#having humans reach out to him despite all of it

[crepezinhos]

I have to say I really fell in love on your writting. I just discovered you by the Check mate(? Fic and oh- i can't read any other fics now... I beg you to keep writting new ideas or continue your stories (I really would like to see another part of 'Purity' just if it's possible). Thank you for feeding us well ☺️✨️🎀

Innocent Lesson

(REQUEST #7) POV: At one point in Scaramouche’s life, when he was still an absurdly innocent creature, completely unaware of how humans worked, he learned what was sex and how to do it with someone. How was that moment like for poor, little Kabukimono that didn’t even know how to pick something with his hands?

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a NSFW piece

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Kabukimono has no sexual knowledge at all but this does not mean I’m trying to make him 'more childish' in any way.

— Sub!Virgin!Scara

“Y/N-sama…” You heard the puppet call you from behind in a particular low, embarrassed voice tone.

Kabukimono, or Kabuki-kun just for you, was a hard thing to explain. He was a puppet prototype that was abandoned in the Shakkei Pavillion that really resembled normal male human being. It was still pretty obvious that he wasn’t really one since he was so incredibly stupid and unaware of the world around him worked, to a point where he didn’t know how to swallow water, although he really tries to be associated with one. This weird behavior of him made most men in the furnace where you work naturally reach into the conclusion that you should be the one responsible for him just because you were the only ‘mother figure’ that he could have in the place for being the only woman there. Eventually you two became friends rather than family and he started living with you in your apartment, which helped you quickly learn the pattern of his obvious behaviors.

That specific voice tone usually meant that he had an embarrassing question to ask you. You were used to them, although they could be troubling to answer sometimes. Like, how are you supposed to teach him the concept of breathing to him and why do humans do it? At least, the intelligence of his questions would improve the more he learned about the world around him, so you were never once annoyed by these questions.

“Yes?” You answered as you turned around to look at him and stopped folding some clothes that had just finished drying in your house on top of your bed.

“I… I have a question…” He initiated as expected, but didn’t have a lot of courage to continue. “Do you promise to not make fun of me like the other miners did?” He asked in pure need of reassurance, his cheeks going pink as he rubbed his hands together in the corner of the room’s door.

“Yeah! What is it?” You asked excited, putting your hands in your knees to make sure he knew you were paying attention to him.

But he didn’t say anything back to you. Kabukimono actually seemed to be really troubled to get his words out of his mouth despite your approval. It was written all over his face that he was embarrassed about it, which made you decide to simply wait for him.

And while biting his own inferior lip and avoiding eye contact, he finally breathed in and out and used a hand and his eyes to point right at something in you.

“What are those..?” He asked, and your eyes instinctually followed where his finger was pointing at, only to realize he was shamelessly pointing at the trough of your breasts.

“Oh..!” You reacted, a little taken aback, but still willing to answer his question as you used your own hands to point at your breasts too. “These..?” You asked, holding back a giggle in the back of your throat.

“Y-Yes… those two… things…” He finally found courage to refer to your breasts with an actual name.

You couldn’t help but break your little promise to him, using a hand to cover your giggling mouth.

“H-Hey! You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” He instantly protested at your laughter.

“Sorry, sorry…” You quickly swallowed all the remaining giggles down your throat as and moved your hands back to your breasts. “You really mean these?” You groped both your breasts softly, genuinely trying to understand him.

“Yes… those... the other forgers call them b-… boogs..?” He made another question, but his own little knowledge made him get too embarrassed to make eye contact with you or your breasts again, almost fully hiding his body behind the wall.

“They’re called boobs, but you can also call them breasts, honkers… whatever you like! The forgers can easily tell you all the possible names for these if you ask them…” You explained with a smile, trying to get him more comfortable with his own curiosity.

“W-Why do they have so many names..? And why don’t I have them?!” He asked, exposing his full face out of the corner of the door and beginning to get inside the room. His curiosity was too much for him to keep hiding himself.

“Because only girls have them! They are made to feed babies when they’re still too young.” You continued your explanation, making Kabuki’s eyes open more and more the more information you revealed to him, and also making his slow walk towards you more confidently.

“Feed babies..? B-But how?” He asked, kneeing right in front of you, his face already leaning the closest it could to your breasts as if he was trying to figure out how they looked like.

You gently grabbed his chin and pulled it upwards so he could stare at you instead of your breasts. Although you knew there was no bad intentions inside that empty head of his, you still didn’t feel comfortable with a male creature that close to them, especially one that was almost like a male human being. At least he didn’t mind your command and allowed his head to rise until his eyes met yours again.

“You know how babies need to drink a lot of milk when they’re still newborns? To make that an easier task to do, the female body produces and stores a good amount of milk inside them on their own for when they have babies, so that’s why they are this big! Uh… do you know what a nipple is?” You asked a little embarrassed, after all the topic of the conversation was really weird, but at least a Kabukimono was hearing your words very attentively and respectfully and nodded very excited for more. “Yeah, so, the babies get that milk by sucking it out of them with their mouths! Makes sense, doesn’t it?” You explained it all, a little proud of your own basic knowledge about your own kind of body, using a few hand gestures to emphasize the core parts of your explanation.

“Oh, wow… I thought babies had to drink milk from cows… but what if you don’t ever have a baby..?” He rose his upper body back to normal, a little worried at that piece that seemed out of the place in that newest puzzle you were giving to him as he fidgeted his own hands again.

“Well… they’ll just forever exist in my body then!” You giggled at the silliness of your own answer.

“Hm…” He looked away for a second, trying to piece all that new information together in is head. “And how do they look..?” That question made your eyes widen a little.

Did he really just ask you to show your boobs to him?

Poor Kabukimono… he was so unaware of the absurdity of what he just said... Not because you found it rude or wrong, but because you two were never intimate in that way. You never even thought about being more than friends with the boy.

“Oh, c’mon, show them to me! It can’t be bad anyway!”

A tie formed in your throat. Although his goofy grin reassured you that he really wasn’t a pervert, you couldn’t help but make you remember some unpleasant flashbacks. Being the only woman working in the furnace has its many bad sides, and one of the mains ones includes the forgers themselves. All the people working in the furnace made the sacrifice of leaving the town of Inazuma, where most people and the Archon resides, and probably their families too, just to work on the mines. To make things worse, Tatarasuna is a completely distant island with no other civilization rather than those mines, so everyone in there is unfortunately very far from any other kind of people in Inazuma. That means you are literally the only woman in the area that those men see, which also means they all look up to you when hormones starts acting up on them.

A guy asking you out for a ‘drink’ was a daily thing to you now, and most of these really just had the intentions of having a night of sex with you. Most of the times you rejected them. Only a few ones got a ‘yes’ out of you, but that would usually end up in other men asking you why did you reject them or praising the man for sleeping with you it while you got no sort of celebration and even insulted for being ‘easy to fuck’. These many disappointments led you to stop hanging out with the men in there and even start viewing them negatively in that sexual way, locking all those needs that you had in a deep corner of your heart that are only released when you use your fingers to pleasure yourself.

But for some reason, you don’t feel that nervous and repulsive with Kabukimono asking that at all, who was probably the man that had done the most absurd request to you yet. Actually, you always viewed him as a friend or a miracle that happened to fall right in your arms, so you never thought of him like a lover, or someone that could see you naked in the first place.

But why thinking about him as one of those now doesn’t make you even slightly uncomfortable?

“You wanna see how they look under my clothes?” Your smile died off a little as you still decided what you should do with the puppet boy.

“Yes! Can I?” He asked like a little kid would, which made your smile grow some extra inches again.

Kabukimono really wasn’t a bad man, was he? He simply wants to know what’s under your shirt, is that so wrong to ask for? Why would you ever say no to such a good-intended angel?

“Sure…” Your hands gently reached down to the tie of your kimono, located in your waist.

Since you were about to sleep, you weren’t wearing any sort of underwear, which meant that you had to was open the ends of the kimono and let it fall in the ground naturally. And as soon as the chilly breeze of Inazuma was hitting your warmed breasts again, Kabukimono’s pearly eyes shone with that newest view like he was miring at diamonds.

“W… wow…” You heard him mumble to himself as his face got some inches closer to them again as if he had completely forgotten of the fact you had already given him limits. His mouth dropped like he would begin drooling at any point from now on.

But now you didn’t really mind that extreme closure between you two now, did you?

“They look… weird.” You've never been so easily turned off with a single comment as this one.

You did mind it, yeah.

His curious expression also died a little, now looking neutral and unbothered, not even a little bit ashamed in expressing his honesty towards what he thought of your boobs, which made you instantly back away and pull your kimono up again until your nipples were fully covered from him. He went back to a confused state, but before he could say anything, you stood up for yourself.

“Don’t say that, Kabuki. That’s a very, very wrong thing to say to a lady.” You scolded him, which made him instantly cover his mouth in regret of what he had done.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad!” He immediately apologized, leaning his hands up just to shake them side to side, trying to get you to forgive him as quick as possible.

You couldn’t help but let a little grin reshape the lips of your mouth again. He was really just a little dumber than an average human being, wasn't he? If you taught him the right thing to do and say, he would do it for the rest of his life, would he?

“Don’t you ever insult a woman’s body like that again, you understand? This is something very difficult for me to do, so be grateful for the opportunity I’m giving you, ok?” You let go one of your hands from the kimono, still holding it up with the other, just to flick his forehead with your middle finger’s nail.

“Y-Yes, of course! I don’t find your boobs weird, Y/N-sama! T-They're really pretty!” Kabukimono smacked both his hands in the floor and bowed his entire body to you while shaking his head, agreeing with the newest rule you gave him.

“There's no need to bow, Kabuki... now come here again.” You whispered close to the boy's ears, which made him slowly rise his whole body again until it was in the same angle as yours.

The hand you left holding your kimono was taken away from its place, letting him mire the view of your breasts once again. A silence took over the room, one that wasn't embarrassing to him, but surely was to you. Kabukimono would simply stare at your boobs from different angles, trying to understand their entirety with a goofy curious facial expression, while you did nothing, which pressured you to break the ice.

“Do you… want to fondle them?” You asked fighting your own embarrassment, but also getting a little sparked up with the situation you were willing to put the both of you in.

It would be hard to convince someone so innocent like him to do something so out of his level of comprehension and teach him step-by-step about it... but you couldn't deny your own growing curiosity about his body deep down in your heart. You still remembered the sensation of touching Kabukimono's hands in his first days in the mine. They were incredibly soft, like you were touching a slightly hard pillow, but unfortunately some of its perfection was ruined due to the manual work he had to do in the mines, hammering swords, ores, carrying boxes... but he had to do it if he wanted to have a bed to sleep on, or food in his plate, so you coudln’t blame him.

How would those soft hands feel like while massaging your breasts they enjoyed to be massaged?

“F-Fondle them..?” He asked, raising his eyes up to stare at you, looking visibly confused. “Why?”

“Don’t you want to know how they feel?” You asked, fondling your left boob softly on your own in his front to give him a short preview of what you were talking about.

“I-I… yes, but… I don’t know how to do it, Y/N-sama…” He argued pessimistically, bonding his two hands again to fidget them in anxiety.

“There’s not really a right way to do it, Kabuki-kun, just do what comes to your mind... or what comes to my mind.” You replied more optimistically, reaching both your hands to separate his own hands, and starting to pull them slowly in direction of your needy boobs.

His entire body froze at your initiative, shivers running down his spine, blood running to his cheeks and his breathing even locking itself on his thorat just to process your actions, although he didn’t even need to do that according to himself. But that didn't stop his fingers from spreading all open to be able to have them placed where you wished them to be placed at.

And the deed was done. Kabukimono's pillow-like palms were now oficially holding both your boobs with yours on top of his to control his first, initial moments of that interaction you were introducing him to.

While he didn’t find courage to move his hands, he did have the strength to mumble some syllables every now and then, completely melted by your actions.

“Don’t worry, Kabuki-kun…” Your knees hopped closer his body, leaning your head close to his ear again. “Just close your eyes and move your hands around as you wish to... I'll help you if you wish me to.” Your flirty voice made his ears twitch in growing arousal.

The same growing arousal that managed to overcome his embarrasment as you saw the puppet gulp all the saliva resting in his mouth and close his eyes shut, relaxing his hands to let them be controlled by yours.

The first thing you did was to tighten your grip on his hands, forcing him to do the same to your boobs, which made your throat hum in pleasure of feeling such softness massaging your boobs after so many months untouched by a man. You hated the other men's hands felt against them. Hard palms who were usually stained by the black ink of coal, completely mistreated nails and calluses everywhere, playing with your boobs the way they liked it and completely obnoxious to your needs, sometimes even causing you to experience pain when they groped on them. Kabukimono's hands were soft and completely submissive to your command, so they were pleasuring you fully. You doubted that those hands, so perfectly architectured and crafted, could be ever as damaged as the other men's.

“Wow…” He hummed very lowly, still froze in his place as you stared at his dolly face.

And although he wasn't really moving, you could his fingertips slowly getting more and more relaxed by the seconds, mostly stoning them in an angle where he was grpping on your breasts by his own without the assistance of your hands. You even saw him smoothly breathe out all that air he had kept his lungs all this long, which seemed like an achievement to you.

