanced down from his book when he felt Virgil shift only to find his eyes were open and staring at Logan.

“Good morning,” Logan greeted. Virgil’s fingers squeezed Logan’s arms lightly much like one would expect the cat currently sleeping soundly on Virgil’s pillow to knead its paws into its chosen person.

“Hi,” Virgil said, groggily. “Book?”

“It’s a book about various trade agreements that happened in the last 500 years,” Logan said, knowing what he was asking.

“Interesting?” Virgil asked.

Logan smiled a bit. “You would likely not be particularly interested since you do not already have knowledge of the players nor the politics of trade agreements in general.”

“Oh, okay,” Virgil said with a yawn.

Logan felt fondness warm his chest. “I can read you a different book if you would like,” he offered.

Virgil eyed the book in Logan’s hand. “You’re almost done with that one,” he pointed out. “You can finish it first.”

“You just want an excuse to continue to lay in bed,” Logan accused fondly.

Virgil did not even bother arguing, shifting a bit so he was laying with his head on his own pillow, but curling into Logan’s side. He was calm this morning which was honestly an odd thing. He was rarely truly calm while awake and even in sleep his face was sometimes pinched in tension. Logan and Patton’s plans for exposure therapy to cold weather seemed to help his resting anxiety level a bit, but it was still much higher than it was for normal people. Right now, though, he seemed fully content.

Logan was glad he could feel this comfortable near him, perhaps even comfortable because Logan was near. It was a striking contrast to how he’d been when he’d come here or even how he’d been when he’d accidently slapped Logan. He felt a surge of… something more than the standard sympathy one might feel for someone when he thought of Virgil’s fear and what had transpired to cause it. It was a bit like anger, but not quite. He could not quite put a name to it, but he did know it made him want to make sure nothing bad ever happened to him again. He would ensure nothing bad ever happened to him again no matter what it took.

Logan read for a little while longer. Virgil was still and calm most of the time, but Logan was pretty sure he didn’t go back to sleep. He shifted to look up at Logan when he set the book on the nightstand.

“Would you like to go to the library with me this morning?” Logan asked. “I need a new book and perhaps we could get you something too for your reading lessons. I was thinking we could go to the main library.” He had never taken Virgil there yet as there did tend to be a few more people than the more secluded library Logan favored. Yet, he’d been getting marginally more comfortable in small crowds, and Logan thought he might like to see it.

“Sure,” Virgil agreed easily. “After breakfast though?”

“Of course,” Logan agreed. “We don’t want Ms. Heart to get on us about your eating schedule again.”

Virgil nodded in agreement and climbed out of bed to get dressed. They had a short meal in the dining hall. Virgil was still adamant that Logan did not eat any of the muffins set out on the table, and with Patton still reportedly in bed, Logan did not have nearly enough social prowess on his side to argue with him this morning. Instead, they only ate things straight from the kitchen. Virgil still got a card with his meal which Logan had to fill out for him at the end. As always, he ranked everything on the plate a ‘5/5.’

The library wasn’t too far from the main dining hall. It was in the opposite direction of the way they would go if they were going back to the royal wing past the ballroom and through the entryway. In the summer, they would have gone through the courtyard. In fact, if it had been just Logan, he would have ran across the open area quickly despite not having a coat, but with Virgil in tow, he chose to walk all the way around. Though honestly, since it was Virgil’s first time entering the library, it would be more impressive entering it from its main entrance than from the side one that castle residents in a hurry would use.

He looked over at Virgil as he pushed open the library doors to see his reaction. Virgil’s eyes widened a bit as he saw the huge room with the many bookshelves.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” Logan asked with a smile.

“You have two stories of books?” Virgil asked, looking at the spiral staircase that led to the second floor, awed. “I didn’t even… There are more books than I’ve ever seen in my life in this one room.

“And these are just the things available to the general public. There are also record rooms only used by certain people and rooms with restricted book access based on skill, like some magic books.”

“That’s a lot…” Virgil said. What was maybe insecurity flashed through his eyes.

“It’s an overwhelming amount of knowledge, but different people can find what they need,” Logan said, pulling him out of the doorway and towards where they keep the children’s books. “Here, let’s go get books you can try to read yourself and then we’ll find some books you would be interested in that I can read to you.” They stopped at a shelf. “These would be perhaps just a bit beyond your current reading level, but they would be a good challenge, I believe. Pick whichever you like.”

Virgil took a moment to stare at the pictures on the books. He squinted at the titles for a bit longer and asked Logan what a few said before choosing some from the shelf. Two of them were about different crops and one was about a family of foxes.

“Are those three enough?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Virgil replied.

“Do you want to explore the library a bit or just get a book for me to read you and leave?” Logan asked, not wanting to overwhelm him.

“I’d like to look around a bit,” Virgil replied.

“Okay.”

Logan had frequented the main library when he’d been younger. Though he often spent his time now in the smaller library that had been tailored to his specific interests, he still came to the main library fairly frequently. He knew many good places to sit with a book. There were nice window seats that looked out into the courtyard and a corner near a small fireplace. Logan showed him the door that led to the courtyard and where the door to the more restricted books were, though they didn’t go into any of them right now.

Virgil seemed to like the library well enough, following Logan around willingly. Logan did have to pull him away from a few places when he looked a bit too intently at some high, but sturdy bookshelves. And the chandelier.

He did look like he was constantly straddling the line between being in awe of and being overwhelmed by the size of the library, so Logan decided to end the tour after a bit and work on picking out a book.

“What type of book would you like to read?” Logan asked.

Virgil shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Whatever you think is best is fine. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“But I’ve chosen every book I’ve read to you so far,” Logan said with a frown. “We should get something tailored to your interests.”

“I don’t have interests, Logan,” Virgil said with an eyeroll.

“You have some interests,” Logan said.

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“You like climbing,” Logan said, “and… horses. You and Mr. Deknis seem to get along.”

“Are there books about climbing?” Virgil asked.

“There are books about everything,” Logan claimed.

“Bullshit.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Careful with that language. Just because Patton isn’t here doesn’t mean you get to be crude.”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“I will tattle.”

“Fuck,” said Virgil.

Logan shook his head in exasperation but couldn’t help but smile a bit. There was something about Virgil when he felt comfortable enough to be slightly unruly that made Logan happy. It felt like a glimpse of the actual Virgil beneath his usual caution towards the world.

“How about we ask the librarian if there are any books on climbing,” Logan suggested. “Dr. Macey knows where all of the books would be. I can introduce you to them.”

Virgil didn’t look particularly pleased about meeting a new person, but he also didn’t seem overly distressed by the thought, so Logan tugged him along to the librarian’s small office where Logan had seen them disappear a few minutes ago. He knocked on the door.

It swung open a few seconds later and Dr. Macey’s head poked out. “Good morning, Prince Logan,” they said. They glanced at Virgil, “and, Virgil, I would assume.”

“I’ve mentioned you,” Logan said because he saw Virgil immediately start to freak out about a random person knowing his name. Though, honestly, he was sure Dr. Macey had heard about him from other sources as well. He turned back to the librarian. “I was wondering if you could help Virgil pick out a book. He hasn’t gotten many chances to read in his life and isn’t sure what type of thing he’d like. Also, if it could somehow involve climbing to prove a point, that would be appreciated.”

“Climbing, eh?” Dr. Macey asked, thinking for a couple of seconds. “I think I can probably find something.”

Dr. Macey spent a bit of time looking through the shelves. They made small talk with Virgil, and while Virgil seemed a bit guarded (likely because Dr. Macey was asking questions about him trying to figure out more about what type of book he liked), he seemed fairly calm. Logan was pleased to think he liked the library. Maybe when he was a bit better at reading and he’d adjusted more to the size of the room and the concept that other castle residents could come around, he’d want to spend some time down here.

Eventually, Dr. Macey picked out three options and let Virgil choose which one he wanted. There was a fantasy book, an adventure story, and a mystery story.

“All of these have to do with climbing?” Virgil asked skeptically.

“There’s at least one good long climb in each,” Dr. Macey promised with a smile.

Virgil studied the books for a long moment. Eventually, he pointed to one that had the title, “Into the Mist,” which was the fantasy book.

“Good choice,” Dr. Macey said. Logan was certain they would have said that regardless of which Virgil chose, but Virgil still lit up slightly at the praise. The librarian handed the book to Virgil and set the other two aside to reshelve later.

“Thank you, Dr. Macey,” Logan said.

“If you need anything else, let me know,” they said.

“I think that’s it for today,” Logan said. “Let’s go back upstairs Virgil.”

Virgil nodded, clutching his chosen book as they left the library.

  Chapter 44 (Thomas)

Loraine had called Thomas down to the stables to talk about a concern that had cropped up about their grain stores. They’d found mold in one of the grain bins which had, of course, soiled everything stored there. Luckily it ended up being one of the smaller grain bins, but it still provided some concern for getting through the winter. As it was, they would be able to make it through, but a lot less comfortably.

Thomas mostly trusted the three who ran the animal husbandry on the castle’s lands to deal with it, but he still provided his opinion when asked.

 The meeting had taken a few hours. When he’d come down, the sun had been shining. It had been still cold, but not as freezing the last few days, though he was under no illusion that winter was anywhere near over. A point which was emphasized when he stepped out of Loraine’s office and glanced out of a window only to see what appeared to be a blizzard happening outside.

Great. He wasn’t exactly enthused about walking back to the castle in that. Wanting to delay it as long as possible, he turned away from the window and walked towards the other end of the stable.

 He grabbed an apple along the way, intending to feed it to Mr. Apples while convincing himself to make the jaunt back up to the castle. To his surprise, Mr. Apple’s head didn’t pop into the hall upon hearing someone enter his domain (aka the hall outside of his stall). This was odd as Mr. Apples was a territorial bastard who was always sure to be prepared to confront anyone who came within range or eat an apple if the person invading his space happened to be one of the few he wouldn’t attempt to bite on sight. Yet, no white nose popped into sight.

 When Thomas approached the stall, he figured out why. There was someone in the stall, but unlike most instances of someone being in a stall with Mr. Apples, the person was not being bitten, spit at, or anything else. Instead, Mr. Apples was standing there calm as day as Virgil ran a brush over his flank.

Thomas stared at them for a moment. He found himself wondering if Mr. Apples had died and someone had replaced him with another white horse so the royal family didn’t get upset like one might replace a child’s dead goldfish if it dies while they’re away.

 However, then, Mr. Apples realized he was there. The disdain in his expression upon catching sight of Thomas told him this was no imposter. He apparently by some miracle had just found another person he liked. Which… did pose an issue for Thomas.

Virgil had calmed down around his presence a bit ever since Thomas had found him hiding in the castle, but Thomas wasn’t sure how he would feel about being confronted by Thomas’s presence without warning. In the past, he’d been rather jumpy. If Thomas startled a person Mr. Apples liked in front of Mr. Apples, the tentative peace between Thomas and the horse would surely be over.

 He debated simply walking away like Mr. Apples’ expression was insisting, but before he could, Virgil glanced up at him. Thankfully, he didn’t jump. He looked at Thomas for a second, seeming a bit unsure. They hadn’t been alone since he’d stopped being completely terrified of Thomas’s existence after all, but eventually settled on saying, “Uh, hello your majesty.”

“Hello Virgil,” Thomas replied with a small smile. “You can just call me Thomas if you’d like.”

Virgil didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so Thomas dropped it for now.

“Mr. Apples seems to like you,” he said.

 “He’s a good horse,” Virgil said, patting Mr. Apples’ side. Mr. Apples sent Thomas a smug look. Well, this… was a very familiar conversation.

Having learned long ago not to bother arguing his case, Thomas just said, “He doesn’t like many people.”

“Logan said that,” Virgil said.

“Where is Logan?” Thomas asked, curious. Usually, Virgil wasn’t too far from him or Patton, but Thomas hadn’t seen a sign of them in the stable.

“He’s studying in his library,” Virgil said, “but I wanted to come to the stable since the weather was slightly nicer.”

“And Patton?”

“He had a meeting with your advisor.”

 “Makes sense,” Thomas said. He was glad Virgil was apparently comfortable enough now to go places without one of the other boys. He reluctantly supposed he had Mr. Apples to thank for that. “I brought him and apple. Would you like to feed it to him?”

“Sure,” Virgil said.

Thomas smiled and handed over one of the apple slices over the stall gate to Virgil who fed it to Mr. Apples. Once the horse was finished with that slice, Thomas handed him another.

“Don’t you want to feed it some to him?” Virgil asked.