As expected, the experience was becoming pleasing to him. Even if he wasn't human, what kind of creature does not enjoy groping boobs? They're soft and fluffy, no matter how big or small they are. You'd never tell any man this little secret, but even women grope their own boobs when they feel like it, so why wouldn't he want it too? The question didn't matter to you anymore because his hands, who were previously repulsive to your boobs, now finally have tightened their grip on you without your assistance, alongside with his eyes, who slowly opened to meet what he hadn't revealed to himself yet.

You couldn't help but let out a slutty hum, thirsting for more of that individuality of Kabukimono.

And he didn't disappoint your hunger, since it seemed he had found the courage to start a slow rhythm of rotating your boobs all around in a circle as he occasionally pressed them with his fingers too, even causing your inner walls to clench around nothing a few times. His cheeks were still shining in red, matching his shiny violet eyes, but they had definitely lost a bunch of pigmentation as he got used to the feeling.

You grinned and relaxed your hands on top of his', enjoying both sides of his hands working on you. The sexual tension had become heavy to you by the seconds, but Kabukimono didn't really look sparked in that way, like all that went through his mind was really just curiosity in the female body. After all, the next thing he said to you wasn't arousing in any way.

“W-What happened to your nipples?” He asked, moving both his and your index and middle fingers away from each other to take a better look at your nipples.

“Oh..." You went quiet for some seconds, looking down upon your boobs, only to find them looking normal, with the exception of your them being hard. "They just got hard…” You explained, a little turned off and scratching the back of your head.

“Hard..? Why..?” The grip of his hands softened, his attention already focusing in the next explanation you were going to give him.

“Well, as I explained, I need to have a way to feed a baby with the milk inside me, so think of this as a sink turning on..!” You suggested, a little more enthusiastic. “Although any kind of touch can easily make them hard...” You argued back at your own explanation.

“Wow… it’s rally a whole system…” He commented while pressing your boobs once again, which made you nod in surprise of the way he connected the ideas pretty quickly without you having to go word by word about it.

“That's right, just like the entire human body! Wanna try one?” You said, gently pinching your own nipple to show him a preview of what he had to do again.

But unlike your expectations, he didn't feel really embarrassed at all anymore as you saw him nodding for a quick moment and then slowly changing the way his hand was positioned to perfectly pinch both your nipples at the same time, causing a whole heat wave to run through your body.

You couldn’t help but genuinelty let a moan escape your lips and clamp your inner walls together again, trying to hold your will to touch yourself as he teased your boobs. It called Kabukimono's attention for a second but he decided to ignore it, thinking it was a sign to keep going. So, one of his hands decided to convert back to its fondling form, trying to do both things he had just learned at the same time. It was really causing your body to heat up in a way you weren’t expecting it to, in need for the next level of that kind of interaction, and he would simply keep fueling it cluelessly. His eyes would constantly focus on each boob and his hands would switch turns between pinching a nipple and fondling the whole organ, which was an addicting feeling for you, such an untouched woman.

You couldn’t even believe that was really Kabukimono making you feel pleasure, and that much of it too. It didn’t match his personality at all, and that’s also something he also came up to realize.

“Y/N-sama… why am I learning this..?” He suddenly asked, stopping his rhythm on you which also cut off the production of pleasure in your body.

You didn’t know how to answer that question. Was Kabukimono ready to learn how humans make babies in the first place to feed with your boobs? Was he ready to practice it too? Could he get you pregnant..? He was such an innocent boy, vulnerable to any corruption… but you could help him mature in a way it wouldn’t traumatize him. As long as you treat the topic nicely and let him decide whether he wants it or not, it wouldn’t be that much for the boy to take, would it? It could also make him have more pleasure in living as a whole.

Wait... does he even have a dick? Even if he did, is he able to feel pleasure? You didn’t see or feel him feeling sexual during this whole time. Maybe he’s really immune or tolerant to it... or he hasn’t felt it yet.

“Kabuki-kun… do you have anything between your legs?” You asked, purposefully avoiding his question.

“Between my legs..?” He rubbed his own legs against each other gently for a quick moment. “Yeah… yes, I do.” He said, not understanding why you changed topic, but taking his hands off your breasts for the moment.

“May I see what’s between them?” You grinned and leaned a little closer to the puppet’s embarrassed face, trying to make him comfortable onto saying ‘yes’ to you.

“I—… yes, but you didn’t answer my question…” He answered, purposefully closing the gap between his legs shut to get you to talk to him first.

“Well… Kabuki-kun, boobs aren’t only made to feed babies… do you even know how babies are made in the first place?” You stopped your line of thinking just to know if he was really that innocent, which he nodded his head side-to-side. “Well then, I think it’s really important for you to learn about this system of the human body, Kabuki-kun. Boobs are also made to make me… feel good.” His head angled to the left a little, not understanding what you meant by that last sentence.

“Feel good..?” His voice sounded confused once again, back to step one.

“Yes, and whatever us between your legs can probably make you feel good too, that’s why..!” You reassured the boy, gently patting the top of his purple head, but he didn’t really seem to be interested in your words, which made your anticipation truly die. “I just… wanted to teach you something about human beings that can do two things at the same time for us… it’s okay if you don’t want it, I understand.” You finally begun backing away from the puppet.

What were you thinking? How could you forget he isn’t really a human being in the first place? He’s a puppet, one that assimilates a human being, but who doesn’t act like one. He’s still too ‘young’ and naive to learn such a delicate thing… nor would he ever pleasure on it like you did. What kind of puppeteer would ever give any puppet a sexual organ? It would be cruel to teach him something for only your benefit when he didn’t view it like that too. It’d be better to let him have his first time with a woman he actually appreciates, not with the only one he knows yet.

You started tying your kimono back to normal very disappointed at yourself while Kabukimono simply stared. You couldn’t even tell what was he thinking behind that head… how’d you think that brainless man would be able to take all the information sex needs to be done accurately?

“W-Wait… what is it that you want to teach me..?” One of his hands launched forward to hold one of your wrists gently, trying to stop you from completely dressing up again.

Your face frowned, a little uncomfortable to talk about the topic now, but not enough to actually not give him the answer.

“…It’s called sex.” You initiated, but tried to wait for him to recognize the term, although you were pretty sure he wouldn’t-

“I’ve heard that name before!” He smiled at you very excited as he indeed recognized that term.

“You… did..?” You were a little shocked, you must say. The way he has been internally repulsing sexual interaction didn’t match the fact he knew the word ‘sex’ at all...

... Oh, yeah, the forgers.

“Y-Yeah! The forgers talk about that sometimes but they always make sure I don’t hear or understand what they’re talking about! I’ve even heard your name in those conversations sometimes!” He got so excited as he explained what he knew, completely clueless of the trigger he had just pulled on you.

“O-Oh… that’s… good..?!” It took you a while to properly react to that information in a way where he wouldn’t lose that motivation.

“What is that?! I’ve been wanting to learn what that was for a while now… but the miners always told me to wait for 5 years to learn about it, and we’re still on month 6 on year 1! Should I really wait for it or can you tell me what it is?!” You sighed.

Those stupid men… gatekeeping anything they find too ‘inappropriate’ for Kabukimono… and for five years..?!

“Well, Kabuki… I guess you can learn about it...” You breathed in and out, preparing yourself to teach him something partially hard to take in while his face remained excited like a little kid’s. “So... Kabuki-kun, when two people really like each other, they make this act called sex, but in better words, they make love to each other. It shows to them how much they like each other and how intimate they wish to be with each other.” You initiated, blood beginning to run to your cheeks again as you thought of you and Kabukimono possibly making love to each other too. “And sex is… something that makes the both of them feel really good and that can also make a baby, that’s some people call it ‘making love’.” You scratched the back of your neck.

“So… if that happens between two people that like each other, does it mean we can do it too? I mean... I think you were feeling pretty good when I was fondling your breasts so it means we can make it too, right?” Your eyes widened a little. He had no notion of what he had just asked for, did he?

“Well… yeah, but I don’t think you’re apt to do it, Kabuki… it’s not easy at all and you didn’t really seem a bit interested in it before, so I don’t want to make this any more uncomfortable or awkward to you.” You wasted the opportunity he had given you.

“B-But I want to learn! I want to know more about humans! I don’t mind making you feel good at all, I was just a little lost back there! Your boobs feel really nice to touch!” He suddenly banged his hands in the floor again and hopped closer to you, not allowing you to back away from him at all.

Oh, you were so confused… yeah, you had created all this mess but you’ve only realized it was really a mess now. All thanks to your bipolarity...

“Well… we can try but I don’t know if I’m in the mood anymore…” You giggled nervously, trying your best to not make the moment more awkward.

“W-Wait! Here!” He suddenly backed away from you only to quickly undo the simple tie in his white pants and pull his organ out of it with a hand. “This is what you wanted to see if I had, isn’t it?! The forgers already made me that question too!” Your jaw dropped at his move. It wasn’t comfortable in any way to have a man pulling out his dick when you have already stated you weren’t in the mood to do it, nor when it was a puppet labeled as a male human being.

But, indeed, Kabukimono really hadn’t answered your question wrong. He did have a dick...

... and he wasn't small.

It even made you stop your thoughts to think about why would he ever have one. Is his creator a creep? Was this some sort of irony his creator did because they knew they were going to abandon him and that would most likely lead him to death? Well, there’s also the factor he wants to be associated with the human race, and one of the many aspects of humanity are these intimate parts and what they bring humans to feel, so it would make sense for him to have one for this mission or if his creator really wanted to abandon him.

Yeah, that’s probably it. Anyway, this man has a big dick and he stated he wants to learn about sex with you. What are you waiting for?

“O-Oh!” You stared at his furless genital for a moment. “Well then… can I touch it, Kabuki?” You hopped a little closer to him, making his eyes look away from yours in slight embarrassment.

“Y-Yes... but be careful..!" He let go of his grip in his dick and relaxed both his hands behind his body in the floor, opening his entire body for you to touch.

You slowly crawled closer to his body, your eyes deeply focused in his growing erection. After kneeing the closest you could to his hips, your right hand finally reached his organ, which made it twitch and made him whimper immediately. It was not only the first time you had ever touched him like that, but it was also the first time you heard such kind of noise coming out of him. It was probably his first time being touched like that too, so it would be expected for him to be very sensible. Your hand was quick to begin a slow rhythm of going up and down all around it, which surprised him since he’d been so slow and careful with you and the fact he was being introduced to so much pleasure in such a short time. Which means that soon enough, his noises became something constant rather than rare, but at least his body was becoming more relaxed and turned on with your movements. His cheeks had become red again and he decided to put a hand in front of his mouth to cover his moans.

“Does that feel good, Kabuki?” You asked, smiling at his whiny face and pearly eyes, like he was about to tear with the amounts of pleasure you gave him.

“I-Is this… supposed to make me feel like this..?” He looked up to you again while groaning in his own palm.

“Yes, indeed… that’s what I call it ‘feeling good’ and ‘making love’, but it’s also known as ‘sexual pleasure’.” You blinked at him, whose face just blushed more.

“I-I… I want to make you feel this good too.” He stated before suddenly jumping his body upwards and placing his hands on your boobs, already beginning a rhythm of fondling them to match yours.

You couldn’t deny you were surprised at the move, moaning in a high-pitched tone while your walls clamped around nothing once again when he pinched your nipples, but you didn’t mind it at all. Instead, you wanted him to continue… in another place.

“I know a better place for that…” You whispered with a gentle voice, knowing it always made Kabukimono’s ear twitch.

“S-Show me!” He let go off your boobs and rested both his palms open in front of you so you could move them as you wished to.

Unfortunately, you had to ruin some of the tension that was building up by taking your right hand away from his dick, the same way he did to yours boobs. You slid the rest of your kimono, that has been resting in your hips all along, until it was fully in the floor. Then, you slid your panties to your knees, too lazy and needy to waste your time taking it all off. Then you sat down again and begun reshaping his hand to a new form like you were messing with clay, gently grabbing after finishing it to place it to your vertical lips, which made Kabukimono’s eyes widen in curiosity by the second and force his arm to stone in its place.

“W-What’s that..?” He asked, trying to take a closer peek of your pussy before actually touching it.

“It’s called a ‘vagina’, but it’s better to call it a ‘pussy’… it’s where I urinate and also where I feel the most good.” Your own cheeks got flushed as you explained about your own organ, who was aching to be touched by those soft hands of his. “Wanna try it by your own?” You pleaded as you spread your legs further away from each other for his benefit.

He quietly nodded while sliding his hand to your pussy smoothly, ready to coop it on top of it, but as soon as he felt the wet of it barely leaking from your hole, he took his hand away from you like he had just touched acid.

“W-What is that..?!” His entire face went red as he got nervous.

You couldn’t help but giggle, thinking that he was probably guessing that was pee.

“Don’t worry, Kabuki, it’s not pee..! It’s just that when you make a girl feel good like you were just doing to me, she gets wet like this, just like you got a little hard when I touched you.” You carefully explained, gently running a finger at your entrance to grab some of your wet and show him what it was.

“B-But why would you get wet..? And why would I get hard..?” He asked as he cautiously looked at your finger.

“For us to make love… but I won’t show it to you yet, you still need more accommodation.” He made a whiny face as you hid the answer away from him, but decided to go along with what you were previously doing.

“Oh… that looks sweet.” He commented as his eyes lingered on your wet finger like a curious kid.

“You can try it if you want to… I don’t think it tastes good tho…” You brought your finger closer to him so he could taste it.