“He’ll enjoy it much more from you,” Thomas replied.

 Virgil frowned, but Mr. Apples threw his head in agreement. Virgil ended up feeding the rest of the apple to the horse.

“Would you like to walk back to the castle with me?” Thomas asked once the horse was busy chowing down on his last slice.

“Sure,” Virgil replied. Thomas smiled at him and helped him put away the brush and other supplies he’d been using on Mr. Apples.

Everything went smoothly until he and Virgil moved to leave the stable. The second that Virgil’s eyes saw the weather conditions outside he paused. Thomas did have to admit that he also wasn’t a fan of what was going on outside. The castle was only a dark blob in the distance when the snow was falling that fast.

 Yet, there was something different about Virgil’s expression. It didn’t just seem like reluctance to get cold and wet. Thomas had unfortunately seen Virgil terrified a few times before and it was definitely fear flashing in his eyes right now.

“Are you alright?” Thomas asked softly. Virgil jumped at his voice, but for once Thomas didn’t think he had himself to blame for that.

“I…” Virgil hesitated. “I’m just going to stay here for a while.”

Thomas looked at him and then at the snow outside. “You don’t like the snow, I assume?”

Virgil curled one arm around his waist, gripping the opposite wrist. He shrugged one shoulder. “Bad experience.”

 “Oh,” Thomas said, “I see.” The child was looking away from Thomas as well as from the snow outside. His eyes were fixed on a bale of hay. “I guess we’ll just stay out here for a bit.”

Virgil’s eyes shot back to him. “You don’t have to stay,” he said. “It’s fine.”

Thomas shrugged. “I didn’t really want to go out in that anyway.”

Virgil bit his lip. “You’re king,” he said. “You have important things to do. You don’t need to sit out in a horse stable with me because of my issues.”

“You’ll be amazed how much time I’ve spent sitting in a horse stable in my life, king or not,” Thomas said with a rueful smile.

 Virgil still seemed unsure. “You don’t have to,” he said. There was no way Thomas was going to leave a child who was afraid of snowstorms for whatever reason alone in a horse stable even if he wouldn’t technically be alone with all of the workers.

“It’s fine,” said Thomas. “I’m sure the stable hands would be willing to share some of the tea in their breakroom with us. We’ll wait for a bit and then see if the storm decides to let up later.”

“If you’re sure,” Virgil said.

“I am,” Thomas said with a smile before leading him towards the staff breakroom and away from the sight of the snow falling outside.

  Chapter 45 (Virgil)

The king took him a little room in the center of the stables. There were two people sitting in the room when they entered. They looked up at their entrance, but didn’t spare them a second glance, going back to playing a game with cards. This both made sense because the king should be able to go wherever he wanted without question and didn’t make sense because Virgil had assumed most people working for the castle would jump into asking if the king needed anything when he entered a room.

Instead, the king walked over to a small counter at the side of the room.

 If Virgil did not know that he was the king, he probably wouldn’t have been able to tell. He’d dressed to be in a horse stable today. There was no crown or any jewelry really in sight except for a necklace. His clothing was perhaps of better quality than most who worked in a stable would wear every day, but not by a large margin. He could have just been a stable manager or something if Virgil did not know better.

He glanced back at Virgil once he’d grabbed a few clean cups. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.

 “I don’t care,” Virgil said.

“Have you tried hot apple cider before?” the king asked.

Virgil shook his head.

“Well, it looks like they have some cider being kept warm here,” he said touching a small barrel that was sitting on the counter. There was a slight glow to the barrel that Virgil recognized as a heating enchantment.

“Sure,” Virgil said. “I like apples.”

The king smiled and turned to pour out a glass of the drink through a spigot on the side of the barrel. He offered it to Virgil. The king was serving Virgil a drink. That was… really weird. He was a weird king.

 He took the cup. It was warm from the drink and Virgil felt some of the tension that had been in his shoulders since he’d seen the amount of snow outside release as his fingers warmed up.

“It has more spices than things like apple juice,” the king said. “Mostly cinnamon, but also things like cloves, ginger, and nutmeg.”

Virgil didn’t really know what any of those things tasted like off of the top of his head other than cinnamon and, of course, apples. He took a cautious sip anyway.

“Like it?” the king asked, a smile growing on his face quickly in response to whatever face Virgil was making.

 Virgil nodded vigorously.

“Good,” the king said with a chuckle. He turned to get another glass of the apple cider for himself. “Let’s sit,” he said motioning with his head to a couch. It was the only free seating available other than one extra chair at the table where the two stable hands were playing cards.

Virgil did as he said, walking over to the couch and taking a seat. It was an old, but comfortable couch. Most of the things in this room seemed pretty old, though all in good condition. It made sense that they wouldn’t want to have a bunch of new furniture when people were just using it to take a break between cleaning horse stalls.

 It was a nice little room all the same and warmer than the rest of the building. The two stable hands had slung their light coats over the backs of their chairs and the king also took his off before sitting. Virgil kept his on.

There were a few hooks where it looked like the workers kept their heavier winter coats for when they left the stable as well as some bags and a couple of paintings.

“That one looks like Mr. Apples,” Virgil pointed out.

The king glanced at the painting. “It is Mr. Apples actually,” he told Virgil.

 “He was absolutely impossible to keep still for it. He went back in forth from trying to bite the artist to trying to show off for his owner. I’m pretty sure the artist made his eyes red if you look close enough just to express his displeasure somehow.”

“Logan?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, no,” said the king. “That was when my husband was alive.”

Virgil immediately internally cringed. Externally he said a quick “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” said the king. “He’s not a taboo topic to me.”

 Virgil searched his face, but he really didn’t seem mad. There was maybe a bit of sadness around his expression, but he wasn’t angry.

“Logan always seems upset when he mentions him.”

“He’s mentioned him to you?” the king asked, sounding surprised.

“A few times,” Virgil said. “He said the headpiece was his favorite and, when he realized I didn’t like the snow, he tried to convince me it wasn’t all bad by telling me how they used to play in the snow when he was little.

“Logan doesn’t usually talk about him much,” the king said. “He was just a child when he died. It hit him very hard.”

 Virgil had noticed that himself.

“It’s good he’s talking about him at least a bit.” The king mused, taking a sip of his drink. “He was the son of a stable hand here.”

“You married a stable hand’s son?” Virgil asked and something about his tone made the king laugh.

“I did,” he confirmed. “We met when we were teenagers about your age. His father had come to work at the castle, and they lived in one of the houses out back. There weren’t many kids in the castle at the time and we both liked the gardens and the orchard, so we ended up friends.”

 This knowledge just reaffirmed to Virgil that Logan’s dad was an odd king. From what little Virgil knew of princes, they were not supposed to befriend the children of stable hands they met in the gardens and kings were certainly not supposed to marry them. Then again, Logan was also a prince and he had befriended an assassin he found in his bedroom. In fact, now that he thought about it, Patton was now a royal advisor in training, but even he was just the son of a chef.

Perhaps the royalty of Prijaznia were just like that. He was once again glad he hadn’t managed to kill the king.

 He’d been glad for a while now. At first it had been because he’d gotten to know Logan and knew killing his dad would have made him sad. Now, though, he thought it was a good thing he didn’t kill the king because the king didn’t deserve to die from what Virgil had seen. He was nice.

He even got up and got Virgil more of the apple cider when he finished his first cup of it. He continued to sit with him and talk to him about different things like what he, Logan, and Patton had been doing in the past few days.

 Eventually, the king went to go check if the weather was any better, leaving Virgil to finish his third glass of cider.

“It’s snowing less hard now,” the king told him when he got back, “but it’s still snowing. It’s also going to start to get dark soon. Do you want to try to go back?”

Virgil didn’t really. He didn’t want to be outside when it was snowing at all, but he also really wanted to be back at the castle before it was night. He’d much prefer to sleep in a bed or even in his closet than somewhere in the stable.

 “Yeah, we can try to go back,” Virgil replied.

“Alright,” the king said. He grabbed his coat off of the couch from where he’d set it. Virgil had also taken off his coat eventually, so he grabbed his as well. Once they were both dressed, they walked back to the stable door.

Virgil hesitated when he saw the snow. It was better than it had been earlier, but it still was falling fairly hard. He shifted nervously. That was going to be cold.

At least now he could see the castle clearly, so he didn’t have to worry about getting lost in the snow and dying… probably.

 “Here,” said the king. He reached for Virgil slowly and Virgil tensed but allowed it. The king took off the hood Virgil had put up and readjusted the cloth hat under it so it was over his ears before putting the hood back up. He pulled on some strings that Virgil hadn’t realized until right then tightened the hood so it wouldn’t fall off his head in the wind. Then, the king took off the scarf around his own neck and wrapped it twice around Virgil, so it covered his mouth and nose. The only exposed area of his face was now his eyes.

 “Now will get the least amount of snow on you as possible,” the king said.

“Thanks,” Virgil said. It came out a little muffled.

He smiled at him. “Do you,” he asked, sounding a bit awkward, “want to hold my hand?”

He didn’t particularly. He’d held hands with Logan and Patton before, but that was different. This was the king. Then again… he looked out at the snow. He really didn’t want to risk getting lost in the snow and he was less likely to get lost in the snow if he was holding on to someone, especially someone who knew his way around the castle grounds very well.

 Biting his lip behind the borrowed scarf, he decided he’d already taken way too many liberties when it came to the king. He shook his head no. “No thank you.”

“Alright,” said the king. “Offer is open if you change your mind. Ready to go?”

Virgil nodded, grimacing as he stepped out into the cold, the king at his side. Even with the nice winter coat from Logan and the king’s scarf, it was still noticeably cold. Still, he was not cold enough to justify the icy chill that went down his spine and the way his lungs felt frozen solid causing him to pant trying to take in air. It shouldn’t be this way. He’d been in much colder weather for much longer and with a lot less.

 “Are you alright?” the king asked when Virgil couldn’t help but slow down to a stop, shivering.

Virgil looked up at him. Unlike Virgil’s face, he had no scarf to protect him from the weather, but he didn’t seem concerned about that. He seemed much more concerned about Virgil. His reddening face was pinched, and he didn’t look like a man as powerful as a king. He looked like… well, he looked like a concerned father, like Logan’s father.

“Can…” Virgil choked out. He held out his hand.

“Of course,” he said. “Like I said, the offer is open.” He reached forward and wrapped his fingers around Virgil’s. Virgil immediately felt the warmth of them, though it may have been more in his head. There were two pairs of thick gloves between their skin.

Logan’s dad led him by the hand all the way back to the castle.

  Chapter 46 (Patton)

Patton hadn’t been aware until Virgil came along what Mr. Deknis did in the winter. Most of his staff had gone home for the winter or had winter tasks to do, but Mr. Deknis and a few choice members of his staff still apparently did a lot despite not being able to plant anything. He frequently invited Virgil to join in on these tasks, and Virgil often accepted. Patton wasn’t sure why he seemed to enjoy things like deep cleaning gardening tools and checking over equipment, but he did, so Patton was glad.

“Alright, that’s enough of that for today,” Mr. Deknis said once Virgil finished brushing off the paste that had been applied to remove rust from a hoe.

 “Are you sure?” Virgil asked. “I have more time to work. Even if you need to go, I can still work on something. Unless you don’t want me messing with things without supervision…”

“I’m not telling you to leave, Virgil,” Mr. Deknis said with a half-smile. “I just thought you might want to help me out with something else today.”

“Oh, okay. Sure,” Virgil agreed, sounding just a touch excited.

“Let’s put all of this away,” Mr. Deknis said.

Virgil and Patton helped him put things away, though Patton felt more like a hindrance as both Mr. Deknis and Virgil seemed to know exactly where everything in the room went whereas Patton wasn’t sure about some things.

 Patton didn’t always come with Virgil when he was helping out Mr. Deknis. Sometimes Logan would come instead, and Virgil had been coming alone with increasing frequency over the last month or so.

He seemed to like it. He always seemed to look forward to spending time with Mr. Deknis and not only because Mr. Deknis often bribed him with snacks of dried or pickled fruits and vegetables.

Once all of the tools and cleaning equipment were stored away, Mr. Deknis led them down the hall. Mr. Deknis had an entire hall to himself on the first floor of the castle which included his bedroom as well as places to dry and can things.

 Where he was leading them to now was a small study next to his bedroom. Patton had never been there before and by the way Virgil was curiously looking around, neither had he. It was a cute little area with a small desk and a bookshelf full of books that seemed to all be on plants.