His mouth approached your finger and opened enough to stick his tongue out and lick the pool of wet resting at the tip of your finger.

“Tastes… salty.” He commented, a little reluctant while moving his tongue around his mouth to taste your juices better.

“There’s no need to keep tasting it… you’re supposed to simply play with it as you wish to…” You joked, giggling at yourself, completely desperate for his soft fingers to caress your swollen cunt again.

“O-Ok…” He nodded, getting his hand back to your folds and caressing them up and down, making your clit ache to receive that much attention too.

And you got your hands back to work in his dick, both of you beginning to pleasure yourselves with your hands while a mess of moans started to take over the room’s previous silence.

“I-Is this… a hole..?” He asked, gently inserting the tip of his finger inside you, which caused you to roll your head behind your shoulders in shock with the sudden pleasure.

“Ah, yes! Keep going..!” You pleaded for him, who simply nodded in shock with your reaction and kept fingering you in and out.

You didn’t even tell him that he was supposed to thrust it repeatedly, but he seemed to have the instincts to do it like a real man would, which relieved you a little. His cold fingers also made you feel even better, melting your entrance in him easily.

Kabukimono couldn’t even think about what was he doing. The pleasure you were giving to his poor virgin dick was numbing his thoughts, and he hated it. He really wanted to find a way to thrust you better, but thankfully, you were also too focused on your own actions to care if he was thrusting you badly or not, your cunt was too hungry to refuse any touch that wasn’t yours. Your grip on his dick tightening according to how good he made you feel.

“You’re really hard, Kabuki… are you enjoying this this much too?” You asked with a flirty voice, leaning closer to his face, inches away from his red lips.

“Y-Yes…” He whimpered.

“Want me to make this even better?” You leaned closer to his ear just to make the boy shiver and nod immediately in desperation for his unrecognized sexual relief.

“There’s more..?!” His eyes widened a little, which made you smirk in amusement.

But it quickly got replaced by you taking your hands away from his erection and use them to push him by the shoulders against the mattress that had been laying down and witnessing the both of you from behind this entire time. You weren’t aggressive of course, why would you want to scare him off from such a pleasurable act that you needed to have once again?

He still got a little shocked and gasped lightly, but still let you have the most power in the moment. But his attention was taken away when he rose his head to see what was one of your hands doing in the back of your bodies.

“Is this… sex..?” He asked while tryin to cover some moans from you running your gummy folds in his tip.

“Yes, indeed. Are you ready to see why I get wet and you get hard..?” You smirked as you moved your hands to undo his kimono away from his chest too, revealing his slim torso.

You were kinda surprised at the fact that he didn’t really have abs after working out so much in the mines, but since he was a puppet, his muscles couldn’t really change, could they?

“Y-Yes…” He moaned, and soon his words were taken over by even more moans because of you slowly fitting all of yourself around his throbbing erection, causing him to arch his back with the weird sensation of your wet warmth squeezing him entirely.

But the thing that mostly called your attention was just how the cold his dick was compared to your cunt, like if all that warming-up was completely useless to his body. The heat shock caused shivers to run down your whole body, also making him to get even harder due to the comfort your warmth gave to his cold body.

“See how they match perfectly with each other..? Do you like it..?” You asked between slight groans, leaning closer to his embarrassed face as his dick warmed up to your temperature.

“Y-Yes… feels weird, but… I want more..!” He moaned out, completely altered by what you were doing to him, even launching his hips upward to feel more of your gummy insides.

“Then I’ll give you more…” You grabbed the boy’s chin and took his lips into a suffocating kiss while you started jerking your hips up and down.

His hands were gripping so tight in the sheets you could even feel bad for him, but he fit so perfectly inside you didn’t really want to stop. Puffy noises could be heard coming out from you whenever you sat down on him due to the arousal of the sex you were doing while your tongues danced with each other maniacally.

“This is why I get wet, Kabuki…” You moaned between the kiss. “So I can slide around you as easily as this… and you get hard so you can easily fit in me..! Isn’t it a funny system..?” You stopped kissing him, but you still kept your foreheads touching each other, feeling his warm breath in your face.

“Y-Yes..! A-And you’re wet because I made you feel good, right..?” He asked, desperately looking for more of your approval, which made you so joyful that you nodded immediately.

“Of course, Kabuki, of course…” You mumbled before launching your mouth right back at his mouth again.

If you never thought of Kabukimono as anything but a friend, now you definitely were. He was perfectly kind and loving like a friend should be, but the most important part of his personality, that you’ve never really paid attention to, was just how respectful, loyal and curious he was about you. He always looked up to you when he had a question, he always praised you for teaching him things, calling you wonderful, amazing and many other things. He was too naive to be unfaithful or disrespectful to you, like… you couldn’t picture him leaving your apartment as soon as he was done with this, like other men did, or tell everyone about his newest achievement of getting you under him in a bed, like all of the men did. You couldn’t even tell if Kabukimono liked you in a romantic way, but you definitely wanted him to. You wanted to be the only woman he committed those acts with, the same way you were beginning to wish he was the only man doing that you did that with.

“F-Feels too good..!” He whined, tears appearing at the corner of his eyes as he forced your mouths to stop kissing, a chord of saliva connecting you two indirectly for some quick seconds before it broke and fell on his chin.

You smirked at the view you had of him under you, but you were soon cut by Kabukimono strength suddenly acting on you.

It was sudden, but Kabukimono really moved his hands to your shoulders and pulled himself upwards, pushing the both of you down the floor again, his balls still shoved deep inside you. You didn’t protest at all but you were surprised he had the instinct to do that.

“I-I want to… do it too…” He whispered, his mouth and arms trembling in exhaustion, barely drooling on top of you.

His kimono had also fallen all the way to his knees, fully giving you a hot view of his naked body as his dick grinded inside your gummy hole.

“It’s ok… go ahead…” You smiled at him, using your hands to caress his back carefully, stimulating him to fuck you already.

His hips bucked once into yours slowly, really unsure of his own actions although he really wanted to be doing it, but you were so turned on, anything made you feel good at this point.

“Y-Yes… just like that… nice and slow~…” You moaned as you spread your legs further away from each other for him, approaching both your bodies to each other.

“You like it like this..?” He bucked his hips some more times into you, more comfortable with your opinion at his sloppy thrusts.

“Yes… you’re doing a good job, Kabuki…” You moaned out his name, which caused a whiny groan to come out of him.

“S-S… say that again…” He pleaded, his speed slightly increasing, although his thrusts weren’t precise at all.

“Kabuki..?” You asked, making him moan loudly again and tighten his grip in the hay floor by your head. “Kabuki~…” You repeated it, but better, making the poor puppet have to tug his face under your neck in desperation for any strength.

“Yes… my name..! I want that to be my real name..!” He moaned with a hoarse voice whille moving his hands down to your waist just to hug you in an angle where he could feel your chest against his and where he could also make love to your needy hole without having to wate all of his little remaining energy.

If it wasn’t for his will to keep going, he would’ve crumbled on top of you a long time ago. You could feel just how shaky his knees were from all the exhaustion. Seems like you had really managed to turn him addicted to the feeling even if it was just his first time ever doing it. He was determined to keep reaching for more pleasure like it was a law set on stone for him. He didn’t even know sex had its peak yet, and you knew he would get even more surprised, excited and exhausted with the information you were going to tell him soon. But right now, you just wanted to feel the tip of his cock punching your gummy walls until it kissed your cervix and hear the poor puppet whining beautifully right on your ears whenever he did that.

Poor little Kabukimono couldn’t even bring himself to pull out more than half of his dick from you, just like if he wanted to simply be embraced the warmth of your insides for the rest of it, cockwarming himself although his dick and his whole body didn't even feel cold anymore. Its temperatue had managed to perfectly balance with yours because of all that energy you two were wasting on each other.

“Y-Y/N-sama... I feel weird...” He whispered in a very weirded-out tone, rising his head to stare at you but not daring to stop fucking you.

“How come..?” You stared right back into the deepest corners of his pupils, moving a hand upwards to caress the poor boy's head as he vented to you.

“S-Something... inside me... I think I need to go to the bathroom..!” He explained while slowing down his rhythm considerably, making a perverted grin to grow in your lips immediately as you remembered that you needed to talk to him about the orgasm.

“Oh, Kabuki... you don’t need to go to the bathroom..! Believe it or not, there’s still a final step you need to learn, so keep going and do not stop.” His eyes widened in surprise once again but he decided to not protest and listen to you. “You’re about to reach the peak of sex... the peak of pleasure... we call it an orgasm... we’ve been building it ever since we started touching each other…” You explained while trying to hold back the multiple moans he was causing you to have due to how he went back to his previous rhythm of pushing his hips into youtrs. “I think I’m also reaching too... so we’re gonna do it together, isn’t that amazing..?” You pulled his head closer to your just to feel his sweaty forehead against yours again.

“Y-yes... are you sure this is the final step tho..? You keep saying there’s a new thing when you say it’s the last one..!” He protested in a childish tone which made you giggle.

“I am a 100% sure this is the last step now, Kabuki... it's nothing as special as all of this.. you’ll see... but I need you just fuck me a little faster!” You pleaded, finally letting some of your sluttiness get out of its cage, the same ones you've been holding inside your head this entire time to make the experience more about him rather than you.

Thanfully, Kabukimono wasn’t selfish or proud of himself, so he simply nodded his head weakly and went back to hammering your hole full of his dick to reach both your orgasms, shoving his head back to its little hiding spot in you neck again.

“C-Can I kiss you here, Y/N-sama..?” He whined while touching the tip of his nose in the side of your neck, his lips already touching it in a trembly way.

“Of course you can, Kabuki! I’m even surprised you felt the will to do that...” You turned your head to his to whisper in his ear as he launched his lips into your muscles, making out with it very gently.

Since you hadn’t really taken your hand away from the back of his head, you decided to go back at caressing it, which was making the poor puppet’s body twitch every now and then. That part of his body was ticklish as expected and you wanted him to feel good, so you just relaxed most of your muscles and let him enjoy the magic of a wet pussy for the first time. After all, Kabukimono was obviously not mastered in having sex (yet), so his thrusts were more relaxing than breathtaking to you, but it didn’t mean it was making you feel turned off.

Still, even if he didn’t have any idea of what he was doing and how to do it, a certain bulge was beginning to evolve quicker in your womb, warning your body that you were indeed about to reach an orgasm. Perhaps, that whole masturbation session and your newest attraction for him made it easier for your body to experience sexual pleasure.

“I-I’m gonna cum, Kabuki..!” You warned him, although you knew he had no idea of what you meant by that.

“I-Is that… the peak thing..? Because if it is, I think I’m gonna do that too.. my balls feel… really heavy..!” The lack of breath in his body didn’t even allow him to tell you something in a full sentence, his will to cry barely becoming true as you heard his voice break multiple times.

“Yes..! You’re gonna cum too!” Your other hand in his back scratched him not so gently, which caused him to let out a deep groan from the back of his throat, but you were really just trying to feel more of him.

And it really didn’t last long to build up the orgasm in that position because Kabukimono had really been building it up all this time. Even that mechanism in his body perfectly resembled a human’s one. It was hot and sticky as expected, even hotter than a man’s cum, causing your womb to ache with the slightly fiery feeling of both your orgasms fighting for space inside there. Kabukimono threw his head aback and screamed the loudest the he could, completely shocked and unused to that euphoric feeling, but he made sure to keep some self control to keep himself loading all of his essence inside you, no matter if his hands were having to give their soul to keep him on top of you.

The moment lasted for a good while since his orgasm was way longer than yours, but you made sure to welcome every single drop of his cum inside you so he could understand the fun of having an orgasm in the first place.

When his cock finally ended milking every single miligram of his cum from his virgin body, he simply crumbled and fell on top of you with eyes closed shut, still with his cock shoved in you so he wouldn’t get rid of that addicting feeling of a gummy pussy. Your hands simply tapped his back in response, trying to make the poor puppet comfortable to relax on top of you after such exhausting round of sex.

“Liked it..?” You asked, holding back a little giggle.

“Y-Yes… I did…” He said while breathing heavily multiple times, his voice stll sounding whiny.

“Come here…” You hugged his back harder and guided him into the loose mattress of your bed again, ending with you and him laying side by side, centimeters away from each other and staring at each other romantically. “Thank you, Kabuki-kun…” You whispered while moving a hand to throw a piece of his hair behind his ear, which made him grin and his cheeks to flush in a pinkish tone.

“No… I should be the one thanking you for teaching me so many new things in a single question…” He avoided eye contact with you.

You couldn't hold it anymore, he looked too cute for you to not hug him, so that's what exactly you did. You threw yourself against the boy's chest and slid your hands under his arms to hug his back once again. He quickly hugged you back, squeezing your head closer to his chest unintentionally. It was weird how you couldn’t hear anything from inside it, but it really didn’t matter if he didn’t have a heart or not to you, he had a soul and a very alive one.

“You’re welcome, Kabuki…” You finally allowed yourself to close your eyes and begin to fall asleep.

You assumed Kabukimono was doing the same, even if sleeping didn’t have any benefits to him. After all, he was extremely quiet and he sounded like he was focusing on his breathing, rolling his fingers in some strands of your hair playfully just like other men did when they decided to spend the rest of the night with you.