“I’m starting to think about what I want to grow in the gardens next year,” Mr. Deknis explained as they crammed into the small office. He pointed to a large piece of paper on his desk.  “This is the plan at the moment though it’s nowhere near finalized.”

 He pointed at a sketched out square on the large paper. “I was thinking I wanted to plant something new here, but I don’t know what. It’s just a small patch between the vegetable and flower garden. It’s sort of by the one three teared fountain. I usually use that patch for newer plants, so it could be a vegetable or a flower. I was thinking you could help me pick out something to put there.”

Virgil looked up at him eyes wide.

Mr. Deknis smiled at him. “Would you like to?”

“I…” Virgil said. “I wouldn’t have any idea what to put.”

 “Well, I have a few different books of plants you can flip through,” he said. “Any idea what kind of plant you’d like to grow?”

Virgil shrugged.

“I’ll just give you a few for now,” Mr. Deknis said, selecting three different books. “If you can’t find anything you like, just let me know and I’ll give you another book. There are plenty of different types of things to grow. This is just a start.”

“Thank you,” Virgil said, eyes staring down at the field of flowers drawn on the cover of the book on the top of the stack in his arms.

 They spent the afternoon on the floor of Mr. Deknis’ living room. The gardener made them some lavender tea and let them eat some candied walnuts and then retreated to an armchair to read his own book about plants. Patton and Virgil laid on the floor flipping through the different books. Virgil still wasn’t very good at reading, so Patton would read the descriptions of the plants that caught his eye to him. One of the books was about different vegetables and one was about herbs, which of course, did catch Virgil’s attention a bit because of his love for edible things, yet the pictures of flowers seemed to interest him the most.

 They ended up eventually looking only in the flower book. A while after that, it became clear that he preferred flowers in the orchid family verses composite flowers because he liked the shape of their petals better. So, then they focused more on looking at the different types of orchids that existed.

“There are a lot more types of orchids than I knew there were,” Patton said.

“It’s the second largest family of flowers,” Mr. Deknis told them from his chair. “There’s a lot of different kinds, over 28,000 species at least. Vanilla comes from an orchid plant. If there are none in that book you especially want, I could get a book specifically on orchids.”

 Virgil, having already flipped through the book multiple times looking at the orchids, looked up at him with a bit of excitement in his eyes. “I would like that,” he said. “Yes, please.”

Mr. Deknis’ eyes softened on him and he got to his feet. “I’ll go see what I have in the office.”

“Getting to grow something in the garden is exciting,” Patton said once Mr. Deknis left.

“Yeah,” Virgil replied. “It is.”

It was very nice of Mr. Deknis too, Patton thought. He didn’t have to offer to let Virgil plant something, in fact, him happening to have an empty patch in his plans was probably a little bit of a fib, but it was a nice one.

 Virgil liked plants and it would give him something to look forward to over the winter and then something to do in the spring and summer. Honestly, Patton could wait to see him experience the castle in the spring. He’d already loved it in the fall, let alone when things started to grow. Patton had a feeling he’d be spending a lot more time outside this summer.

Mr. Deknis came back with a good sized book filled with pictures of flowers. “Why don’t you take this with you for tonight,” he suggested. “It’s almost dinner time. We can talk about it more when you come to help me again on Saturday.”

“Thank you,” Virgil said, taking the book. “I will see you Saturday then.”

“See you Saturday, Virgil,” he said with a smile.

  Chapter 47 (Logan)

Logan and Virgil had gotten into the habit of having reading lessons in the afternoons 3 times a week. They would sit in the small library near the royal wing for an hour or two and do different things. Logan had started with just teaching him letters, but he’d memorized those long ago at this point. Now, Logan would spend most of the time having him read simpler books out loud and correcting any mistakes he made along the way. Improvement was surprisingly fast, though in truth, Logan hadn’t had any measure for how long it would take a teenager to learn to read and Virgil was quite dedicated.

 Usually, their lessons ended with Logan reading a more complicated book while letting him follow along. The last week, they had been reading the library book Virgil had chosen for himself, Into the Mist. It was an interesting book to read to Virgil, though Logan was unsure if it would be as interesting if he were to read it on his own. In truth, it was a good, but rather ordinary fantasy book. Virgil, however, seemed incredibly fascinated by it. He had never heard a high fantasy story before in his life and he was constantly comparing and contrasting things in the book to things he understood in real life as well as asking Logan about them.

 It also became clear that Virgil did not quite understand real life fully. He attributed the same amount of awe to hearing the ocean being described as he did to the main character’s climb up the sky to a cloud city in hopes of saving his love interest’s life. In fact, he seemed more in awe of Logan’s explanation of the ocean since it actually existed. Logan had a sudden intense urge to plan a trip to see an ocean at some point in the future. Lamir was a costal country and its castle sat on top of a cliff that overlooked the sea.

 It would be easy enough to take a trip to their ally’s country at some point.

“So, cloud mites don’t exist?” Virgil confirmed yet again.

“No,” Logan said. “They don’t. In fact, their existence would go against all magical laws since they are sentient without being alive.”

“But crabs do?” Virgil asked.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Crabs do not go against the natural order of things,” Logan said.

“But why?” Virgil asked.

“I… don’t understand the question.”

“They don’t have the right number of legs.”

“W-what do you mean by that?” Logan asked, confused.

“Animals can only have an even number of legs on either side.”

“No,” Logan said. Virgil nodded vigorously. “What about beetles? Those have 6 legs. Three on each side.”

“But beetles are bug,” Virgil pointed out.

“Bugs are animals,” Logan argued.

“No, they’re not.”

His face was so serious, and he was so sure, that it was funny. “Bugs are animals,” Logan said.

Virgil seemed confused by this. “But they have 6 legs.”

Logan couldn’t help but laughing at that. “Virgil, what do you think and animal is?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Virgil said, pouting slightly at being laughed at. Logan leaned over to bump their shoulder together which seemed to pacify him. “Cows. Birds. Frogs.”

“I think we need to get you a tutor. You are missing some fundamental building blocks in your education.”

 He huffed, peering at the book.

“It’s no fault of your own,” Logan assured. “You are not born with information like that. People were just negligent in teaching you these things.”

Virgil nodded. “That actually reminds me of something.”

“Mmm?” Logan asked.

“There’s something I need to teach you.”

“And what would that be?” Logan asked.

“Survival instincts.”

“What?”

Virgil slammed his hand down on Logan’s desk. “You have no survival instincts,” he declared. “I bet you don’t even know what hemlock tastes like.”

“Isn’t that poisonous.”

“Yes,” Virgil said.

“Then of course I don’t know what it tastes like.”

“Exactly! That’s the problem.”

 “I don’t need to know what poison tastes like, Virgil,” Logan said.

“Yes, you do,” Virgil argued. “It’s an important skill.”

“I think your view of what constitutes as an ‘important skill may be skewed,” Logan said.

“You’re a prince,” Virgil said. “Knowing about poisons is an important skill for you.”

“It’s really not though.”

“You’re at war,” Virgil reminded, “and they already tried to assassinate your father. Do you think they’re not going to send someone else when your father is alive at winter’s end and they’ve heard no word from their assassin? Do you think if they realize you’re not easily manipulatable, they won’t come for you too?”

 “Well, I mean…” Logan said. “You do have a point there.”

“And you need to learn how to climb things and catch things.”

“Why do I need to know how to catch things?”

“We’ve already had this discussion,” Virgil said. “In case someone throws a knife at you.”

Wait. When had they had that conversation?

“And while we’re on the topic of knives, you need to know how to use a knife effectively.”

“I know how to use a knife,” Logan climbed even though he knew he didn’t know how to use a knife in the way Virgil was talking about.

 Virgil, despite having no concept of taxonomic classification, was no fool. “Chopping things for potions doesn’t count,” Virgil said. “I’m talking stabbing lessons. For you and Patton, though to be honest, Patton has an advantage already over you when it comes to using weapons.”

“Why does he…” Logan thought. “Because he managed to get a hit on you with a cookie sheet one time?”

“His reflexes are better,” Virgil said, “as well as his ability to use his environment to his advantage. You’re always completely oblivious about what’s going on around you.”

“Excuse me. I am incredibly observant,” said Logan.

 “How many chairs are in the dinning room we walked through to get here two hours ago?” Virgil asked.

Logan thought for a moment. “I’m not sure.”

“Exactly! You walk by them every day and you don��t even know how many chairs there are in that room.”

“I have no idea what that has to do with anything.”

“How would you know if someone tampered with the chairs if you don’t know how many of them there are or their positions.”

“Tamper with the chairs?” Logan asked. “What are you talking about? I filter out unnecessary information. That doesn’t mean I’m not observant.”

 “Yes, it does,” Virgil said. “Plus, half the time you don’t even know where I am when you know I’m in the same room as you,” Virgil said.

“Well, that’s because you climb on top of things and hide in walls!” Logan said. “That’s hardly fair.”

“You mean I’m quiet and good at hiding like… an assassin might be.”

Logan pursed his lips. Virgil tilted his head and smiled at him. “I am plenty observant,” Logan insisted once again.

“Prove it,” Virgil said.

“And how should I do that?” Logan asked. “Beyond simply memorizing the furniture arrangements?”

Virgil shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll get an opportunity soon.”

  Chapter 48 (Thomas)

Thomas was leaving his office when he ran into his son. Or more accurately, his son almost ran into him. “Is everything alright?” Thomas asked.

“I…” Logan said. His hand came out to grasp Thomas’s shirt sleeve, odd behavior for him at least at this age. He used to do such things when he was very small. “Yes,” he said anyway. “Everything is perfectly fine.” He glanced behind himself down the hall.

Thomas looked at him and then looked down the hallway, concerned by his strange behavior. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” Logan said, but he wasn’t letting go of Thomas’s shirt.

 “You seem a bit anxious, Logan,” Thomas said.

“I am not,” Logan denied, releasing his shirt. Thomas caught a glimpse of something moving above their heads. The hallway Thomas’s office was in had large pillars along the outer wall that really no one should be able to scale despite there technically being grooves in them. Yet, there Virgil clung to the chapiter of one of them. Even more bewildering, he was gripping a pouch of some kind in his teeth.

The met eyes briefly. Virgil tilted his head at Thomas. Then, he removed one hand from the pillar. How was he up there? He made a motion with his hand that seemed to be telling Thomas to step back.

 Thomas looked back at his son. Logan hadn’t noticed Virgil, too busy glancing behind him and not looking up. Thomas looked back up at Virgil and took a big step back. The moment he did, Virgil grabbed the bottom of the pouch with his free hand and let go with his teeth. The pouch flipped upside down dropping its contents right onto Logan’s head.

Logan gave a high-pitched shriek that Thomas didn’t think he’d ever heard from him before. “Virgil!” he yelled, now absolutely soaked.

“Learn to look up,” Virgil said seriously, still clinging to the pillar.

“I hate you,” Logan replied.

 “Don’t say things you don’t mean in anger,” Thomas reminded. He was a bit worried Virgil may overreact to Logan saying things like that to him, though he seemed perfectly calm at the moment.

Logan scowled at Thomas. “You’re on his side?! He just dumped water on my head!”

“He needs to be trained to be more observant!” Virgil said.

Logan turned his scowl to Virgil. “Come down here, you intolerable creature! I’m done with your so called training!”

“And what would you do if I did come down?” Virgil said arching an eyebrow, wholly unconcerned. “Quote facts about animals at me?”

 Thomas was unsure what about that comment angered Logan, but it apparently did.

“You little…”

“Boys,” Thomas interrupted. “What’s going on here?”

They both immediately started speaking at once, doing their best to talk over each other. Thomas didn’t catch much of either rants except something about ‘training’ and Virgil ‘stalking the halls’ and an exploding muffin.

“Okay, okay,” Thomas putting a hand up to tell both of them to be quiet. “One at a time. Virgil first.”

“Really?” Logan asked.

“Logan,” Thomas scolded.

He mumbled something under his breath, but he did quiet down.

“Virgil,” Thomas started again. “What’s going on?”

 “I’m training him,” Virgil said.

“Training him?” Thomas asked. “Training him for what?”

“For life,” Virgil answered. “He isn’t observant enough.”

“Ah,” Thomas said, still fairly confused. “And how are you training him?”

“Right now, we’re doing situational awareness training,” Virgil said.

“And how does that translate to you dumping water on his head?” Thomas asked.

“He wouldn’t have gotten water on his head if he’d noticed me,” Virgil answered, seriously. Thomas tried not to laugh at the look on his face.