“Y/N-sama… do you mind if I ask you something before you fall asleep..?” He suddenly whispered, which didn’t scare you at all, so you didn’t even mind moving a muscle to open your eyes again.

“Yeah, go ahead…” You answered in a sleepy tone.

“When can we do that again?”

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it <3

Taglist: @alatusorrow @the-stinky-winky @kindofscenic @amoyanderes @kindofshyent

Requests are open again!

[mononijikayu]

immortal sukuna who — in your fourth life (2).

immortal sukuna masterlist

immortal sukuna who doesn’t know how to care for you, watches with clenched fists as you stumble, frustration simmering beneath his cold exterior.

“damn it.” sukuna mutters under his breath, hating the helplessness he feels but unable to look away.

immortal sukuna who despite his inexperience, can’t help but fuss over you.

“you’re doing it wrong, little bird.” sukuna growls, but his grip on your arm is careful, his touch lingering longer than it should.

"i-i'm sorry." you whisper back to him, the guilt in your voice prevalent. sukuna felt the throbbing pain in his eyes, looking at you. he didn't want you to feel this way. not ever.

“just... let me help you.” sukuna says, though his tone is sharper than intended. he never wants you to be aggrieved by his frustration. because it wasn't you. it was him.

immortal sukuna doesn't know what to do. he doesn't know how to take care of you in this way. and he was angry at himself.

immortal sukuna truly only wants nothing more than to ease your life, feels a rare pang of helplessness every time you hesitate.

“you don’t need to ask me, little bird." sukuna whispers, quieter now, as he walks beside you, a silent guardian, fiercely protective even when you can’t see him.

“but i...” you whisper back, your voice echoing a tone of guilt.

sukuna shakes his head, his lips pursed in a flat line. “it doesn’t matter. i... i want to care for you. so, don't worry, little bird."

your lips pursed into a line. "alright."

immortal sukuna who understands the fragility of your human form, spends sleepless nights imagining how to show you the world through his eyes.

“if you could see what i do… you’d know why i want to protect you." sukuna murmurs in the dark, his voice soft and uncharacteristically tender. “the world is cruel, little bird.”

“but you aren’t." your sweet voice echoes as the wind rustles through the flower-laden field. “you’re kind.”

immortal sukuna can feel his heart shatter. “i was never kind, little bird. if i was… why would i be cursed like this?” his voice trembles with the weight of unspoken pain, the question hanging heavily in the air.

you step closer, tilting your head as if trying to see sukuna through the shadows. “but you are kind to me. you guide me when i stumble. you stay by my side. that’s kindness.”

a flicker of uncertainty passes through sukuna, and he shakes his head. “you see what you want to see.”

“but i see you, even if my eyes cannot.” you insist gently. “you protect me because you care. isn’t that kindness?”

immortal sukuna cannot help but let out a soft, incredulous laugh, a sound so foreign to him. “perhaps… but i’m still a monster.”

you reach out, fingers brushing against his arm. “even monsters can have soft hearts. just look at how you’re here, with me.”

the weight of your words sinks in, and for a moment, sukuna’s icy facade cracks, revealing the warmth beneath. “you really believe that, little bird?” he asks, vulnerability creeping into his voice.

“with all my heart.” you reply, your smile brightening the dimness around you. “you’ve shown me more beauty than i could ever imagine. just let yourself be the one who cares.”

in that moment, as the flowers sway gently in the breeze, immortal sukuna feels the impossible stir within him—a glimmer of hope, a touch of warmth he never thought he could possess.

“maybe… just maybe, little bird.” sukuna tenderly whispers back to you. “i can learn to be kind.”

immortal sukuna watches as you close your eyes, tilting your head to feel the warmth of the sun on your face, a smile blooming despite your blindness.

“can you smell the flowers?” you ask, inhaling deeply. “it’s like spring has come just for us.”

sukuna nods, though you can’t see him, the corners of his lips curling up. “yes, but you make it brighter. you always do... little bird.”

you turn towards sukuna's voice, as if trying to catch a glimpse of him with your other senses. “do you think the flowers know how beautiful they are?” you muse. “or do they just bloom without knowing?”

“maybe they know, little bird.” sukuna replies, his voice softer than usual. “just like you. you bring light to places I never knew existed.”

you laugh lightly, a sound that dances through the air like music. “you’re sweet when you want to be, you know. just admit it—you enjoy this little world we’ve created. well, it was mostly you. i was just....helping you out.”

sukuna hesitates, then concedes, “perhaps i do. it’s… nice to feel something beyond my curse.”

your hand finds sukuna's own, fingers intertwining effortlessly. “then let’s create more moments like this. you can help me experience the world, even if i can’t see it.”

immortal sukuna squeezes your hand gently, the warmth of your touch igniting something deep within him. “i’ll always be here to guide you, little bird. wherever you want to go, i'll bring you there.”

you lean in closer, your voice barely a whisper. “and i’ll find you in every flower, every breeze, and every moment we share. even if i just hear it or smell it. because you, sukuna, are my world.”

immortal sukuna feels his heart racing, and for the first time in eternity, he feels something other than the weight of his past.

immortal sukuna finds lightness, a sweet tenderness that makes him want to protect you fiercely, not just from the world, but from the shadows lurking within himself.

“then let’s make this world beautiful together, little bird.” sukuna murmurs, a vow laced with warmth, a promise of kindness that echoes softly in the field of blooming flowers.

you smile at him with everything in you. “together!”

immortal sukuna smiles the happiest because of you.

“together.” sukuna agrees, taking your hand and kissing your ring finger, as though a promise, as though a vow.

[skzdarlings]

the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part v

part one| part two | part three | part four | part five | tba | ao3 link

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid all worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: reader described with curly hair.

content warnings: the previously established story dynamics are prevalent in this chapter, please proceed at own discretion. the king threatens sexual violence again. there is explicit consensual sexual content in this chapter with reader and jisung. first times, breaking of vows, lots of mental work packed in there lol.

chapter word count: 11500 words.

enjoy <3

-

Despite the delay, you reach the intended campsite before nightfall.  The king finds his own entertainment while everyone else works, erecting tents and constructing fire pits. 

Chan assigns Seungmin to watch the king while he occupies himself elsewhere.  The tension between the king and the leader ripples through the camp, though no one – not even the king – is audacious enough to remark on it. 

The kingsguard has a sanctified power, burdened with the responsibility of protecting the crown above all else.  This manifests as protecting the king, so long as oaths are kept and holy accords obeyed.   The king is abundantly aware he is not in the leader’s good graces right now.   Even that petulant fool of a man is smart enough to recognize that antagonism from an ancient religious order is a perilous position for a holy king. 

Because he cannot harass Chan, the king directs his ire towards Hyunjin, so Chan sends Hyunjin across the camp to help there.  Jisung accompanies him.  As the lowest ranked kingsguard, his absence will not be minded. 

You are irate, watching Hyunjin limp away with Jisung following behind him.  You think of their skill and bravery in protecting you from the assassins.  You think of their loyalty and good hearts.  They both deserve better. 

Stewing in irritation, you opt to stay out of the way.  It is better to remain unobtrusive rather than instigate more dramatics after the events of today.   

You kneel down in the grass, out of the way of the tents.  You are organizing a bag of personal effects when an unfamiliar pair of painted boots appear in your line of your vision.  You slowly look up, startled to find one of the king’s courtiers looming over you.  He is one of the few who has been riding in the carriage and you are surprised he is so far from the inner circle now. 

“Your Holy Majesty,” he says, surprising you with the appropriately respectful title.  He surprises you further by offering his hand and helping you to your feet.  The final surprise is a bow so deep he bends his knees.  “I ask for your grace and forgiveness,” he says.  “And I ask for you to pray on my behalf that the gods may also forgive me for my petty transgressions.  I would never speak ill of the gods-chosen king but—”  He looks over his shoulder briefly, spots the king far across the camp with the remainder of his inner circle.  Satisfied with the distance, he looks at you, expression solemn.  “But I believe human error may have conquered the holy senses,” he says.  In a lower voice, tinged with resentment, he says, “To raise hands to the queen in public, especially after the events of the other day…” 

You are still too surprised to respond.  You stand there, hands folded in front of you, blinking at the man. 

He says with some finality, “I know I am not alone in feeling this way.  Your Holiness, please ensure that you have support in some noble factions here – particularly after today.  And please do recall, this is not all the court, merely the king’s personal selection, and there are those at home in the capital who will also support you.” 

The sincerity of his oath leaves you stunned.  You stare at his footprints long after he has departed. 

The courtier does not return to the inner circle but joins a different cluster of palace residents.  Their attention turns to you,  followed by dips and bows. 

Your bewildered mind finally catches up to your racing heart.  You sweep into a quick return bow.  When you turn away, you let out a breath.  Your eyes trace the treeline around the clearing.  The smoky orange mist of sunset winds through the branches.  You look but do not see, mentally replaying the whole exchange.

It seems even the most devout courtiers have a restricted capacity for tolerance.  Their motivations may be selfish, in seeing a flagrant disrespect of the gods’ will and worrying what ramifications will manifest for them, but it is still a significant loyalty shift.

You allow yourself a little smile.  Knowing the camp is no longer brimming with hostiles lightens your heavy heart.

You are barely at ease when you turn around, startled again by yet another visitor.  This time is the kingsguard Minho.  He stands as still and patient as marble, poised like a handsome statue, hand on the hilt of his sword.  He lists slightly to that side, his other hand dangling in a fist. 

“Your Majesty,” he says.  His bow is more of a nod as he seems lost in contemplation – or maybe that is scrutiny, studying you like your face holds the answer to some profound question. 

You are open as ever, as patiently marble, waiting for him.  

He exhales.  It sounds like a surrendering.   It makes you nervous, especially with the way he darts a glances over his shoulder.  The king and other kingsguards are busy, the courtiers turned to their own affairs, and servants busy with meal preparation.

You cannot imagine what Minho has to say or do that cannot be witnessed.

Your answer comes without a word, but a gesture, his closed first opening between you.  You jump at what he reveals.

The phial of sleeping draft.  You assumed it was lost in the ocean tide.  Last you touched it, it went into your dress pocket, and that dress is now underwater.  You thought the draft was lost too.  You lamented the only protection you had in prolonging the king’s advances. 

It must have fallen out of your pocket earlier than that, when you threw yourself to the forest floor in sickness.  Minho helped you through it.  Somewhere in your distraction, he must have grabbed the bottle. 

A hot flash of terror spreads through you, looking at the dark liquid sloshing around in that little phial.  When you look up, his brow is furrowed, face pinched with intense scrutiny. 

You are not sure what to expect.   Minho is decent and he seems close with Jisung, which naturally lends your trust to him, but your interactions have been minimal and cordial.   He could grab you by the wrist and drag you to Chan, accusing you of harbouring poison.  It would no doubt instigate the king’s wrath and everything would spiral before you could catch your breath. 

Minho sighs. 

“Will it kill him?” he asks. 

“Oh.”  It is not the question you are expecting.  Nonetheless, with sincerity and pleading eyes, you reply, “No.  I swear.  It’s just a sleeping draft.  For – for myself.  To help me – at night.” 

He has clever eyes, full of thought.  You suspect he can deduce what that really means.    

“Mm,” is all he says.  He takes your hand and puts the phial in your palm, then he closes your fingers around it.  He gives you a look, something stern, something that demands secrecy without a word. 

You nod, clutching the bottle tightly. 

“Be careful,” he says. 

“Of course,” you reply. 

He walks away while you gather yourself, the adrenaline of two unpredictable encounters simmering.  It has not yet settled when the king barks an order, his voice making you jump, particularly when your name is included in his angry tone. 

It draws Hyunjin from the outskirts.  He is still teeming, looking as though he wants any excuse to swing at the king again, punishments be damned.  Jisung is a step behind him, looking with worried eyes while the king seeks you out. 

The king stops a distance from you, shouting across a fire pit, like he cannot be bothered to cross that space – or maybe because he sees a fuming Hyunjin in his periphery.  He does not look at the kingsguards, not even Chan who approaches on his other side. 

He glares at you, enunciating every word with a snarling upturn of his lip as he says, “Go to the river.  Bathe yourself.  You will see me tonight.” 

This gives you another flash of terror, wide-eyed as you stare at his retreating form.  The implications are not subtle.  They are also not surprising.  He has spent the day being belittled and tested and he blames the brunt of it on you.  Of course a cruel and violent man would wrestle back his supposed dignity in the only hateful way he can, putting you in whatever perceived place he believes you belong. 

You know he will make it awful.   He would have been unkind on your initial wedding night, but now you are certain he will be brutal.   He does not just want to use you, he wants to hurt you. 

You wish you could be stronger in the face of this reality, uncaring and brash and mouthy, snarking at him behind his back.  Your heart is not built that way.  You are frightened and very sad, fist curled so tightly at your side that it shakes. 

You almost forget what that fist is holding until you glance at Minho.  He is leaning against a tree, out of sight of the king.  He quirks an eyebrow then mimes taking a drink. 

Unfortunately, this makes you laugh, your nerves melting into the outburst of sound. 

The king looks at you over his shoulder, his eyes furious.  You feel the sparkle in your own as you stare back at him. 

Before the king speaks again, Chan steps forward.  His displeasure is obvious, his concern more so.   He looks at you with that despondency, helpless to do anything insofar as the marriage bed.  That is not the realm of the kingsguard, to say the least, though Chan looks like he wishes he could command otherwise. 

“The queen should not be left unaccompanied,” Chan says.  Looking at the king, he says bitingly, “Especially considering recent attempts on her life, Your Holiness.” 

Holiness sounds like an accusation in that tone. 

The king straightens, glaring back at Chan. 

Hyunjin, seemingly determined to escalate the mounting tension, walks towards you with an easy gait.  He smiles a very charming smile. 

“I can escort the queen,” he says, in a very different voice than usual, almost sultry in its depth.  It makes you blink in confusion.   

The king forgets Chan entirely as he reels around, pointing a finger at Hyunjin. 

“You will burn for eternity first, kingsguard,” the king snaps. 

Hyunjin just smiles prettily, hands folded neatly behind his back.  The lack of response agitates the already exasperated king, who huffs and shakes his head.  His eyes dart around and inevitably land on Han Jisung.  It startles Jisung who swings into an instinctive bow.  He stares wide-eyed at the ground. 

“Bard boy,” the king says.  “Take the queen.” 

You look at Jisung as he straightens.  His blinking gaze moves from the king to you. 

That laughter is still caught in your throat, its bubbling delight only intensifying as you look at each other.  You think of that kiss on the riverbank, the softness of his every glance since then.  You do not even think it is especially subtle, or maybe you are just supremely aware of it, holding his gaze as he approaches you.  You feel like it gives everything away. 

But the king is arrogant and he thinks Jisung is nobody important.  He does not even glance at Jisung, his eyes following Hyunjin as he waltzes away. 

“Are you going to take me then, bard boy?” you whisper. 

Jisung chokes on a laugh, a blush darkening the tips of his ears.  He looks over his shoulder but everyone else is ambling back to their posts.  

He looks at your innocently fluttering eyelashes. 

“Don’t tease,” he says with a nervous giggle.  “I think it might kill me.” 

He means it in a playfully hyperbolic way, but you grant there is a sobering truth to that statement.  It succeeds in quieting you, your fingers now clammy where they grip the phial.  You let your mind wander to that, preoccupied with the thought of tonight while you fetch some necessities.  Jisung is dutifully quiet the entire trek, following at an appropriate length all the way down to the riverside. 

You think he has similarly sobered, so quiet behind you as you step through the trees to the water.  The grass turns to sand and pebbles beneath your feet, crunching with every step. 

Your mind is far away, thinking of your very precarious position, how you can slip the king sleeping draft tonight, if it is even worth it to prolong the inevitable.  You doubt he will ever change his feelings for you.  You cannot be so demure and loving that a man with no respect for humanity will somehow see the special humanity in you. 

Your gaze rests on the flowing river, the setting sun as it casts streak of orange and lavender over the water.   The breeze is laced with an evening chill, brushing a curl off your shoulder.

You realize that is not the breeze.  The gentle touch is Jisung.  You shiver as his fingertips follow the tumbling curl down your back, until he is not even touching you but you still feel the proximity.  It moves through you with an intensity far more powerful than the king’s threatening glower. 

This warmth is not terror, a different heat that rushes and burns with startling efficiency. 

“What can I do?” he asks in that careful, low voice. 

You remember him behind you just like this, supporting your body, the look on his face and the feel of him as you discovered more pleasure than you ever knew existed.  You are amazed that it is not the most preached phenomenon of them all, that the gods would bestow such a gift on humanity.  You cannot imagine what you would have done without the revelation.  The immensity of it all has you shivering. 

“You’ve already done so much,” you say. 

“I’ll come to you after,” he says, words flowing in a nervous rush.  “I’ll help you.  Whatever you need – if you’re – if something happens – I can come.  The king won’t care if it’s just me.  I’m just bard boy, ha-ha, I don’t – it won’t matter, at least—”

You turn around.  His breath catches as your eyes meet.  His hand is still hovering, trembling, but he drops it to his side.  His eyes dart to the empty treeline and back. 

“Bard boy,” you whisper with a smile, teasing.  “The king may believe otherwise, but you are most assuredly admired by your queen.”  

“You—”  He looks at the still-empty treeline then you again.  He is so clearly flustered. On a startled, nervous laugh, he says, “You can’t say things like that to me.”

“Why not?” 

He kisses you, a reply made with no hesitation.  He cups a hand around your jaw, fingers firm on your neck with a guiding pull.  He kisses you and it is more than a touch.  If some kisses are whispers, this is a song, rhythmic and grand. 

Your knees nearly buckle beneath you.  This is your third kiss but it feels like first and the thousandth, the natural way you move together, gasps of breath and pressing lips.  His hand moves under your hair, cupping the back of your neck.  Your own hand raises, fingertips stroking his jaw then resting between his neck and shoulder. 

He makes a noise into the kiss, tilting his head, kissing you with so much intensity that you both stumble.  His eyes widen at his own actions, a hand covering his mouth as he looks at the treeline.  His startled expression makes you burst into giggles, still riding the high of the kiss itself. 

“That was – that was my fault,” he says, throwing his hands into a surrender, then raking them through his hair until it is a dishevelled mess.  “My fault, my fault, it’s fine, it’s fine.”  He makes a series of faces while muttering to himself, giggling nervously at you, then walking away to stand guard. 

You turn your back to him, hiding your smile as you touch your lips.  Somehow a kiss provided all the courage you needed to decide, yes, it will be worth prolonging the king’s advances.  You and Jisung are already outsmarting him, his arrogant eye turned to the wrong kingsguard, and you will continue to find ways to do so.   The sleeping draft was made by a friend and you know you will develop more.  Perhaps alone you cannot combat a king, but you are not alone. 

For now, you play his game.  A quick wash will feel good after the long day in the summer sun regardless of intention. 

You do not fully strip down, simply to your shift, as is appropriate for a queen bathing out-of-doors.  It is about the only appropriate protocol, as you should have more company than solitary male guard, even a kingsguard.  It is not surprising the king has you left you bereft of any ladies, forgoing introductions, actively discouraging his nobles.  That is something you will remedy yourself, in the capital. 

For now, you are not mad it is just you and Jisung.  You glance at him while disrobing, catching his eye, smiling at his flustered blush as he looks away again.

You pile your curls as high as you can, then step to the water.  Even though there is a chill in the air, the water is warm because the hot sun has been pouring down all day.  You suspect it will be colder to emerge than to enter.  For now, it is comfortable as it laps at the foot of your shift, darkening the hem as you walk. 

You find a smooth boulder to perch yourself, grateful to use one of your own soaps from home as you scrub your skin.  The breeze is sharp against your wet skin so you sink into the water up to your shoulders, paddling around for a little bit as you let the day wash off you. 

The sunset has lost its golden traces, from orange to pink, and you let yourself admire the colours as they swirl overhead. 

When you look at Jisung, he is already staring at you.  He is sitting on a rock, fiddling with the hilt of his sword in an absent-minded distraction.  He exhales heavily when you look at him. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“I—”  He laughs, seemingly at himself.  He thuds the heel of his palm against his forehead in a punishing little smack.  “Nothing,” he says.  He looks at the ground then slowly at you, his gaze moving across the shimmering water before tracing up your shoulders, neck, and face.   “I just hope no one tries to attack us right now,” he says.  “Because honestly?”  He lets go of the hilt to show his hand, revealing the slight tremble.  He immediately crosses his arms, tucking his hands under them.  “I don’t think I’d be much help,” he finishes with a laugh. 

“Don’t worry,” you say, matching his smile.  “I’ll keep you safe.” 

“Oh,” he says.  “Good.” 

You smile at each other for another moment.  It is disturbed when you hear the king shouting about food, far into the distance.  A couple of birds, no doubt settled for the night, fly out of the trees and away.  You spread your arms in the water and watch them go, wishing it was so easy to escape. 

“We should go back,” Jisung says, though he sounds as uneasy as he looks, biting his bottom lip, his big eyes as shiny and concerned as ever. 

The water is not very deep.  When you stand, it comes below your hips.  You squeak, a mousey and unqueenly sound, as the evening chill swarms you.

“Oh goodness,” you say, too distracted with the cold to think of much else.  “Robe, please.” 

Jisung is a very capable soldier.  You have witnessed it firsthand.  Where most of the kingsguards appear to specialize in certain skills, he has so far proven to be a master of everything.

But he trips over his own feet now.  He slides clumsily across the gravel, drawing a sharp line in the sand.   He manages to remain upright, only just, muttering to himself as he picks up the robe you requested. 

He steps to the water’s edge, the robe under his arm.  He holds out a hand to help guide you forward, but he is very distracted with looking at the rest of you, so he keeps accidentally moving it out of reach. 

You finally clasp his wandering hand.  Only then does he lift his frantic gaze to your eyes. 

This is your second time emerging from water in nothing but a shift, the light material leaving nothing to the imagination.  Last time, you were shy and embarrassed, but it seems a bit silly to be modest now considering what he has seen.  Furthermore, you do not feel embarrassed, not with the way he looks at you.  The shift clings to every curve, nearly translucent, more so with the chill as the sensitive peaks of your breasts pebble against the wet white fabric.   

His eyes dart there again, his mouth open.  He doesn’t say anything.  With a bit of struggle, he manages to say, “Ahhhh…?”

“Robe, please,” you say again, amused.  Truthfully, you are not as cold under his gaze, flushed with a tingling warmth that conquers the other senses. 

“Fuck,” Jisung says, shaking his head as he wraps the robe around your shoulders.  “Sorry for cursing, pretend you didn’t hear it.”

Now that he is speaking, the words come in a breathless stream.  It comes from an honest, human subconscious that a kingsguard should have under control, but which he has evidently relinquished from mental bondage. 

“I can hit him on the head,” Jisung says.  “I mean – fuck.  I can’t do that, obviously.  He’s the king.  I wouldn’t do that – but also I would, if you asked.  If you ask, it’s fine, I’d do anything for the queen.  I should obey the queen.  I must protect her.  Then again, if I hit him on the head, it could go wrong, and he could die, then I didn’t just hit the king but killed him, and kingsguards aren’t supposed to do that.  Well, sometimes they do, but that’s very rare and definitely not the bard’s call.  I shouldn’t kill the king, even if you ask, right?  Right.  Fuck.  Sorry for cursing.  You wouldn’t ask that anyway, even if he deserves it – ah!  I didn’t say that.  Maybe, instead, if I get him drunk, then he won’t be able to – you know–”

He lifts his finger, a rather impolite mime of a rising erection, which he realizes is a very rude gesture to make in front of the queen.   He throws his hands together in a prayer position instead. 

“By which I mean,” he says, “Nothing.  I meant none of that at all.  Of course.  Unless you say otherwise, your Majesty.  Then I meant it all.” 

It is silent save the sound of the river lapping at the shore.  His hands are still clasped for prayer and you are holding the robe closed.  He blinks at you.  You are already smiling. 

“Right,” he says.  “Umm… Fuck.”

You pat him on the arm, stepping around him.  You go to your bag of possessions, kneeling down to find the phial. 

“I wasn’t going to ask for help,” you say.  “I fear I have already put you in a precarious enough position as is—”

“You haven’t done anything,” he says, quick and sharp.  His black robes swish with the swiftness of his spin.  He marches to where you are knelt down. 

You look up at him, your hand closed around the phial, but he does not see it.  His eyes are on your face.

“Your Majesty,” Jisung says.  He crouches down so you can look at each other.  “I’m a lot better at speaking when I’m not – when I’m singing, especially a story about someone else.  That’s easier.  But I—”  He stares into your eyes.  His shoulders fall with an exhale, his expression softening just as surely.  “I wouldn’t go back to the easy I knew days ago.  I know I’m a mess now.  I don’t know what’s happening anymore, or what’s going to happen soon, but—”

He looks at the treeline.  It is still empty, of course.  The king does not see the pretty bard boy as a threat to his dignity and masculinity.  He is probably stomping and brooding and yelling some more, glaring at Hyunjin and Chan, while it is Jisung who lays a hand on your cheek.  Jisung captures you more completely than the king could do with iron. 

“It’s probably wrong to say,” Jisung speaks in a low, rasping voice, his face close to yours.  A tuft of dark hair falls near his brown eyes.  “It’s too selfish for a kingsguard or any mortal to say, but…   You said it first, that you feel the gods when we’re together.”  His thumb strokes your cheek and it might as well be a lightning bolt launched from the heavens, wracking your whole body with a shiver.  “I feel it too,” he says.  “I think I’m supposed to be here.  My life, the war, becoming a kingsguard, a – a – a queensguard – it was supposed to happen.  The gods led us here and we made it happen, and the gods allowed us, so we must – it must – it can’t be completely wrong, right?  When the king is like that, and you are like this.”

You are everything I ever dreamed of worshipping, he told you two nights ago, before you ever kissed, before you even really touched.  It seems those feelings have grown with yours. 

“You’re worth a thousand kings, Han Jisung,” you say. 

It is confident amidst his stammering, and it makes his eyes go wide.  You brush the hair away from those eyes. 

“I don’t know what will happen either,” you say.  “I know the king will try something untoward sooner than later, whether I am faithful and obedient or not.  I believe it is thus appropriate to reserve my faith and loyalty to that which I pray directly.”

You turn your face and kiss his palm.  You look at him from the corner of your eye, watching his breath catch as his eyes are bound to where your lips touch his skin. 