“That is, perhaps true,” Thomas said. “However, dumping water on people’s heads is not nice. Perhaps there is a nicer way to do this training?”

 “People trying to kill them won’t be nice,” Virgil said.

“No one is trying to kill Logan,” Thomas said.

Virgil just pursed his lips. “Maybe,” Virgil said. “Not yet.”

Thomas was unsure where this fear had come from. Perhaps he had heard about the successful assassination of Lamir’s late queen. Thomas hadn’t exactly publicized the fact that the queen had been killed and not simply died when he’d returned, but he had told certain people including Logan and Patton. It was possible one of them had let it slip and Virgil had freaked out about it.

“Well,” Thomas said. “It still isn’t nice to ruin someone’s day over a threat that doesn’t exist yet.”

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 5)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 3.2k

warnings: more smut (we’re picking right up where we left off last chapter) including some shower shenanigans and lots of dirty talk, relationship conversations, mention of bucky’s military background, really that’s just it...

Maybe it had been hours in Bucky's arms, maybe it had been a lifetime.  You were floating on air, suspended in pleasure as he rocked your body against his, still fucking you even though he'd already come once and you'd come too many times to count.

"Bucky," you whined, back arching even though you figured you were too weak for that.  "Baby, please— s-so good, you're so good…"

Metal fingers pinching your nipple sent your body into overdrive, exhausted inner muscles clenching around him as you cried out.

When he leaned down and kissed you again, you were afraid that you'd be too out of it to kiss him back.  But thankfully you managed to reciprocate, grabbing the hair at the back of his neck to hold him close as you whimpered softly against his lips.

He pulled back just enough to look down at you with dark, half-lidded eyes.  "Fuck, I'm gonna come again," he moaned like he was just as shocked as you were.  

"Yes!" you encouraged feverishly.

"This perfect little pussy is gonna make me come again, baby, is that what you want?  Want me to put another load in this needy cunt?"

"God, yes," you sobbed, his words so perfectly balanced between sweet and filthy.

"Well, I'm gonna," he promised through his teeth.  "Fuck, I'm gonna give you everything, pretty girl, I'm so close."

You couldn't remember the exact words you used but you were definitely begging him for it, completely lost in your need and, apparently, totally lacking in shame.

That weak, broken, desperate moan as he came inside you for the second time in a night… you wanted to bottle it up and keep it for rainy days, and sunny days, and all the days you'd ever see because it was just absolutely fucking divine.

"Don't move," he demanded with a whisper, "fuck, don't move, please."

"Couldn't if I wanted to," you laughed quietly.  He started laughing too, but not so much a 'this is funny' laugh compared to a 'is this real?' laugh.

"Fuck," he breathed, "that was… I didn't know I could do that."

"We're all learning new things about ourselves and our body's capabilities tonight, trust me."

"I'm gonna attempt to pull out without my dick falling off, okay?"

You chuckled through your exhaustion.  "Fingers crossed!"

You couldn't decide which was more lewd: the way it felt, or the way it looked.  In credit to the first, you were confident that even through the numbness that had begun to spread through your body, you still managed to feel every detail of his cock against the spongy ridges of your channel as it slid out of you, followed (of course) by the warm, slow ooze of come dripping down onto your sheets.  As for the second, well, his cock looked pretty glorious as it bounced back up against his abs, incredibly still hard but certainly starting to soften, glistening with your slick and his come and looking so lovely that you were compelled to sit up and lick it clean.  You would've if you weren't (1) so exhausted that you were sure you'd never sit up ever again, and (2) confident that any more stimulation to Bucky's poor cock would just be painful for him.

"Jesus fuck," he sighed as he watched his come leak out of your abused, swollen hole, admiring his handiwork; you giggled from both the odd feeling of his gaze on you like this and the comical way his swearing had deteriorated over the course of the night into half-assed blasphemy.

He fell down beside you on the bed, looking up at the ceiling before glancing to you with a smirk that was clearly tired but still plenty smug.  “God, I haven’t come twice in a row like that since… I don’t know if I’ve ever done that before, actually,” he laughed.

“I know for a fact I’ve never come that many times in a row,” you giggled.

"I uh… I need a shower.  And a year-long nap," he announced with a deep sigh.

"Use mine," you offered.  "I'll join you in a minute if you can promise to keep your hands to yourself."

"I don't know about that," he chuckled, "but I can definitely promise to keep my dick to myself."

"That'll do," you smiled as you watched him stretch and get up, grabbing his discarded boxers before slipping into your bathroom.

You took another deep breath and fought against the giddy smile that refused to leave your face.  Though you knew you had no right to be so happy over something as silly and frivolous as a guy, you let yourself get excited about this guy.  This guy who had made you feel safe when you thought you never would again.  This guy who had been a friend to you when it seemed like everyone else just wanted to get close to an alleged celebrity.  This guy who had already given it to you better than anybody ever had only to do it again without even stopping.

As likely as it was that your infatuation with him was preventing you from seeing all the flaws that every person and relationship were bound to have, it was hard not to think that this guy was everything you’d been waiting for.  Now all you had to do was try not to fuck it up.

//

Bucky sighed as he stepped into the stream of hot water, careful not to slip as his tired legs begged for more rest.  It was a hell of a workout, but then again, he'd never felt quite this good after a real workout.

It was all a little too good to be true; he was sort of assuming that he would wake up any minute now, in his own bed downstairs and with a mess in his boxers to take care of.  And he wasn't even mad about it, because who could be mad about a dream this wonderful?

If he was going to wake up soon, he was going to take advantage of the time he had left in his dream.  After a few moments alone, you slipped into the bathroom and opened the glass shower door, looking like everything he'd ever wanted with your messy hair and post-sex glow.

"Don't hog the hot water," you groaned as you pushed him aside, but you were smiling a little and he was perfectly content to just watch you from the corner anyways.

Well, not just watching; of course he had to reach out and run his hands over your skin, feel the warmth of you pressed against his body as your eyes fluttered shut and your head fell back against his chest.  You hummed contentedly at his touch and the sound went straight to his cock, which swelled a bit where it was pressed against your hip.

You reached up and wrapped your hands around the back of his neck, his hands moving up to gently run over your breasts and stomach where the water was hitting.

He hesitantly ventured into kissing your neck before finally sliding his hand between your legs and grinning at the feeling of his own come leaking out of you.  You were so sensitive that you gasped and shivered just from that little touch, your little moans enough to drive him absolutely crazy (if he hadn't been already).

Two fingers slid into you easily; he decided to take credit for stretching you out so well, both of you sighing as he pushed in deeper.

"Bucky," you groaned, "can't… can't come again…"

"I'm just helping you wash all this come outta you, baby," he explained, though he was sure you heard the mischievousness in his tone.  "There's a lot… I filled you up real good, didn't I?"

You nodded and bit your lip, and he alternated between studying your face and looking down at his fingers slowly pulling out of you as the shower washed away his come and yours.

"I don't think this is all me," he whispered against your ear.  "I think you're getting wet again, princess…"

When you nodded again, your hips bucking slightly in his hand, he went ahead and brought his two slickened fingers to your swollen bud, drawing lazy circles around it as you moaned slowly.

"What're you getting wet for, huh?  Haven't you had enough?"

"Never get enough of you," you whimpered, as if you just magically knew the exact thing to say in that moment to make his cock twitch and his heart twist.  

"I'll be real gentle, honey, gonna take you there nice an' easy…" he trailed off, adding a bit more pressure but maintaining his relaxed pace.  You whimpered and writhed against him, your smooth skin sliding against his so easily with the water washing over both of you.  

He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers when he pushed inside again, smiling when you gasped and clutched his hair suddenly.  He figured you were sore, but he also figured you would stop him if he hurt you, so he just did his best to stay slow and sensitive as he found your swollen spot inside you and curled his fingers into it.  Your whispered curses were music to his ears; technically that would make your body his instrument, and that might be cliche but it wasn’t exactly untrue.

“Want a little more?” he asked below his breath, responding to your nod by rubbing your clit with his thumb.  Your back arched, and as beautiful as it was, it also caused your body to push away from his; he held you down with his free arm to avoid spending even a moment without you against him.

“C-close,” you stuttered, and he hoped the little chuckle he let out didn’t sound too condescending; just shocked, like he intended it,

“I thought you couldn’t come again,” he remembered, fighting his smirk to kiss your neck gently.

“I thought so too,” you sighed, your hips rocking against his hand as your breathing picked up.  “Fuck, don’t stop…”

It was subtle, but he felt you shudder and shake in his grasp, a new wave of warmth soaking his fingers.  He was careful not to let the water wash your come away as he brought the soaked fingers to his lips, eagerly tasting you as you watched him with heavy eyes.  “Want a taste?” he offered, but when you went for his fingers he kissed you instead, revelling in the little hum of satisfaction you released when you tasted yourself on his tongue.

It was you that pulled him closer and deepened the kiss further, weaving your fingers into his hair and moaning a little when he grabbed your waist.

“I should’ve known showering with you wasn’t going to actually be a productive bathing experience,” you laughed when you pulled back, noticeably staring at the way water droplets trickled down his chest.  

“Fine, I’ll let you actually do your whole shower thing,” he relented, “as long as I can borrow your shampoo.”

“Sure, but you’re gonna smell fruity and delicious afterwards,” you warned.

He chuckled a little as he leaned back into the stream of hot water to wet his hair.  “Don’t I already?”

//

You’d never had such an easy time falling asleep in someone’s arms, honestly.  It was so comfortable that you were actually a bit confused when you woke up alone, already pampered by the idea of spending the morning cuddled up with him.  Thankfully, with him living here most days, he was never too far off; you heard movement downstairs and realized he was probably making breakfast for himself since he was one of those natural early risers while you had dozed until— you glanced at the clock to check— 9:53, later than usual for a night you hadn’t been drinking.

Well, Bucky had taken the empty beer bottles from your nightstand for you, but you still remembered that you’d been drinking a little.  Yet certainly most of one beer couldn’t be to blame for you making a move on him; no, that was a purely sober idea, something you’d wanted to do for quite some time, in fact.

Perhaps it was a little misguided.  Maybe it was technically an inappropriate workplace relationship since you were, in a sense, his boss.  But, of every impulsive decision you’d ever made it was definitely your personal favorite.

Hopping up and slipping on a little flowy robe just to not be naked anymore, you rushed downstairs and found Bucky in the kitchen flipping a pancake in the pan.  He glanced back at you, looking a little conflicted, before you observed the plate of assorted fruit waiting for you on the bar.

“Wow, pancakes,” you nodded.

“And fruit,” he reminded you, like you weren’t already munching on a slice of a clementine.  “So it’s healthy.”

“Is this a taste of the ‘Bucky Barnes Boyfriend Experience’?” you chuckled, picking up a grape to eat next.  “Cause so far I’m a fan.”

Bucky’s head whipped around to look back at you, and your face got warm as you realized you'd been assuming that this was a 'getting together' sort of rendezvous and not just a one-night stand.  And maybe that wasn't a fair assumption, based on the way he was blinking back at you in shock.  “Orrrr maybe this is just the ‘Me Misinterpreting Things Experience’ and you just like to use some culinary comfort to soften the blow of the ‘about last night’ talk.”

"No, no," he shook his head, sighing a bit as his expression softened.  “I guess I kind of assumed you were going to regret it."

“Regret… last night?” you finished for him, thoroughly befuddled as you watched him flip the pancake onto a plate which he handed to you.

“Uh, yeah,” he scoffed, like it was obvious, before handing you the container of maple syrup.

“Why?”

“Well,” he shrugged, “‘cause it’s you, and it’s me.  You’re a movie star and I’m the guy who drives your car.  You were having a fun night, you got… caught up in the moment, and I was just in the right place at the right time.”

You took a moment to process that as you chewed your pancake, thankfully managing to swallow the bite before you burst out laughing.  “Oh my god, is that— is that really how you thought this was gonna go down?  After everything that happened last night?”

“Yeah, these aren’t morning-after pancakes, these are please-forgive-me pancakes,” he admitted as he poured another dollop of batter into the pan.  “Can’t you taste the difference?”

"Wait, wait,” you shook your head incredulously, “you thought I was gonna regret sleeping with you, and you still went through with it?"

He laughed a bit at that.  "You were grinding on me and sucking on my fingers.  You must think I'm a saint if you think I could resist that."

“And this was supposed to be your apology… for taking advantage of me…” you tried to reason aloud, still not totally understanding how he could ever question that you would want him.

He shrugged.  "I mean, I dunno… I was prepared to get fired today so you wouldn't have to see me around.  So I guess it was sort of a goodbye, too."