You wonder if he is so flushed because he is remembering how you said physical love was like prayer.  Hearing your words now, seeing and feeling your kiss, he seems to stop breathing entirely. 

“And in such a case as that,” you say, “I believe I would like at least once more night to pray for answers.” 

You open your hand and reveal the phial.  His gaze drops.  His eyebrows leap comically high as he looks between you and the bottle. 

He snatches it, looking at the treeline, then whispering so frantically that his voice breaks again, “Is that poison? Where in the name of all the gods did you get poison?”

You cup his face with both hands, laughing helplessly at his expression.  You stroke your thumbs across his cheeks and it lessens his panic. 

“It’s not poison,” you whisper.  “It’s just a sleeping draft.”

“A sleeping draft,” he says, words a little slurred as his cheeks are squished in your hands.  He looks down at the phial again, then at you.  “Well,” he says and gets to his feet.  He adjusts his sword belt, swishes the length of his robe and clears his throat.  “You could have opened with that,” he says. 

You are laughing as he helps you to your feet. 

-

Thanks to your friend’s sleeping draft and Jisung’s help, you escape the king unscathed for another night. 

Jisung completes his task in the only way Han Jisung would and could: with a great deal of theatricality. 

The sun is nearly set and everyone is gathered around the fire pits.  The king is with his inner circle, guarded by Changbin.  After changing into a clean dress, you sit with the remaining kingsguards.  The meal is simple, meat cooked in a spicy broth.  Apparently, esteemed kingsguard leader Bang Chan is tragically intolerant towards heavy spice, a fact you learn because the others relentlessly tease him. 

It makes him crack a smile, the first one all day.  He has charmingly deep dimples when he lets himself go.   You are sitting beside him and the sight delights you. 

In the midst of comforting food and friendly laughter, Chan looks at you.  While the others are rowdy and distracted, he takes a moment to say, “I’ll guard the king’s tent tonight,” he says.  “Find me, yeah?  If you need… anything.” 

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely touched.

His chivalry will not be required, however.  Moments after he says that, the king starts screaming. 

“You incompetent mongrel!” he shouts, clear across the campsite, scaring another pair of birds. 

The kingsguards are quickly on their feet, food and jibes forgotten. 

You stay sitting, slurping your soup.

“Your Holy Majesty, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, a thousand times sorry,” Jisung says to the king. 

You glance over there, watching as Jisung alternates between bowing and scooping up the bits of meat that splattered on the ground when he knocked over the king’s bowl of soup. 

When Jisung told you he would take care of administering the sleeping draft, he did not tell you his plan, maybe assuming you would not like it.  You cannot honestly say you are happy to see him intentionally drawing the king’s anger, but it is certainly a fair strategy.  The king is too surrounded to truly sneak up on him.  He is, however, very easy to antagonize.    

Jisung tries to hold out a dirty piece of meat as offering.  The king slaps it out of his hand.  Jisung looks at it with dramatically wide eyes.

“I swear to the gods, kingsguard—” the king says, raising his hand as if to strike Jisung.

Jisung bows again, holding up his hands in supplication. 

“I apologize, your Holiness,” he says, bowing some more as he grabs the king’s empty bowl.  He remains bent over while scampering around.  “It was an accident.  I’ll get you more food.  Forgive me, sire, I’m a worthless dog, I’m a flea on a dog, I’m a flea on a flea—”

The king kicks at him as Jisung scampers off to get more soup.   The other kingsguards sit back down, either laughing at the nonsense of shaking their heads, chalking it up to Jisung being a little clumsy and silly. 

You slurp some more soup. 

The king only makes it halfway through his meal before he falls asleep.  The remainder of his soup splashes onto the ground when the bowl falls out of his lap, so fortunately no one else ingests it.  

No one seems bothered by the peculiarity of his sudden slumber.   This seems to a combination of acknowledging the day was very exhausting, but also sighing with some relief that there is no more yelling. 

Chan, Changbin, and Minho carry the king back to his tent where he shall sleep alone, and where you shall not be visiting any time soon.  

Seungmin is assigned the first shift to guard your tent, but Jisung escorts you while Seungmin is still finishing his meal.  You and Jisung walk side by side, saying nothing suspicious or untoward.  Nothing beyond his wink and your smile, at least. 

“Was the king this bad on the journey over?” you ask while Jisung unties the clasps of your tent. 

“Almost worse,” Jisung admits.  “He doesn’t like travelling.  And you already know he wasn’t, um, happy with the wedding, heh.  Now everything with Felix—”

“Right,” you say, watching as the last clasp comes undone.  “I suppose an affair can change a man.”

Jisung laughs, though it is more of an exhale. 

“So I’ve heard,” he says.  

The tent opens.  There is a lit lantern inside, brightening the night with golden warmth.  The interior is simple, though marginally more comfortable than the average tent. It is tall enough you can walk around without ducking. The ground is neatly covered, a thick bedroll unfurled in the middle of the space.  It looks as inviting as it can be, blankets draped across the long cushion, a pillow at the head.  One of your smaller trunks is in the room.  There is a low table and a cushion beneath it, a tea pot and cup in wait.  The lantern sits on the ground, near the bed. 

You look at each other. 

It would require only a step, out of the darkness and into the light, and he could kiss you again.  Only a step, yet a serious one with real ramifications. 

Despite all that, you want him as you have never wanted anything before.  You want him so much that you learned how to want.   Before him, you were numb but content.  Now you feel every prickling tingle of a hair standing on edge, the anticipation twisting inside you, and the flush of heat that moves through you when his eyes move to your lips. 

“I—” he starts and never finishes.

You can see the complicated gears and cogs spinning in his head.  You think of him on his knees before you, kissing your hands, shaking with desperation.  Every kiss is both a gift and a surrendering, the forging of a serious vow in the breaking of another.  You want him, but not in the way a king wants his kingdom, not with a selfish and possessive cruelty, not with a command. 

“I enjoy your company,” you say.  “When Seungmin takes his post, would you play some music for me?  It would make me happy.” 

He releases a breath, laughter spilling out of him. 

“Yes,” he says, smiling at you.  “Yes, that would make me happy too.” 

Jisung stands guard until Seungmin arrives, then he leaves to fetch his guitar.  You dress down for the evening, removing your layers and letting your curls loose.  You sit on the bedroll in nothing but your shift.  It goes without saying that it does a better job of modesty when it is dry.  The recollection of Jisung’s staring makes your cheeks feel hot. 

You are smiling down at your embroidery when he returns.  There is only a brief conversation between him and Seungmin, the latter somewhat perplexed by his presence. It is not inappropriate for a kingsguard to guard the royal personage from inside the tent, but it has not been deemed necessary, nor has Jisung been posted. 

Jisung lets the guitar does most of the talking.  It is very persuasive.

Moments later, Jisung is inside the tent, lacing it closed again, the guitar on his back.  Somehow, the lacing of the tent ties feel even sturdier than a lock.  It would take a long time for someone to undo it, making it nearly impossible to sneak up on you. 

Though, you suspect it would also take you a long time to become conscious of the real world.  Jisung is not kissing you, not even touching you, just moving inside the same small space as you, and you are already distractingly rivetted. 

So distracted, you poke your finger on a needle.  You put your finger in your mouth to catch and wipe the tiny pinprick of blood, looking at Jisung as he sits down.  He does not sit on the bedroll, just beside it on the ground. 

His eyes flick to your mouth, his face a little flushed. 

“Ha-ha,” he speaks it more than laughs it.  “Right.  Music.  Um.” 

The first strum of the guitar feels very loud in this small space, making your heart jump.  The alarm slows to a gradual stop as you let the music surround you, the gentle plucking of each string.  He hums softly until you are visibly comfortable with the sound, then he starts to sing too. 

He starts with a familiar ballad, famous enough it reached your land at the borders.  The next song you do not know, but he has hummed snippets here and there over the past couple days.  The third song is about you, though it takes a second to realize it.  Your eyes are on your embroidery, knotting little loops of cherry blossom petals, when you realize the ‘mermaid in white with curly hair’ who has ‘wanting eyes for the soldier on the shore’ is maybe not so distant or fantastical as the lyrics might imply. 

You look at him, flicking your gaze to the sealed tent flap as if to remind him that others can hear.  He grins innocently and keeps singing, your story hidden in the details of some fictional recreation.  

Hearing his interpretation of your supposed thoughts makes you laugh, as he is often doing everything to make you laugh.  Hearing the thoughts of the soldier on the shore stirs rather differently, heart palpitating as he sings about longing and terror.  Both those feelings seem to torment the soldier, a man equal parts integrity, desire, and fear. 

The lyrics trail off though he keeps strumming the guitar.  You suppose the story is not yet finished. 

The melody changes a little.  He hums to chase it, perhaps crafting another song in his mind. 

You look at your cherry blossoms, listening to him, remembering the first time he sang to you.  He had never even spoken to you.  You did not know him at all.  You were alone and miserable, sulking in the dark, and he jumped into the light and touched you with his music. 

It feels like so much has changed, even while technically nothing has.  You are still married to the king.  You have both sworn oaths. 

His music still touches you.

Your vision blurs, then the first teardrop plunks onto a cherry blossom.  He notices immediately, just like he was the only one to see your tears at the ceremony.  The music comes to an abrupt stop, a suspended note awkwardly fractured.  He puts the guitar aside and gets on his knees, leaning over your embroidery to lift your face. 

You sniffle, smiling at him through your tears. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.  “I’m not even crying because of the sad things.” 

“That’s okay,” he says, his face as morose.  He tries to smile softly, though his brow is still pinched with concern.  “You can cry,” he says.  “If it will make you feel better.” 

Yes, you think it will.  You have too long repressed feeling.  You are allowed to be angry and passionate and sad.  Crying and raging will not necessarily solve all your problems, but it will empty the clutter of your mind and soul. 

You let it wash away, then you let him wipe your eyes. 

“Thank you,” you say, wiping the last teardrop as he sits back. 

He picks up his guitar, though he just looks at it, running his hand along the neck while you tidy up your embroidery tools.  He looks from his art to yours, blinking at the cherry blossoms. 

“What are you making?” he asks. 

“Just bits and pieces, really,” you say.  “Spring is my favourite season.  It’s beautiful back home, with the blossoms and warm rain showers.  Everything sparkles all the time.”  

If you had not already cried, thinking of home might have done it.   Now, you just sniffle and lay the fabric down.  You smile at him. 

“What’s your favourite season?” you ask.

“Mine?”  His eyebrows lift.  His mouth is open as he looks for an answer, then he glances at your embroidery and laughs.  “Spring,” he says.

You swat his arm and he playfully howls, clutching it. 

“You can’t just say that because it’s mine,” you say. 

“Why not?” he asks, laughing. 

“Because!” 

“All right, all right,” he says.  He taps his chin with great contemplation.  “Autumn?  No, no, it’s gross in the capital then.  The rain doesn’t sparkle there, not in the fall.  It sort of just – pings.”  He makes a high-pitched sound on the word, miming each droplet as it tumbles and rings out.  “Let’s see then – it’s not autumn and spring is forbidden to me.  Ah, winter?  No.  No.  Guard duty in the winter is the worst.  Oops, I’m not supposed to say that – of course being a kingsguard is a blessing, and I can’t wait to experience the next winter, Amen.”  He opens his palms and pretends to pray, then bows his head before continuing.  “So it’s not those.  Then, ah, let me think.  What’s left? Hmmm…” 

You are already giggling when he leans towards you, grinning.

“Remind me,” he says.  “What’s left?”

“Summer, of course,” you say. 

“Ah, of course.  Let’s think.  It’s hot, muggy, and the rain doesn’t help either of those things.  Everything feels a bit like soup.  But…” 

“But…?”  You lean towards him as well, playfully eager, like this is the most important secret he could reveal.

“But,” he says, eyes dropping momentarily to your smile, then lifting again.  They crinkle with his own gentle grin, drawing your eyes there as well.  “That’s when we met,” he says. 

You look from his mouth to his eyes.  The joining of your gazes makes everything feel very quiet, slow, and warm.  Nothing exists past the golden light beside you. 

“It is,” you say. 

“Yes,” he says.  “Summer.  I think I used to hate it.  I think – I’ll never hate it again.” 

“That’s funny,” you say. “I feel the same way.”

“Well, you can’t,” he says, abruptly teasing again, “Because that’s my favourite, and you can’t just pick it because I did.” 

You laugh, but it catches you off guard so it is a rather ugly laugh, more of a snort.  Your hand flies up to cover your mouth.  He laughs at that sound more than anyting, though he tries to stifle it. 

You swat each other, trying and failing to keep the laughter down.  A kingsguard keeping watch, a bard playing music, that is one thing.  Giggling with the queen is a little different.   

He accidentally pokes himself on your needle.  It is laying between you, forgotten, and he puts his hand down.  He hisses as he lifts it, grimacing like he was run through with a sword rather than pinpricked with a sewing needle. 

“Oh my goodness,” you say, shaking your head with playful irritation.  You gather your embroidery things and place them out of reach so there are no more accidents.  “Silly,” you say.  “Big strong guard, you are.  It couldn’t have hurt that much.”

“It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt,” he says with dramatically sad eyes and a spectacular pout. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” you say, taking his hand.  It is not even bleeding.  Still, you bring it to your mouth. 

You do not intend to be seductive.  You are truly just playing, intending to wet his finger against your lips and tease him some more.  The moment your lips touch his skin, however, the whole energy inside the tent seems to shift.  If you did not know better, you would say the earth itself tilted.  You stomach drops with a swoop, as if you took off flying. 

You look at him while taking the tip of his finger in your mouth.  His smile vanishes too, those dark eyes suddenly smouldering in the lamplight.  Your heart is pounding so hard that it wakes up the rest of your body.  When you kiss that fingertip again, moving your mouth, making no mistake of its deliberateness, your heart seems to plummet as well.  It drops right between your legs when it continues to pound, sending heat in every direction, so stark and sure that it makes you want to double over. 

“Jisung,” you say, your lips a little wet. 

He does not have far to go, cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss.  You clasp his shoulders, closing your eyes and kissing him back.  You definitely would not notice an intruder, nor even a fire, not even a god walking the earth.  You lose yourself completely, even more than those precious kisses from before.  Maybe it is knowing you are truly alone, that the king is out cold, that it is nighttime and you are in your shift and he is right here, and it would be so easy to lay down and—

“I—”  He abruptly breaks the kiss.  He still looks lost in it, eyes half-open, face tinged with a blush.  He pushes his fingers through his hair, shaking his head like that will pull him out of it. 

He looks at you, then your mouth, and falls right back in.  His eyes close like it is a little painful, and he groans when he kisses you, like it is rearranging him.   He cups your face with both hands and guides the kiss, opening his mouth, inexpertly but hungrily.  You follow, just as inexpertly but just as passionately.  You make a sound of your own, higher and lighter, sweet in the kiss as he licks into your open mouth. 

He is affected, either by the sound or your taste or your tongue against his.  He pulls back again, with a shuddering gasp, like he forgot to breathe the whole time.  You think you forgot too, breathing much harder than before. 

“I—I’m so—”  he says, forcing himself to look away.  He stares down at the lantern.  His eyes look a little wet, verging on tears as well.  He rubs his face, pushes his hand into his hair and keeps it there, the dark locks messy around his fingers. 

“Jisung,” you whisper his name, touching his shoulder, then his face.  “Jisung, I know.  This is – this is all crazy.”  He looks at you, eyes still sad, hand still shoved in his hair.  “I know,” you say.  “You’re not alone.  I know this is complicated.”  You stammer, tripping over your racing heart.  You cup his face and stroke his cheek.  “I’m not asking for anything but what you want to give me.”

“I know,” he whispers.  “I’m not scared of you.  I’m scared of me.  Of what I want to give.  It would be—”  He finally lets go of his hair.  It takes a second to fall back into place after being pushed for so long, falling messily across his forehead.  “It would be easier,” he says again, “if I didn’t want to, at all.  But I—” 

It is certainly easier for him to speak in song.  He conveyed so much as a soldier on the shore, longing and terror in equal parts.  Yes, that is all over his face as he looks at you, even if he cannot articulate it like this.  He just breathes, in and out.  He tilts his head and looks at you.  He is right, that this would all be easier if that expression was not so tender and loving. 

“What about you?” he asks.  “What do – what do you want to – give?” 

“Jisung,” you say, almost laughing, because isn’t it obvious?  “I want to give you everything.”

You thought that was so obvious, but his look says otherwise, that he is surprised and taken back and overcome. 

“I believe,” you say, “that even though we are surrounded by danger, my heart and my body would be truly safe with you.”

“Oh,” he says.  He gazes back at you for a time, then he looks down.  He takes your hand.  His eyes closed, he brings it to his mouth and kisses your palm.  He holds it to his face after, eyes still closed, clearly thinking very hard.  When he straightens, he says, “It is.  But when it comes to me, I—”  He laughs without much humour, looking at you, his expression rather withering and his tone self-deprecating.  “I think I’m broken beyond help.  I think I always have been.  I don’t even have a good reason why.  I just know I feel worthless if I don’t cling to the other vow that has ever meant anything and you – and I – and—”

“You’re safe with me too,” you say gently.  “Whatever that looks like, Jisung.  Whether you think it’s broken or not, I’ll take care of it all.” 

He nods, sharp and quick.  He rests his forehead against yours.  You close your eyes and stay there for a time, just breathing until your racing hearts are under control again.  He kisses your forehead before standing.  You stand as well, mostly to see that your legs still work, everything fuzzy after all that. 

He picks up his guitar and goes to the tent entrance.  He unlaces it carefully, then looks at you before parting it.  His expression is fond, his mouth open with some parting words, but his eyes widen and he swallows whatever gentle words were on his lips.  You look over your shoulder, wondering what surprised him, but there is nothing there.

“What is it?” you ask, smiling when he does. 

“Ah, uh, you—”  He points behind you with the guitar.  There is still nothing there.  When you lift an eyebrow at him, he giggles.  “Um, the light,” he says.  “Behind you – it, um.” 

Oh.  The lantern is shining right through your thin white shift.  Perhaps it is not reliable for modesty, even when dry, turning almost invisible as it reveals the shape of everything beneath the fabric. 

“Well,” you say, brushing the material out.  “I suppose it’s nothing you haven’t seen.” 

“Yes,” he says, breathlessly.  His eyes move down your body and up again.  It is such a thorough, thinking regard, that you think he might be changing his mind.  Then he swallows, closes his eyes, bows his head.  He departs without another word. 

You do not listen to hear if he and Seungmin speak some more.  You douse the lantern and climb under your blankets.  You thought you had tempered yourself, but that last look was hungrier and more powerful than a kiss.  With the image of him so fresh and clear in your mind, and with the tent securely laced shut again, you slide a hand beneath the covers and whisper his name again and again. 

-

You wake in the middle of the night.  You do not know what time, but it is nowhere near daylight, the world in darkness all around the tent.  You went to sleep to some bustling noise in the camp, but now it is silent, so you believe it is many hours later.

Your eyes adjust to the midnight blue, making out the shape of your table and trunk, the unlit lantern.   The only light is outside the tent, the guard posted with a lantern of his own.   He is holding it in the air so you can see his silhouette. 

Two silhouettes. 

It takes a moment for your groggy mind to catch up, but it does, and you realize there is a hushed argument happening on the other side of the tent.  You realize you are also right about the hour, because it is late enough that there was a guard change.  That is not Seungmin’s voice or silhouette outside the tent, but Minho.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Minho whispers, in obvious agitation.  “She’s sleeping.  Why would I let you into the queen’s tent?”

“I just want to see her.”  That voice is unmistakably Jisung.  You would recognize his voice anywhere.  Your heart wakes up faster than your mind, skipping beats. 

“In the middle of the night?”  Minho asks.  “Are you crazy?”

“Yes!” Jisung whispers back, with a high-pitched strain.  “I am!  Now let me see her!” 

“What kind of argument is that?” Minho asks. 

“I just—”  Jisung sighs.  You watch his silhouette, his hands moving through the air as he gestures at nothing.  “I’ve been thinking—”

“I get that’s new for you,” Minho says dryly, “But the queen can be alerted to this miracle tomorrow.”

“And I just need to see her,” Jisung finishes.  “Because – because I only have half my thoughts when I’m not with her.  Like the world is only half full and I’m only—”  He jabs his chest, exhales heavily.  “Only half whole.” 

The lantern lowers slightly, Minho seemingly losing power as his arm lowers. 

“Please,” Jisung says.  “I’m just going to talk to her.  I’ll be fast.  She won’t mind.  The king will be passed out until noon at least.  This is just – I need to see her.”

“I hate you,” Minho says.  “If I hear even one disgruntled squeak from her, I’m considering it permission to kill you for being a nuisance.”

“I can’t wait to haunt you forever,” Jisung says, clapping him on the shoulder with a friendly pat.

Minho shrugs him off.  The lantern swings away as Minho stalks back to his post.  He plunks the light on the ground. 

You can no longer see his silhouette, but you can hear as the tent unlaces.  Each slip of a tie has your heartbeat skipping.  You prop yourself up your elbows, watching slivers of moonlight slip into the tent.  Eventually the tent is undone enough that Jisung can step inside, then he grumbles and swears to himself as he tries to lace it back up again.

You sit all the way upright but he evidently does not see you.  At first, he is preoccupied with the laces.  Then, once the tent is secure, he turns around.  Your eyes are adjusted to the darkness so you see him perfectly, but his are not adjusted, and he evidently has no idea you are awake and upright and staring at him.

He seems to go through a myriad of emotions, his face an entire theatrical spectacle in the span of thirty seconds.  Then he curses and turns around and reaches for the laces, having seemingly lost all his nerves, intent on departing again. 

“Jisung?” you say.

It makes him jump, shoulders leaping.  He slowly turns around to face you.  He still does not see you properly, squinting through the dark, but you think your general shape is taking form.  He faces the correct angle, at least. 

“Um, yes?” he asks. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask. 

“Oh, that,” he says.  “Right. Um.  You see.  I was thinking about everything you said.  And everything I said.  And did.  And we did.  And he said and he did, the king I mean.  And I was just – I was thinking – what I mean is.”  He clasps his hands together and punctuates his words with a pointed gesture.  “The. reason. I. am. here.” 

He lets his arms fall to his side.  You think he can see you much better now, because his eyes finally find yours. 

He should be a terrifying figure in the dark, all long dark robes with a shiny sword at his hip.  But you are not scared.  His hands are the ones shaking, his eyes wide.  

“Yes?” you say softly, encouraging. 

He takes a step forward.  His hand rests on the hilt of his sword out of habit, no doubt a consolation to his nerves.  He looks down at it, seems to contemplate it like it has answers, or maybe just more questions.  Eventually, he reaches into his robes and undoes the sword belt.  You watch with baited breath as the sword falls into his hand. 

He crouches down, laying the sword on the ground.  On one knee, looking at the sword, then looking at you, he unclasps the top layer of his robes. 

“I think,” he says, “I’m here to pray.”

You are quickly out of the covers, crawling down the bedroll towards him.  He drops his other knee so he is kneeling upright at the foot of your bed, his robes open to the dark layer underneath, his chest rising and falling as quickly as his heart must be racing. 

You get up on your knees too, hands floating between you as you take a second to just look at each other.  His mouth is open like he has more to say, but he never finds the words.  You think there might be words, but they have all been said, and they are better encapsulated in a kiss. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in.  His hands find your waist, at first with the chivalrous touch of a guard, as he has been holding your waist and hips when he helps you from here to there.  Then the kiss deepens, your eyes close.  His tongue pushes against yours and his hands are searching, squeezing, feeling the shape of every curve under his palm. 

He says your name, not your title, your shift messily gathered in his fists.  He kisses you softly, just a peck, then another, then those kisses move across your face and down your neck.  You sink your fingers into his hair, holding him there as he kisses a long, hot kiss against your throat.  You feel it all the way down between your thighs, liquid heat and a pounding need.  You scratch  at his scalp as his open mouth moves across your skin and he moans.

“Shh,” you say gently, his voice softening against your neck, just a light sound as he licks the place he kissed. 

You want to tear the robe off his body, but you don’t want to startle him, his hands already shaking where they move over your clothed body.  You decide to go first, already more comfortable with it. 

You always thought disrobing for a lover would be petrifying, aghast at the thought of ever baring yourself to a husband.  Well, perhaps that last part is still true.  But it is not difficult to share yourself with Jisung.  You like the way he looks at you, like he is writing songs of worship in his head. 

You lean back, breathing hard, smiling at his face.  He looks flushed and messy, his lips wet.  He blinks at you, though his gaze lowers when you gather the hem of your shift and lift.  His mouth is hanging open when you toss it to the side. 

“It’s not like you haven’t seen me before,” you whisper, laughing lightly. 

“That was different,” he says.  “I couldn’t really look.  I tried not to look.  I knew if I did, I’d want to touch you.  I tried to pray instead.  But I can’t hear the gods when you’re not near me.  Now—”  His hand moves up your naked side, skimming your curves, his eyes following the trail.  He swipes his thumb across your breast and your back arches into him.  “Now,” he says again, dipping his head, “I know where I was made to be.”

His mouth closes around the tip of your breast, already pert from stimulation, hardening further between his lips.  He sweeps his tongue across your skin, moves to the other side.  His hands move everywhere, up and down. 

Before long, you are moving, laying on your back.  He tears off his outer robe and leaves it on the ground, following you down.  You will not push him for more, knowing already how much he is giving you, though one day you want to feel every inch of him, skin to skin.  It will happen, you decide.  One day, you will be in a bed, and there will be time, and you will never be done exploring. 

He lets your put your hand under his shirt, scratching down his spine.  His arms are bare so you squeeze those too.  Your legs part to make room for his hips.  You are kissing and you make a sound in each other’s mouths when he lowers his hips against you.  You can feel him through the material of his trousers, like you could that other night.  But where he ran away that night, ignoring his own feelings, this time he lets your hand wander down.  When you cup the hard shape of him in your palm, it makes your breath catch in an uneven stutter. 

“Jisung,” you whisper, arching against him when he says your name back. 

“Yes,” he says, pushing himself upright with shaking arms.  He kneels between your open legs, pushing his hair back, swallowing as he looks down.  His mouth moves but he doesn’t speak, though he does make a garbled noise when running his hands along the soft skin of your inner thigh. 