"Was it worth it?  I mean… was the sex worth losing your job?" you asked.  “Hypothetically.”

"Worth losing the paycheck?  Definitely,” he announced, quiet but confident.  “But worth not seeing you again?  No, I don't think so.  When you came down here I was just thinking about how I'd rather keep you as a friend than lose you as a lover."

"That's… poetic," you mumbled.  "Luckily, you don't have to choose.  I fully intend on keeping you around.  If you don't mind."

"Why would I possibly mind that?" he laughed.

“I guess I just feel guilty because if the press finds out you’re my boyfriend, they’ll be all over you.  Your past, your family, any ex-girlfriends…”

His lack of a response made you anxious again.

“Wait, I’m sorry, this conversation is sort of confusing: are you my boyfriend?” you asked nervously.  He laughed, flipping the pancake before looking back at you with a smirk.

“If you want me to be.”

“Yeah,” you answered, perhaps a bit too eagerly, “I do.  If you’re… into that.”

“I am,” he assured.  

“Think of it like a promotion!” you offered with a grin.

“Trust me, I do,” he nodded.  “Does this position come with a raise?”

“No, but a lot more benefits,” you winked.  “And, unfortunately, a lot more baggage.”

“Right, the press.  You really think they’re gonna care?” he raised an eyebrow.

You laughed sympathetically at his innocence.  “Oh my god, you have no idea.  From now on, when we leave the house it’s strictly business— anything else and they’ll be on you like white on rice.”

“Well then we’re not gonna be leaving the house much,” he snickered, “because now that I’ve got my hands on you once, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay away.”

You smiled as he started to lean over the bar to kiss you, but when he moved in just close enough you held up a piece of fruit in front of your mouth, which he took a bite out of instead.  “Slow your roll, Romeo, I’m trying to have an important conversation and you’re trying to distract me.”

“Was it that obvious?” he frowned, sliding another golden brown pancake onto a plate for himself and turning off the stove.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that this is serious stuff.  It’s not too hard to keep it a secret for a while but… it’s just a disclaimer before you agree to anything.”

“Do you give all your potential boyfriends this talk, then?” he asked coyly.

“Well, since I got big I’ve really only dated one guy and he was even more famous than me so... no,” you answered awkwardly.

“Oh, right,” he nodded, getting a little more serious.  “What was it you said they were going to investigate, again?  My past, my family, my ex-girlfriends,” he remembered.

“Yup,” you nodded.  “And any, you know, criminal convictions or whatever.”

“Well, none of those, not much family, barely any ex-girlfriends,” he enumerated, “but a lot of past.”

You solemnly contemplated eating another grape, hoping you had managed to maintain some nonchalance.  “How bad are we talking?”

“Not bad, necessarily,” he mitigated, stopping mid-sentence to grab the pancake with his hand and eat it straight, “but, you know… military.  So not exactly good.”

“Didn’t blow up any orphanages, right?”

“No, not quite,” he laughed, “but I wasn’t a conscientious objector, either.”

“Okay, just keep in mind they’re going to scrutinize everything you ever were before you were my boyfriend,” you informed him.

“‘Your boyfriend’ is the most important thing I’ve ever been.”

The comment took you aback— mostly in a good way, but you weren’t prepared for him to get sentimental like that.  You especially weren’t prepared for the effect it would have on you.  So you, being you, deflected it with a sudden topic change and a raunchy joke.

“Jeez, are you a sadist or something?  ‘Cause I can’t hardly sit in this chair properly, I’m so sore,” you winced.  

“That,” he announced with a grin, pointing at you with the half-eaten pancake in his hand for emphasis, “is the ‘Bucky Barnes Boyfriend Experience.��”

[tricksters-captain]

Benny Watts/The Queens Gambit imagines - From Pawn to Pen Part 4

AN: I’m sorry I missed posting last week. I’m currently going through a hard break up and it’s really taking a lot of energy out of me so I struggle to write at the moment. 

Overall Summary: You’re a young journalist for Chess Review, with a love for chess and a desire for knowledge. One day at a tournament, you come across the famous Benny Watts...

In this chapter: You return to Boston for the week. 

(PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3)

Pairing(s): Benny Watts x Fem!reader

Word Count: 1,940

Warnings: Some strong language

You smiled as you looked at the copies of ‘Chess Review’ on the racks. 

Your first front page piece for Chess Review. 

They had used one of the pictures of Benny that you had taken at the hotel and you were pretty proud of your photography skills. 

You picked up a copy and took it inside to pay for it. 

On second thought, you picked up two so you could mail one to Angelie. 

You left the store quickly after and started to walk back to your apartment. 

Boston was busier than you had remembered and you finally had some time to sort out the apartment after your article went down well with the big man. 

You opened the door to your apartment and put down your groceries on the kitchen counter top. 

The last tenant hadn’t left the place in too bad a state, just a carpet stain here and there and a broken lamp. 

You had bought some paint to redecorate your living room and bedroom since it seemed too boring after where you lived in Paris. You had spent the last couple days painting and then you finally left to go check out your title page. 

The books that Benny had given you were still on your small two person dining room table where you had left them when you first got back. You looked over at them and furrowed your brow as you thought about whether you are actually going to bother to read them or not. 

Your phone started to ring and your frown disappeared when you realised it was probably Angelie. No one else had your number besides your work. 

“Hello?” You answered it, taking the phone off the wall as you leant beside it. 

“Miss (Y/L/N)?” You’d recognise that voice anywhere after listening to it so much over the last tournament. 

“Benny Watts?” You asked, almost in shock. 

“Have you read those books I leant you yet?” He asked, not even bothering to confirm it was him. 

“It’s been four days.” You told him flatly. 

“You could’ve easily gotten through at least two of them by now.” Benny challenged you which caused you to shake your head (even though he couldn’t see). 

“You know, Benny Watts, I do have a life to live.” You defended yourself to which Benny found amusing. 

“So, you’re back in Boston since you picked up this phone.” Benny changed the subject completely. 

“How did you even get this number?” You asked, genuinely curious and a little worried. 

“You really think Chess Review won’t hand over your telephone number to their favourite US chess player?” 

“You got it from Beth Harmon then?”  You teased the boy to which he responded with a dry laughter. 

“Ha Ha. Very funny.” Benny retorted, “If you’re in Boston, it means you currently aren’t working. Fancy an educational trip to New York City?” 

“Benny, I told you. I’m not coming to New York.” You reminded him about how you declined previously when he asked. 

“Come on, just for the weekend? We’ll play some chess, do some tourist shit and eat some food?” Benny asked, trying his best to persuade you Benny Watts style. 

“I’ve also told you before that I don’t play.” You felt a small bubble of excitement in your stomach as you considered going to New York but you quickly squashed it down. 

“What are you afraid of?” Benny asked. Deja Vu. 

“Why are you pushing this?” You closed your eyes as you let your head roll back to press against the wall. 

“Because I see that same light that’s in Beth Harmon, that’s in every decent chess player when you see a chess board.” Benny confessed to you. 

“I’m sorry, Benny. You’ll just have to find someone else to play with. I don’t want to be apart of this little game.” You hung up the phone with a sad sigh before Benny could respond. 

You found yourself looking at the books again. 

You picked up Benny’s and you opened it...

“I’ve been waiting all day for your call.” You half scolded Angelie as you answered the call. 

You heard Angelie’s laughter through the phone and it made you home sick. 

“Je suis désolé!” Angie apologised. “This new project has me so busy, constantly on set, costume changes, make up changes, redoing scene..!” 

“It sounds awful.”  You chuckled, 

“It is! You wouldn’t understand... You’re just a big time American journalist.” Angelie pouted. “Anyway, how are you?” 

“I’m okay.” You lied. 

“Menteuse!” Angelie called you out. “Tell me the truth. What is bothering you, Mon Cher?” 

“Benny Watts called me today.” You had filled her in on the tournament with him once you had first arrived back in Boston and she had already previously told you off for not taking his offer to New York. 

“He did?!” Angie gasped. 

“Yes, he did. He got my number through work and called me to ask if I had read the books he gave me which I haven’t because it’s been less than a week since. the tournament.” You explained. 

“That boy is in love with you, I am telling you now.” Angie was always the hopeless romantic type. It’s how she has had her heart broke so many times. 

“The boy wants to play chess with me to assert his masculine dominance over me and boost his ego with an easy win.” You argued. 

“You are always so negative about men! You hardly know this one!” Angelie groaned. 

“He’s Benny Watts. That’s all I need to know.” 

“I think you should go to New York and meet with him.” Angelie told you. You hadn’t even informed her about the fact he asked you again. 

“I think I should stay here and enjoy my first weekend off in six months.” You shook your head at the idea. 

“(Y/n), you only live once and how many girls are invited to New York by the Benny Watts?!” 

“Probably quite a lot.” You knew Angie was only trying to hype you up but you couldn’t help but knock her down. 

“Even if that is so. You could probably get another article out of it. Benny Watts and his life in the big apple?” Angie suggested. 

“I’m sure ‘LIFE’ has already done that piece before.” You pushed another idea aside. 

“Trust me, (Y/n). You need to stop being so afraid of the unknown and who knows, maybe you’ll enjoy yourself?” Angelie had had enough of the negativity from you at this point. 

There was a sudden knock at your door. 

“I’m sorry, Angie. Someone’s just knocked on my door, I’ll have to call you back.” You looked over at your front door and wondered who it could be. 

“Ça va. Call me back!” She told you as the knock occurred again. 

“Je t'aime.” You hung the phone back up on the wall and went over to your door. 

You opened it and you felt your face go white at the sight of who stood there. 

“Jesus, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Benny Watts. 

BENNY WATTS.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked him. 

“Well,  you wouldn’t come to me so I came to you.” Benny shrugged. 

“You can’t just stalk someone. This isn’t okay. This isn’t cute!” You were bewildered. 

“This isn’t stalking. It’s simply coming to Boston to visit a friend.” He defended himself as he stood out in the hallway. 

“I wouldn’t call us friends, Benny.” You scoffed. 

“Ouch.” Benny put his hand on his heart. 

You went to close your door on him but Benny stopped you. 

“Wait.” He pleaded. His cocky demeanour suddenly dropped. “Look, I know this is weird but I really wanted to see you.” Benny started to explain. 

“I––” He cut you short. 

“–– This isn’t some game. I just want to help you. I want you to play chess again. I want you to play with me.” Benny stayed with his hand against the door and his foot in the gap as he spoke. 

“This is crazy, Benny.” You told him, your eyes locked on his as you felt your heart race. 

“I know.” Benny stepped back. “I’m staying in the hotel down the block. I’ll be here all weekend. If you don’t want to see me, then don’t. But if you change your mind. I’ll be around.” 

You watched him back away from the door and head back down the stairs. 

Benny fucking Watts. 

You rushed back to the phone and dialled Angelie’s number. 

“Bonjour?” She answered, 

“You’ll never guess who was at the door.” 

You ended up tossing and turning all night. 

You caved in at around 3am and started to read Benny’s book again. 

You finished it by the time the sun was rising. 

You had a cold shower to wake you up at around 9am and then you stared in the mirror as the thoughts racked your brain. 

You walked over to your chess set that rested on the dresser top and you took it over to your bed, opening it up. 

You set up the board and stared at it.  

You picked up the queen. The same queen that Benny had held in the photo you took. 

You caved. 

You dressed and did simple make up before heading to the hotel that Benny had told you he was staying. 

“I’m looking for Mr Benny Watts.” You asked the elderly lady at the front desk. 

“He’s staying in room 306 but I’m almost certain I saw him leave about an hour ago for breakfast.” She informed you. 

You thanked her then sighed. 

You left the hotel lobby and started down the street. There was plenty of places to eat around the hotel, you almost considered just waiting in the lobby for him to return. 

Then you saw it. 

Through a window of a small diner. 

The famous black hat. 

You pushed open the diner door and walked towards the booth where Benny was sat. 

He had his back to you but he didn’t seem surprised to see you when you sat down opposite him.  

“Morning.” He greeted you as he munched on some pancakes. 

“I won’t play chess with you.” You stated. “I won’t play chess with you but I will spend the weekend with you and you can talk about it.”

Benny remained silent as his brown eyes watched you carefully. 

“I finished your book.” You told him. “I'm ready to learn.” 

Benny placed his knife and fork down, picking up the napkin beside his plate to wipe his mouth. 

“Great.” He nodded, interlinking his fingers above his food as he elbows rested on the table.  “Let’s begin.” 

(WHAT HAPPENS NEXT HERE)

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[kookingtae]

falling into you (pt. 8) PREVIEW

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7

→scenario: Jungkook’s innocence is like a breath of fresh air in your wild life, and though you know you’re toxic for him, you just can’t seem to stay away.

→genre: college au, slow burn, mutual pining, shy/nerd jk + bad girl oc (mature themes)

→a/n: so i’m not finished with pt 8 yet, since it’s such a climactic chapter it’s taking a bit longer than i anticipated unfortunately BUT i dont want u guys to think ive forgotten about it!!! i know u all are waiting so patiently, and i cannot thank you enough from the bottom of my heart <3 i hope this preview keeps you excited for what’s to come!

Jungkook could never face Y/N again.

God, how could he, knowing that he’d not only finished in five minutes like a pubescent teenager, but also in his pants while she was on top of him?

Embarrassment didn’t even begin to describe the mortification he felt. He’d never wanted the earth to swallow him whole as much as he did in that moment. Sure, he was aware of his slight social anxiety, the way he was constantly looking to bolt from uncomfortable situations—but this was different entirely. This was new territory for him; he’d never done anything remotely sexual with someone else, period, much less with the girl who hung the stars, moon, and sun in his eyes. What was he supposed to do? There was nowhere to escape to in his own bedroom, no running away from his problems that made him uncomfortable. No, he had to stand there with his head down and his crotch dripping wet while he practically begged her to leave. He had never been so ashamed of himself. He had never felt so pathetic.

But then Y/N surprised him like she never failed to do: she’d given him reassurance, another kiss even, while telling him that she actually enjoyed the experience—went so far as to say it was the best in her life. Now he knew she was lying to spare his feelings. Of all the men Y/N had been with, there was no way a virgin cumming untouched in his pants was the best of them. She was cruel to make him believe otherwise, to give him false hope.

He wouldn’t allow himself to think any differently. He couldn’t allow himself to get hurt.

Which was why he made it his mission to avoid her at all costs—something he’d gotten very good at over the past few months, and the past few weeks, specifically.

But in the same way he’d learned from the patterns of her daily routine and used them as a means to remain hidden, she’d also learned his and utilized them to her advantage as well. It was the only explanation as to how he was turning a corner inside the art building (about to take the rear exit, since she usually waited for him out front) and suddenly she was standing right in front of him.

He instantly skidded to a halt, heart rate shooting to astronomical levels and eyes widening on their own accord. “Y-Y/N,” he stuttered out involuntarily, the sight of her causing every single detail of their time spent together to come rushing back to him like a tidal wave ready to wipe him out.

As if he needed another excuse to think about the moment they shared that had changed him forever, about the way her moans sounded in his ear and her body felt on his lap and the way she touched his cheek, his neck, the way her lips felt on his skin, god help him—

Already he could feel the beginnings of a blush start to rise to his suddenly hot cheeks, and he cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other to keep from springing yet another boner in front of her.

He slid his books in front of his waist, just in case.

While she usually approached him with the natural ease of self-confidence and charm, today she seemed worried, unsure. She chewed at her lower lip—something he didn’t think she really ever did, as he would certainly remember the way it stirred within him—and looked up at him beneath delicate lashes that framed her eyes.

He didn’t have it in him to keep from outright staring at her beauty.

“I… I missed you,” she finally murmured, and he felt the breath physically whoosh from his lungs to join his butterfly-filled stomach all the way at the floor.

It had been a few days since he’d last seen her, since she’d been in his room that night where they opened up about their past and confessed how they truly felt about one another and shared the most life-altering moment he’d ever experienced. He missed her too, god he missed her. He missed everything about her the moment she left his side—would picture her face in his mind as soon as she left his field of vision. But for some reason unknown to him, she was too kind to him, spared his feelings despite knowing what little experience he had. There was no way he’d be able to satisfy a girl—mentally, physically, emotionally—who could have anyone she wanted. Perhaps she pitied him. Either way, if she wouldn’t put a stop to it, then he would.

Or so he’d try, but alas, nothing ever went according to his plans where Y/N was concerned. And here she was, three simple words mumbled into existence and he couldn’t even remember his own name, much less why he’d been trying to fight this.

She seemed to expect he would say nothing—either that or she’d grown used to his silence—because before he had enough sense in him to even think about responding, she was speaking again. “How have you been?”

The question was asked with deliberate, genuine curiosity and concern; she really wanted to know if he was okay, how he was handling things after what had transpired between them. And no matter how hard Jungkook tried to fight this, fight her, fight himself, he was only human.

And so he stopped fighting.

“I– I missed you too,” he breathed out, and it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and relocated to his gut. He tensed at his confession, mentally berated himself for his words even though she’d been the one to say them first. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, what with the way his throat locked up.

Though the second he witnessed the smile that sprang to her tantalizing lips, he felt as light as a feather floating in the breeze.

“You did?” Her eyes lit up, sparkled under the fluorescent hallway lights that still managed to capture all of her beauty despite the unflattering lighting. He didn’t think it was possible for any scenery, not even that of a dull and stuffy university building, to make her appear any less breathtaking than she always was.

“I was so worried after I left last week,” she continued without prompt. The mention of his premature finish had him stiffening in dread, though she didn’t let enough silence fester between her words for the anxiety to claw its way up his throat. “I didn’t want you to beat yourself up. I’ve noticed you tend to be too hard on yourself sometimes.” She glanced up at him with the hint of a sheepish grin dancing on her lips.

Her expression said it all: that’s an understatement.

And this shocked him to his core, because she was absolutely right.

Just how well had she gotten to know him in their time spent together over the last few months? And how? And why?

The last question would always boggle him until the end of time; he would never understand why she was interested in him. Why was he the one she had feelings for, when she claimed she never had feelings for anybody? Though he supposed he could ask himself the same thing: why did he feel things for Y/N that he had never felt for anyone else in his life? And the answer was quite simple, really: because it was her.

He didn’t know what about himself was so special to make him stand out in her mind, and as a result he still couldn’t help but be skeptical, even after her confession. But it wasn’t like he had any choice in the matter on what to do with that skepticism—not when his heart kept leading him back to her.

At some point after her accurate description of the inner turmoil that’s been plaguing his mind, his mouth had fallen open slightly. He couldn’t hide the surprise from his face even if he tried; he was speechless.

Y/N gazed up at him, not seeming in any hurry to rush the conversation along, and for that he was grateful. He’d never met somebody so patient and understanding before—just another reason to make Jungkook’s heart flutter with endearment. And it was no secret to himself anymore that he yearned to be in Y/N’s presence for as long as possible whether he was aware of it or not.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know,” she continued as if she could read his mind, and that was when he realized the way his eyes avoided hers and the fact that his skin was the color of tomatoes must’ve been dead giveaways. “I meant it when I said that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Jungkook balked, practically choking on his spit at her forward, shameless words. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way she spoke her mind so openly without any fear holding her back. She’d gone through so much in her childhood, in her life—Jungkook not even knowing the half of it, he’s sure—and yet she was still so strong and brave and everything he wasn’t. He couldn’t help but admire the person she was today, despite all the prejudice and judgment he’d held for her when they first met.

He realized now that he was too quick to judge her, to write her off based on rumors and first impressions. He realized now that he was too quick to do that to a lot of people. Just how long had he closed himself off from others based on his skewed, morally righteous perspective? His whole life, if he had to say.

The epiphany that she was physically prying open his third eye with a crowbar, that he was now self aware and changing for the better for her—for himself—hit him all at once.

It was the most frightening sensation of his life, the introvert in him wanting to crawl back into his shell where it was safe and comfortable and dull. But deep down he knew it was also for the best.

“W-why?” He heard himself asking before he knew what he was doing. “Why do you keep saying that?”

He had to know why she insisted on standing by her statement that his mishap was not only hot, but the hottest ever. Why did she insist on lying to him, on giving him false hope? She spoke her mind in every other situation, or at least that’s what he assumed; why did she insist on sparing his feelings in this incident? Was he really that pathetic? Did she pity him that much?

She simply blinked at him once, twice, before: “Because I really like you, Jungkook.”

As if in slow motion, you could visibly see his eyes expand to the size of saucers at your words.

You would’ve found the sight comical had the situation been any different. But the way he continued to disbelieve that you could have feelings for him, that you could be attracted to everything about him despite who he was, despite his inexperience—it made your heart break in your chest. You now knew from where this inferiority complex stemmed—he’d told you himself about his family situation—and if anything, it made you want to rebuild his confidence that much more. He needed to see himself the way you saw him.

But you also didn’t want to overwhelm him, either. And you were more than willing to walk that fine line with Jungkook no matter how long it took.

“So are we on for a study sesh tonight?” You continued nonchalantly, wanting to return things to normalcy for him as much as possible before he ran away mid-conversation as he’d done so many times before. You wanted to ease his self-doubt so he’d stop avoiding you—like he’d been doing the past few days—as much as possible.

Jungkook blinked as if trying to adjust from the whiplash of your subject-change. “U–uh… if you want?”

“Of course I want to,” you replied without missing a beat, not caring how desperate you seemed so long as he didn’t question where you stood. You took a step forward, unable to help the intangible, magnetic draw you felt to him as you gazed up at him beneath your lashes. “That is… if you want to.”

You watched in agony as a gulp slowly raked its way down his throat.

“I–” his voice was hoarse before he cleared his throat. “I uh, can’t tonight. I have to study for math.”

You weren’t even sure how one studied for math, but you weren’t about to question the expert. “That’s fine! We could… do it tomorrow?”

Jungkook chewed at his bottom lip, an action he always did when he was internally struggling with something before he finally nodded his head yes in a slow, hesitant manner. “N–not in my room though,” he added as an afterthought, and when your gaze snapped to his he had a pleading expression in his eyes.

A mix of emotions rolled through you. On one hand, you were horrified at the possibility that he thought the only reason you wanted to study again was so that you could get in his pants. Which—okay, you’re not going to lie, you would love to have a repeat of last week—but that definitely wasn’t why you wanted to see him. He meant more to you than just a means to get off, which was what you’d thought of flings in the past. You didn’t want him to be just a fling, though.

You didn’t want to think of the meaning behind that fact right now, either.

But on another hand, you understood where Jungkook was coming from. Maybe it was because you’d studied him enough over the past few months to learn some of his behavior (for once you finally saw the appeal of studying), so you knew that level of intimacy was probably extremely overwhelming for Jungkook and he needed a moment to step back. Hell, it was even overwhelming for you, and that was saying something. Never had your senses, your heart, your body, your soul been attacked like that with such an abundance of emotional pleasure, and you hoped with all your might that Jungkook was feeling the same—that that was the reason he needed a breather from being alone with you, and not the fact that he just didn’t want to be intimate with you.

Unless…

Oh god, had you misread the situation entirely? Had Jungkook hated everything about that night?

Suddenly you were feeling sick to your stomach. The thought of you misunderstanding his confession—or worse, him changing his mind completely—made you want to escape to a dark and desolate stairwell and cry in the hidden nooks of the windowsill again; the irony that not only would you be pulling a Jungkook by escaping mid-conversation, but that the stairwell was also the place the two of you had your first real conversation, wasn’t lost on you.

“M–my roommate is staying in, studying for finals.” The sound of Jungkook’s voice was like a breath of fresh air whooshing into your lungs after almost drowning underwater. You blinked out of your inner turmoil, focusing on him. “So he’ll be there, i–in my room, this whole week.”

And suddenly your heart was warming with relief, hope, appreciation, like flowers blooming in the spring after a torrential downpour. Just when you thought you had him figured out, this enigma of a boy continued to surprise you. It was usually easy for you to hide your emotions—you’d been doing so for years, always wore a mask around others so that they couldn’t see the real you—and yet somehow, Jungkook must’ve sensed them anyway. He sensed the doubt, the pain, the fear that you vowed never to cage you crawling up your throat and threatening to consume you whole, and he eased it. He didn’t want you to misunderstand him. He wanted to reassure you.

If anything, that was just a testament to how Jungkook had broken down your walls—how much you had let him in, how well he was able to read the emotions you wanted to keep hidden. Your mask had begun to break, the real you showing through the cracks, and Jungkook was still standing here. He hadn’t run away.

You fought the urge to grab him and slam your lips onto his.

“Not in your room, then,” is all you managed to breathe out beneath a fluttering smile.

[javier-pena]

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna​ who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

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The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao​, @filthybookworm​, @frannyzooey​, @khalysa​, @leannawithacapitala​, @mothandpidgeon​, @mrsparknuts​, @mxsamwilson​, @piscespussybabe​, @something-tofightfor​

[butwhatifidothis]

Tumblr is starting to VERY MUCH dislike how long the other reblog chain is getting, so this will be Reblog Chain 2 of my jotting down notes of this fic. Here is the first reblog chain for Chapters 1-20

But it appears as though I was correct in sleeping off Chapter 20, because Chapter 21 is. Hm. bad. Very. Not good.

Chapter 21:

Transcript under the cut:

Chapter 21: It's Called Scars so it Gonna Be Ass

- To be blunt, the constant need to reaffirm that yes, Edelgard went through terrible experimentation and that yes, they were very horrific, is tiring. This is chapter 21. The experiments occurred in chapter 2. Every single chapter between now and then have, at some point, mentioned that INDEED, Edelgard DID in fact go through horrific trauma. It is tiring to the reader to constantly have to reread the same thing - we know it happened. We know it was terrible. There's no need to constantly say so; we already understand as readers.

- "Every time the spark of life broke through Byleth’s blank face, it brought a flickering hope to the Flame Emperor’s heart." ->

- Firstly: Awkward use of the Flame Emperor epithet (its usage is on and off with how appropriate its been - this is off).

- Secondly: Once again, Byleth's face was rarely if ever blank. She was never the Ashen Demon, as even the last chapter showcased. The author is mistaking reservation with emotionlessness, which is simply wrong

- "There had been so many empty days and nights, without friendship, love or joy. With nothing to hope for, except someday, the peace of the grave." -> Suicidal tendencies: another trait that Edelgard doesn't have... (strikes against canon: 89)

- ...but Dimitri does. Counter: 12

- "Dimitri, too, was troubled by the thought, grasping the side of his head and frowning. As the spasm passed, he turned to Edelgard and smiled warmly." -> It seems a little callous to so casually toss Dimitri's symptoms into his interactions with others when such things simply don't occur in the canon interactions. It's not impossible, or strictly against canon, but it does not feel natural; it's more as though the author is shining bright neon signs that say DIMITRI HAS MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES than a genuine attempt at writing Dimitri's mental health issues. This is not the first time this sort of seemingly thoughtless showcasing of symptoms has happened (Noted separately: Dimitri having drastic mood swings)

- "No, this world must be ruled by humans…not cruel gods who ignored the prayers of little girls." -> This statement follows Edelgard internally chastising the actions of not gods, but the Children of the Goddess. This is a weaselly attempt at dodging Edelgard's racist beliefs that Nabateans should not be allowed positions of power by shifting the belief to apply to miscellaneous gods instead. While not inaccurate per se - she does also canonically believe that gods should have no power in human affairs - it is not honest

- "Byleth nodded with childlike simplicity. “We should all try to get along.”" -> Again describing Byleth as childlike and/or innocent. Counter: 3

- For those curious: yes, the rat scene is implemented, yes it is sloppy, yes it is out of character for Claude - so much so that it is being noted separately - and yes it is forced to all hell

- What will be noted here, however, is that this is yet another instance of a man being demeaned/humiliated for the honor of a woman. See quote: "Byleth was on him in an instant, a tempest forming in the sea of her blue eyes. “That isn’t funny.” She crossed her arms sternly. “Jokes are about bringing people together...about making them smile. Right now, the only person laughing is you.”" with Claude reacting awkwardly. Once again, Man Bad Woman Good

- In a showcasing of a complete lack of self-awareness within the fic: "“Maybe if you’d have taught the Deer instead…but since you seem to have no ambitions outside of cleaning up Edelgard’s messes…”" -> This is Claude being portrayed as the bad guy, not the one being completely and utterly right

- " She slapped Edelgard on the back, and smiled heartily. “I agree, Dimitri!” Edelgard grimaced, trying to hide the fact her teacher had just struck the wound she had received during the mock battle." -> As well as where undoubtedly countless scars would be, yes? Scars that still cause Edelgard pain? In fact, Edelgard has been slapped on the back by Byleth and Jeralt numerous times before, and yet expresses no pain or discomfort.

- Another thing, that I had not noted though ought to have: Edelgard, a victim of sexual assault (in this fic), rarely seems to mind people touching her. She gets a little surprised if someone tries to get her attention with touch, yes, but Byleth's constant unprompted and random touching of Edelgard is never said to do anything but bring warmth and joy and comfort to Edelgard. It seems as though Edelgard suffering through sexual assault is just another source of trauma for the author to dump onto her for nothing more than pity points

- This is incredibly harsh to say, yes, and I would usually refrain from attributing such harshness onto a piece of text, but remember that Edelgard's scars only cause her pain when it's convenient, that she only experiences headaches when it's convenient, that she experiences PTSD episodes (when Claude mentions the rat) when it's convenient (note that in this fic he does it outside of battle, where her getting triggered wouldn't compromise her chances at victory). Edelgard not being touch averse and being a victim of sexual assault are not inherently something bad - survivors react to trauma differently, after all - but it is another in a steadily longer line of instances where Edelgard is simply given trauma for the sake of making her pitiable to the reader and the love interest, not something that Edelgard genuinely has to struggle with.

- "As Claude and Dimitri looked at their classmate expectantly, Edelgard was wracked with another bout of guilt. Deep in her soul, the princess knew these peaceful days would end soon. When that happened, no feast or vows of friendship could make up for the chaos and horror she would unleash. It would be better to pull away, close off her heart, rather than fuel the flames of her inevitable betrayal." -> Aka, "Feel bad for me, I feel guilty for planning to cause the death and ruination of countless innocents' lives all because I convinced myself that my way is the only way to get things done my way without ever actually trying to see if more peaceful ways could have worked. I'm going to orphan children, force families to fight each other, have the land be rampaged by banditry, and overall bring chaos onto these days that I ADMIT ARE PEACEFUL all because I feel that my way would be better. Wah wah pity me but I don't wanna be pitied I promise wah wah."

- "Byleth shrugged with a characteristic blend of innocence and spirit. “I guess I just like winning.” She began to blush and grabbed Edelgard’s hand. "It's so exciting! I’ve never had anyone other than Papa to celebrate with before!”" -> Byleth = innocent/childlike. Counter: 4

- The fic likes to reaffirm again and again that Byleth is "now" only acting like this due to Edelgard's presence in her life. Note also these statements written previously: "Every day, [Edelgard] was watching the person she loved grow and change. Become who she always was supposed to be." This, perhaps unintentionally, again enforces the "Lesbian Love is Pure and Innocent" trope; these wlw are only allowed to be their good girl, innocent selves - who they were always supposed to be - due to the pure lesbian love they have found with one another

- Count Bergliez didn't know of the experiments initially, but he eventually found out and did nothing to stop them, fleeing from a young and tortured El who was pleading for him to save her - Unnecessarily painting Count Bergliez as a spineless coward too afraid of Duke Aegir to save a child in pain

- Once again, a man fails to save a woman and further traumatizes her

- It should be noted that Bergliez is fearful not for his own life, but for that of his children, who were the ones Duke Aegir threatened. He, very similar to Ionius, cannot save Edelgard, except Bergliez (unlike Ionius) has a tangible, physical, explainable reason as to why he couldn't, and yet it is him who is painted as the bad guy, not Ionius. He is worthy of Edelgard's scorn and hatred, but Ionius only receives a begrudging feeling of betrayal from Edelgard that she feels guilty for harboring, even though he failed her far more than Bergliez failed her.

- "Daughters must always be loyal to their fathers" trope

- "No decent person thought the things Edelgard did. Just as her body had been twisted and shattered by the experiments, her mind bore terrible scars. Scars that the monster kept hidden, so she could walk in the world of men." -> Dehumanizing oneself as a monster as well as having violent thoughts (that specifically stem from trauma) one feels guilty for harboring are not traits Edelgard shows in canon... (strikes against canon, 90, 91)

- ...but Dimitri does. Counter: 13, 14

- "world of men?" Did the author perhaps mean "world of man," as in mankind? Keep note of

- The reason as to why Bergliez is said to have witnessed young El's tortured state and did nothing to help her is revealed: in canon, he dislikes her. It is blatantly and objectively said that he and Edelgard share a mutual displeasure in the other's company. What this fic had him do will be used as an excuse as to why he doesn't hate her, since no one is allowed to dislike Edelgard on the "good" side

- Edelgard, upon being asked if revenge is the reason she is doing what she's doing (reuniting Fodlan): "“No.” Edelgard put her hand to her chin thoughtfully. “I think for a long time, it was…but after a while, I realized that revenge wouldn’t satisfy me.” She looked at the blue sky above. “After you go through that much suffering…when you beg for help, day after day, and no one cares...you realize that nothing will ever truly make you feel safe again. The only thing I want is for this madness to end.”" -> This is internally inconsistent. See chapter 15 note: ""You know why they created me in the first place.” / “To reunite Fódlan,” spat Hubert. “It was all my father talked about.” / “And I will give it to them. "" This directly connects Edelgard's want to reunite Fodlan to the wants of her tormenters (as this states she is doing it out of spite). Note how Hubert spits at the idea of reuniting Fodlan, and how it was all his father - portrayed as a villain - talked about. This is not what this Edelgard wants, at least not of her own independent want. Earlier in this very chapter, Edelgard internally states a want to hurt Bergliez for leaving her behind. To say that she now no longer thinks vengeance would satisfy her, or that none of the reason that she is doing everything she does is out of a want for revenge, is ridiculous

- Edelgard to Bergliez, upon being asked what will happen to him and his family should Edelgard rise to power: "“All those who distinguish themselves will be rewarded. Given your history, I have little doubt you will be among them.” She nervously played with her white gloves. “All I ask is that when I seize back control of the throne, I can count on the military’s support.”" -> Yes, all who distinguish themselves to Edelgard, for Edelgard's cause, that Edelgard can see and/or know of. How likely is it that a poor farmer who is exceptional at fighting will actually be noticed by Edelgard and be given the credit he deserves, when others who may not be as meritable but do have some merit have the connections to show themselves directly in front of Edelgard? What means will Edelgard give the poor soldiers (that she or Byleth aren't already friends with, notably Dorothea and Leonie) that will allow them to be able to be seen by her and have their merits recognized? Edelgard is the one who says who gains power after all, so it is her they must prove themselves to, but how can they realistically do that?

- What about professions that are not immediately beneficial to Edelgard's cause, such as the arts? How will they fare in Edelgard's society, when their works and talents yield no tangible, objective results (such as, say, farming)?

- Something the fic will address?

- Edelgard does not nervously do anything in front of those she is trying to negotiate with in canon, not even Thales. Strikes against canon: 92

- "[Bergliez] could only laugh in response. “I think we’re going to get along rather well, my lady…and the other?”" -> Except Bergliez and Edelgard don't get along well, ever. Pre ts they are stated to dislike each other, which continues even onto post ts with Bergliez being the only noble Edelgard couldn't bring to heel. Strikes against canon: 93

- As predicted: No one is allowed to dislike Edelgard on the "good" side

- Literally forgot Hubert was with Edelgard and Bergliez lmao

- Ionius tried to consolidate power to be rid of the consort system due to his unending love for Anselma -> A ridiculous idea, plain and simple. Ionius was Emperor. If he wished to be rid of the consort system there was no need for him to try and take away all power from the other Imperial houses.

- If Ionius truly loved Anselma, why did he allow her to be exiled from the Empire? Why didn't he step in and use his influence as Emperor to help her?

- Edelgard, when she is Emperor - passed down a supposedly empty crown, at that - showcases the all-encompassing power the title of Emperor truly holds to one willing to use that power. That Ionius supposedly wanted to do all of these reforms and yet nothing at all was done, ever (save for ruining Houses Hrym and Ordelia, something even this fic has as canon), if Ionius did want to make these reforms, means that he was too spineless and cowardly to truly go through with trying to pass them. This again unintentionally showcases how awful a ruler and weak-willed a person Ionius was when he had power when trying to paint him in this righteous light.

- Lambert was stated to be trying to pass reforms before he died in canon, not Ionius. From parents to the children, the author is attributing traits from Lambert onto Ionius just as he (author's confirmed gender is male) attributes traits from Dimitri onto Edelgard

- " Her father and mother…she had thought their romance a fairy tale-a story from her father to make a motherless child feel valued. But…they truly had loved each other." -> Edelgard does believe Ionius when he told her of the story of when he and Anselma (supposedly) met each other. There is nothing to indicate that Edelgard thought it to be a lie: in fact, in canon: "But I choose to believe there was genuine love between them." Strikes against canon: 94

- It seems as though finally, after around 18 chapters, Edelgard's scars will finally cause her genuine inconvenience due to her complex about them as well as her trust issues. She has a gash on her back from the Battle of Eagle and Lion, but will not have it treated if Manuela isn't the healer, and yet the woman is occupied dealing with the rest of the students who were injured. How will this fic deal with this?

- Ingrid, referring to her and Sylvain: ""We just switched from Felix lecturing us all day to listening to Edelgard moralizing, didn’t we?"" -> The author is trying to compare a childhood friend whose friends have had years to get used to their barbed tongue to a stranger that directly insults the dreams of one of them. Something which Ingrid canonically hates having be done to her, even from Felix, a childhood friend. Once again, Ingrid being so casual about Edelgard being so disrespectful of her dreams is out of character. Strikes against canon: 95

- "Sylvain shook his head knowingly, ignoring Felix’s truly alarming scowl. “You should have seen his face, Edelgard. Dimitri would go on and on about this girl he met when he was a kid…and Felix would complain about her for hours!” He looked at Felix and smiled. “For all his whining about the “Boar,” nobody loves Dimitri more than him.”" -> Oh? A romantic gay male relationship presenting itself within the fic?

- Another vision of SS experienced by Edelgard. Word from a nameless guard: "The woman, Byleth, leading their forces... She’s not human! She killed half my battalion with one swing of that sword of hers. She didn’t speak, she didn’t shout, she didn’t even change her expression!” The panicked man was teetering on the edge of hysteria. “All those people rallying around her, and it’s like she doesn’t care at all. Like she's a walking corpse!"" -> Obviously saying that Byleth becomes the Ashen Demon if not allowed to be with Edelgard.

- Unintentional statement: Byleth can't be the pure innocent (lesbian) woman without Edelgard's (lesbian) love granting her purity, reverting her to a monstrous, corrupt demon incapable of humanity

- See chapter 20 note: "Implying that choosing SS - aka, choosing the Nabateans - makes Byleth less human. Intentional?" Confirmed to be intentional. Also false: in canon, even when accounting for CF's lesser chapter count, Byleth emotes far more on SS than on CF, which matches with CF having Edelgard call Byleth detached in their A support. Strikes against canon: 96

- The same nameless soldier, same context: "And those Faerghus kids…” / Edelgard leaned forward in her chair. “Ingrid…Sylvain…what of them?” / “They…they were animals. Screaming and ranting about revenge for the King.” -> Is the author really demonizing Sylvain and Ingrid for (potentially!) being mad at Edelgard for murdering one of their childhood friends? Is that really the depths the Edelgard worship will sink to, that friends becoming enraged at a friend's unjust murder from a warlord is being portrayed as something sad for the warlord? Just what else should Edelgard be pitied for?

- "The scared girl desperately tried to drown out the thoughts that reverberated incessantly. / They’re going to despise us…it’s destiny. And how could they not? If we were truly good, the Goddess would have saved us…protected us. But She didn’t. The Goddess took Mother. She took our family. And soon, She’ll take everything else we love. She hates us. / It’s what we deserve." - Now confirmed that Edelgard hears multiple voices in her head tormenting her. That trait that, once again, Edelgard does not have... (Strikes against canon: 97)

- ...but Dimitri does. This is the third time this chapter that this has happened, and far from the only chapter to display such baffling characterization of Edelgard via Dimitri's traits. It is nonsensical.

- " Why had [Edelgard] even been born at all? Nonexistence would have been preferable to watching every faint dream be dashed, to suffering alone over and over. She was just…so tired of being alive." -> Once. Again. Suicidal tendencies/thoughts is not a trait Edelgard shows in canon... (Strikes against canon: 98)

- ...but Dimitri does. The fourth! The fourth time in one chapter the author desperately wanted to just write Dimitri!

- If the fic wanted to take Edelgard in a different direction than canon does and has her display some of these traits, it would be more passable, but this fic is under the delusion that it is in any way following canon closely, especially in regards to Edelgard, and so this can only be seen as a desperate attempt from the author to have Edelgard be sympathetic by donning the skin of an actually sympathetic character such as Dimitri

- "Edelgard looked at herself in the mirror. The back of her academy uniform was stained red, the rhythmic, soft dripping of blood assaulting the princess’ ears." -> And no one commented on this? No one was worried? Not Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix, who were sitting right by her? Not Lysithea, who saw her take the blow to her back and never get it healed? Not Dimitri, who delivered the blow? It just so happened that literally no one at all noticed this?

- Byleth literally slapped Edelgard on the back earlier? Wouldn't her hand come back red with blood if it were seeping through the uniform?

** The scene that follows the previous note is too long to quote, despite how truly terrible it is. Long quotes, even extremely long quotes, have been presented in these notes before, but the length this quotation would be if the full extent of it were written here would be a mess, and quite frankly, at that point it would do one better to simply go to the fanfiction itself and read the text from there. With the context received from these notes, if one wishes to see the words for themselves, go to chapter 21 of The Emperor and the Goddess, enter Ctrl + F (or Find in Page on mobile devices), and enter the phrase "Byleth crossed her arms, clearly frustrated" verbatim. The following note will not be quoting the entire scene from the fic (merely summarizing it), though context is needed to understand how truly bad the scene is. **

- To have hope in this fic performing anything correctly is proving to be a fool's dream, for it has yet to do anything right; that includes the aforementioned gash upon Edelgard's back. As stated, it did not draw the attention of those who were sitting around her nor did it draw the attention of the one who witnessed the injury itself, nor of the one who delivered the injury itself, so no one commented on the gaping, bleeding wound Edelgard was "hiding" from everyone as she turned her (bleeding) back to them and left for the baths to clean up (it must be heavily stressed: immediately after leaving it is revealed that the blood is seeping through her uniform). As she was washing - naked, of course - Byleth just so happened to step into the baths with only a towel wrapped around her "for modesty," much to the horror of Edelgard, for she does not want Byleth seeing her scarred body. A slight argument arises between the two over Edelgard getting her injuries checked, before Byleth warns Edelgard that she will go to Rhea and force her to go to the infirmary should Edelgard continue to refuse treatment, which drives Edelgard past the brink. She raises her arms from the bathwater and presents her scars (""Fine!... If you want to see so badly, here!""), to the horror of Byleth ("Byleth Eisner was not a woman given to strong emotional reactions, but she staggered back, hands over her mouth."). Edelgard cries in hysteria, fear of her beloved teacher running away in disgust over her ugly, mutilated body overwhelming her. But Byleth, childlike in her innocence, shared that she too is scarred in strange ways, and that she too is scared of failing those around her - that she has no ambitions save to help and protect those around her. Byleth reveals that it is Edelgard whom Byleth looks up to for always being so strong and always moving forward, and shows that without Edelgard Byleth wouldn't know how to handle the pressure everyone else puts on her. The exchange ends with Byleth reassuring Edelgard that she is beautiful and not the monster she thinks she is.

- There is no nice way of putting this: this is a classic example of how not to write someone opening up to another about something. Edelgard views herself as weak, ugly, repulsive, a monster, shameful, but it is Byleth's love and affection that gives her comfort and warmth, that gives her hope of something more. It forces Byleth to behave wildly out of character (the author can try to excuse this with "well she wouldn't normally behave like this!" all he wants, it doesn't matter when it goes against the base, canonical Byleth. Strikes against canon: 99) in order for Edelgard's scarred body to be seen as something that is repulsive, that is ugly, that is stained, so much so that the pure, childlike, innocent Byleth couldn't stand to see something so tainted. And yet it is that same pure, childlike, innocent Byleth's pure, innocent, childlike love that pushes away the pain of Edelgard's scars for just that moment. Other characters become suddenly blind and/or forgetful of Edelgard's obvious, bleeding wound so that it is Byleth who can be the one to save Edelgard with her pure, innocent, childlike presence and her pure, innocent, childlike uncertainty about her own insecurities (but only when it is convenient for Edelgard, as even Byleth didn't noticed the gaping, bleeding wound until she was alone with Edelgard where no one could interrupt their bonding moment). This scene is inorganic and forced, ham-fisting Edelgard and Byleth in the same room - the wash room, where both are either naked or nearly naked - so that Byleth is the one to find Edelgard, no one else. No one was worried enough about the sudden exit Edelgard took from the conversation she was having to follow her and make sure she was alright, and Byleth just so happened to enter the baths right after Edelgard. The scene is, to be frank, insulting.

- There have been a couple of joking references to a book titled Stones to Abigail in these notes, but in all seriousness, this scene plays unsettlingly similar to a scene in said book, where a scarred girl who is naked reveals her "ugly" and "revolting" scarred body to the love interest, who goes on to soothe and comfort the naked girl as best they can. The resemblance is uncanny

- Byleth described as childlike/innocent. Counter: 5

- Edelgard, in canon, never expresses feeling herself to be ugly, or repulsive, or a monster. Strikes against canon: 100

- Again, Edelgard's scars are only important when they are convenient - this time, in helping develop the romantic relationship between her and Byleth

- There are ways in which scars can be utilized without being problematic, but certainly not when this much focus is placed on them and yet they are only truly present when they cannot hinder Edelgard.

- Perhaps particularly insulting is this phrase from Edelgard: "Did she actually love Byleth at all, or just being saved by her?" Yes, Edelgard, you do simply want to be saved by Byleth, because that is precisely what the narrative has been drilling into the reader's heads ever since Byleth showed herself. Byleth is Edelgard's light, Byleth is Edelgard's hope, Byleth gives Edelgard back her humanity, Byleth is Edelgard's one source of joy, Byleth is Edelgard's entire life, and nothing, absolutely nothing in this fic has shown this to ever be a bad thing. This dependence on Byleth to bring Edelgard joy at the near complete expense of everyone else has been propped up as something romantic, and yet it's now, 21 chapters and over 85K+ words in, that we're supposed to believe that this was actually Edelgard being unhealthy? Even though the author himself said that this was what he enjoyed about their relationship, how much they found each other in each other? Even though we see what the author thinks would happen to the two of them should they separate - Edelgard, lonely and afraid without her beloved teach, and Byleth, the Ashen Demon who cares for nothing without her beloved student - in her visions of SS? This is a joke

- It cannot be overstated that Byleth came to the bathhouses completely independently of Edelgard. She did not come to specifically see her because she followed her out of worry for Edelgard due to her injury - she only knows that Edelgard's injured in the first place due to seeing bloody bandages that Edelgard removed in the bathhouse, before Byleth arrived.

- Author's notes: "On Bergliez, we find out very little in-game, but he 1) offers himself for execution so his men can go free in SS and 2) seems to be actually competent at his job. I thought a nuanced portrayal was more interesting, since I've been writing Aegir as the absolute worst person in the world." -> Note: this is what the author believes to be a nuanced take on someone. Someone who likes Edelgard entirely and does nearly whatever they can to help her, but they did one thing that's morally gray (leaving a child behind to save his own children from the same fate) that is portrayed as objectively bad, so now they are nuanced. While perhaps this sort of character would be truly nuanced in better hands, as it is with his actions being portrayed as something that is obviously so completely and utterly wrong and him someone who deserves complete and utter condemnation - and yet Ionius, who does far worse for far less understandable reasons, gets a comparative slap on the wrist - it causes confusion as to Edelgard's lines. Bergliez seeing her the one time and never helping her is enough for her to want to hurt him as she was hurt, but her father repeatedly coming to and "being forced" to watch her actively be tortured and doing nothing does little to invoke similar depths of resentment? Even granting the idea that "she gives more slack to her father," Ionius is objectively and far worse than Bergliez, down to doing hard things to protect their children, and yet it is only Bergliez who is shined in this unpleasant a light

- To be clear, Bergliez's decision was not a good one, but understandable. It is a gray decision to make. But notice how he is called "gray" and "nuanced" and yet Ionius is nearly completely innocent, as described by the author himself, despite their being no given explaination as to why "he was a figurehead" should be a good enough reason to wash him literally standing there and watching as his children - some of whom aren't even teens yet - get slowly tortured and killed.

- "There are many localization changes I understand (Byleth wanting to get drunk after the battle is one of them), but Treehouse's decision to remove Ionius' entire reason for power centralization (eliminating the consorts) was a big, big mistake." -> Given the history of this author's grasp on the Japanese language, this needs to be checked, as he cannot be trusted as a source as to whether this is true

******* Notes of Claude mischaracterization: Chapter 21, section 1, paragraphs 1, 21 & 23, 27 *******