That skin is very sensitive.  You are already jumping by the time his hand is on you.  You have to cover your mouth.  No amount of touching yourself could prepare you for his touch, his fingers rougher and calloused both from his sword and his guitar. 

You are very wet, from earlier, from seconds ago.  He makes a face like he can feel the pleasure too, even though it his fingers, rubbing through all that wetness.   He finds that place he showed you, that he talked about, as adept with the instrument of your body as he is with any other tool he puts in his hands.  Just as he is always determined to make you laugh, he is now determined to give you that burst of pleasure.   He grips your thigh in one strong hand and deftly moves his other thumb around and around that small centre of pleasure. 

You twitch in his grip, still gasping with those short, stunted breaths.  You can keep your voice down on your own, but it requires more concentration now, swallowing those sounds as that pleasure breaks apart inside you.  Your hips lift, chasing his touch, then drop in shy retreat, oversensitive. 

He grips both thighs, squeezing the soft flesh, then runs his fingertips back to their centre, then up, up the curve of your chest, touching your open mouth.  You take his fingers in your mouth, nothing like before, which was playful then uncertain and demure.  You take them like you want to take everything, deep and wet and needy, moving your head, sucking them hard between your lips until he has to cover his own mouth to stop himself from being loud. 

He takes his hand back.  The other drops from his mouth.  You look at each other, hearts racing.   His hands are shaking again as he reaches for the ties of his trousers, fumbling more than a little. 

You sit up to help.  With him kneeling upright, it puts your face at a rather advantageous position.  His fingers get even more clumsy until he is no help at all, leaving it to you to unlace. 

You look up at him, holding his gaze.  This is certainly not the wedding night you were ever prepared to participate in.  You were instructed to lay back and wait, then it would happen and be over.   That could not be more different than your searching hands, eager to feel him, your eyes on any sliver of skin he shows you. 

Once the trousers are unlaced, there is little hiding, the fabric falling open and everything inside lifting up.  Truthfully, you are nervous again too, but also emboldened with passionate wanting.  You are aware you are about to do something that cannot be reversed in the eyes of the law. 

I’m the queen, you think.  I make my own law.

You touch him as he lays you back down.  When you are on your back, you lay your hands at your sides, your legs open around him, hair spread out underneath you. 

He pushes his trousers down his hips.  He looks into your face for as long as he can, but he eventually needs to look down.  He curses to himself as he is a little clumsy again, trying to guide himself to your entrance.  He finds it, but your body is a little resistant even though you are so wet.  You wince a little, but shake your head when he stops, telling him to keep going, please, please, please. 

You can only imagine how painful this would have been with the king.  Well, that man will never be your first, no matter what he tries in future.  It will always be Han Jisung, slowly pushing inside you, his sweaty face buried in your neck, murmuring your name as he fills you to utter completion. 

You almost cry when he is all the way inside you, not even from the tenderness, but just the rightness.  You cling to him, sliding a hand down the back of his shirt.  He rocks his hips a little, kissing your neck when you whimper. 

“It’s okay,” he says, lifting his face to look at you.  He kisses your lips, a few short pecks that leave you wanting more.  He stares down into your face like he can hardly believe you are real.  “I have you,” he says.  “I have you.” 

He knows how to listen beyond words, hearing every cry and request of your body, even if you cannot articulate it.  He is careful until that tender burn lessens, careful for his own sake too, muttering the occasional oath when you squeeze around him.  it soon really does sound like praying with how often he calls the gods and you. 

You kiss him, moaning into his mouth, probably clawing up his shoulders as he starts to understand how to roll his hips.  Those scratches won’t matter because he’s a kingsguard and he will be completely covered tomorrow.  Only you will know his back is a canvas of your pleasure, fingers bruising and nails raking desperately as he takes you, deeply, thoroughly. 

“I’m – I can’t – inside,” he says between breaths, face scrunched up as he nears his pleasure. 

“I know,” you say, but whimper helplessly.  “One day.” 

That makes him moan deeply, a sharp thrust into you, then he is quickly pulling out.  It just takes a single stroke from his hand before he finishes too.   It is more than you knew it would be, a white streak that falls across the soft skin of your belly.  It takes a second for the sight to register for him, then he squeaks and grabs his robe again. 

Cleaning that off the queen is almost certainly not the intended use of the kingsguard robes, but it makes the most sense, as he is more likely to be able to clean it without any questions.  Still, he seems to realize just how sacrilegious it is, looking at the black fabric, then at you. 

Then, he smiles.  It turns to a short laugh, a sound of disbelief. 

“We—” he says. 

“Yes,” you say, giggling too. 

You are not sure if he is more amazed with you or himself.  It certainly takes him a moment to stop looking so shocked, even though he was the one who walked in here.  Eventually, he comes to his senses, at least enough to lay down in your arms for a time. 

He can’t sleep here, but you hold him for a while and he is happy to let you, his head pillowed on the softness of your breasts, his arms around your middle.   He turns his face and kisses your skin, just a chaste kiss, but there is a fire simmering beneath your skin now, and you fear it will never be doused. 

You sit up together.  You kiss his bare arm, right up to where the shoulder of his shirt gets in the way.  He looks at you, appreciative, fond, and a little less scared. 

“We need to be careful,” he says. 

“Of course,” you say.

“I can’t let anything happen to you,” he says, cupping your face.  He brings it close to his, your noses touching. 

“I know you won’t,” you say.  “I’m safe in your hands, bard boy.” 

He laughs, then steals one final kiss.  He doesn’t put the outer robe back on, giving you a chagrined smile while you giggle.  You shuffle back into your shift while he stands up and re-ties his trousers.  He smooths his hair as best he can.  He hooks his swordbelt into place.

He looks somewhat more composed, but not entirely untouched.  You wonder if you look like that, if it’s all over your face, in the lines of your body.  You can certainly feel it inside, both literally with the ache between your thighs, and also emotionally. 

He unlaces the tent and looks at you again, gives you one last departing smile before he steps out. 

He has barely laced the tent shut before the lantern re-appears.  You catch Minho’s silhouette, his hand swinging down to swat Jisung hard on the backside.

“Ouch!” Jisung jumps.

“That was not talking, you asshole,” Minho hisses. 

Jisung, in much better spirits than his friend, simply plants a kiss on the other guard’s cheek and ruffles his hair.  Even in silhouette form, Minho is clearly shocked by this.  It takes him too long to retaliate, left standing there as Jisung skips away.

Minho shakes his head.

Smiling, you lay down to sleep, safe for tonight.  With your growing allies, you are confident will you find a way to remain so.   

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Hi! Its me again! I saw your requests were open and was just wondering if you could do one of our Orc Husband Pert'ah gifting us a haircharm/hairpiece hed made? Thank you so much for your time!

pert'ah (orc oc) drabble

this can be a part five to woven bonds or a standalone!

pert'ah gifts you a hairpeice, thats all it really is

warnings/tags: arranged marriage, orc x human, youre getting closer to him everyday

word count-466 words

The morning light filtered through the cracks in the wooden walls, casting soft beams of sunshine across the small room you shared with Pert'ah. You sat near the window, absently running your fingers through your hair as you stared outside, watching the orc encampment slowly come to life. The sounds of heavy footsteps and gruff voices carried through the air, yet inside, it was quiet. Peaceful, even.

Pert'ah had left early, as he often did, to tend to his duties within the clan. You were still adjusting to this new life, far from the bustling human city you once called home. Every day, the walls of this small space pressed in on you, reminding you of the life you no longer had. You missed your freedom, your family—everything that was ripped away when your father traded you away like property.

The door creaked open, and Pert'ah’s heavy footsteps announced his return. You didn’t turn to face him right away, still trying to hold onto the small piece of yourself that refused to accept this situation. But you weren’t blind to the fact that he had never been cruel to you. In fact, despite his intimidating appearance and the circumstances of your union, Pert'ah had only ever shown you kindness—awkward, yes, but genuine.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice deep and gruff as usual, though there was a certain softness in it when he spoke to you.

“Morning,” you replied, your tone flat but polite.

Pert'ah lingered by the doorway for a moment, and you heard the faint rustle of something in his hands. You risked a glance over your shoulder, your curiosity getting the better of you. He stood there, holding something small in his large, calloused hands, his eyes fixed on it as if he were working up the courage to speak.

“I… I have something,” he mumbled, taking a few slow steps toward you. His broken English was always a bit halting, but he tried his best to communicate clearly with you. “For you.”

You turned to face him more fully, your eyes narrowing slightly. “What is it?”

Pert'ah hesitated, his thick fingers moving carefully as he extended a small object toward you. It gleamed faintly in the morning light—a hair charm, or perhaps a hairpiece, woven with intricate strands of silver and delicate beads that caught the sunlight. It looked almost too fragile for his hands to have crafted it.

“I made this,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting between the charm and your face. “For your hair. You… always touch it. Thought you would like something… special.”

You stared at the charm for a moment, unsure of how to respond. It was beautiful, finely made, and obviously took time and care to create. You never imagined that he would notice something so small—how you always fiddled with your hair, especially when you were anxious. The thought of him watching you so closely unsettled you, but the sincerity in his eyes tempered the discomfort.

“I don’t know what to say,” you murmured, still processing the gesture. “Why did you make this for me?”

Pert'ah’s brow furrowed, his tusks jutting out slightly as he thought carefully about his words. “You… are part of my life now. I want you feel… more at ease here. This place, not easy for you. I know.” His voice was quiet, almost apologetic. “I thought… maybe this could help.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached out to take the charm from his hands. The metal was cool against your skin, the beads glinting softly. It was clear how much effort he had put into it, each detail meticulously crafted. You had never been given something so personal before, and the weight of that realization settled heavily in your chest.

“You made this… just for me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his gaze softening. “Yes. Only for you.”

For a moment, you were speechless. You had spent so long building up walls between yourself and him, refusing to let him in, but this gesture—this simple, heartfelt gift—chipped away at those walls just a little. You could see now that Pert'ah wasn’t just your captor, wasn’t just the orc who had taken you from your old life. He was trying, in his own way, to make this new life bearable for you. Perhaps even… a little more.

Wordlessly, you turned the charm over in your hands, studying the way the silver strands twisted together in an intricate pattern. Then, slowly, you lifted it toward your hair, unsure of how to put it in place. Pert'ah noticed your hesitation and stepped closer, his massive hands surprisingly gentle as he reached toward you.

“May I?” he asked softly, his eyes meeting yours for permission.

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding in your chest as you nodded. He moved carefully, his fingers brushing against your hair as he slipped the charm into place. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t pull away. His movements were slow, almost reverent, as if he were afraid to hurt you.

“There,” he murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “It looks… beautiful.”

You reached up to touch the charm, your fingers grazing the beads that now sat neatly in your hair. A strange, unfamiliar warmth blossomed in your chest at the compliment, at the realization that he had done something purely for you. You weren’t ready to forgive everything, or even accept your new life fully, but in this moment, you felt something shift between you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, meeting his gaze. “It’s… really beautiful. I appreciate it.”

Pert'ah’s face lit up, a small, relieved smile tugging at his lips. “I am glad.”

As he turned to leave the room, you sat back down by the window, your fingers gently playing with the hair charm. It wasn’t just a piece of jewelry—it was a symbol of something more. Maybe trust. Maybe a new beginning.

Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny that it mattered.

[thecandlesticksfromlesmis]

One evening,

as the setting sun turns the sky dusty,

and the crickets in the fields remind me

that I’m home,

my father tells me he’s reading Les Mis.

I’m half way through feeding the cows

their molasses coated mystery mix,

and the air smells sweet,

and my father reaches out to connect to me.

“I’m reading Les Mis.”

He’s excited to tell me,

and I’m excited to hear.

This story is my mine and my mother’s bond,

and now my father cares to know too.

We talk about the depth of the story.

About the role Javert plays.

Villain or just another man

with his own god to please?

We talk about the words

and how they transcend time,

how they feel so close to our own hearts,

despite Valjean living worlds away

from the Tennessee hills.

The cows are happy and I drive us back,

the John Deere gator engine so loud

that we have to yell to hear each other talk.

And we do.

My father tells me how much he likes

the way Hugo talks about God.

God reveals Himself

in the character’s acts of love:

The bishop to Valjean,

Valjean to Fantine.

In Les Mis, god is the invisible hand

that guides all acts of goodness.

“It feels like real Christianity,” he says (he believes).

“It does,” I reply (I don’t).

“Not the commercial Christianity we have now.”

I drive us past the barn

and the wood pile.

I think about how, to me,

the love in Les Mis feels so Human.

And how, to my father,

the love in Les Mis feels like God

To me, the Divine in Les Mis

is always just humanity and love preserving.

To my father, it’s all just God (and this is enough).

To me, Love is god

To him, God is love.

When we get back to the house,

the stars are coming out in the sky.

We both glance upwards out of habit.

Space is mine and my father’s bond.

And I know in that infinity he sees God,

and I know in that infinity

all I see is Me.

The particles I am made of,

the light that keeps me alive,

the time that gives me the chance to Love.

If given the opportunity,

my father and I would both bow down

and worship the stars,

both with our own gods to please.

My dad’s God is the Father,

and my god is the Love.

My father is reading Les Mis,

and for a rare moment,

we are on the exact same page.

[vuesour]

SUGAR AND SPICE，SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS

black butler    mature content    sprinkles of headcanons    angel!reader

a/n: have fun reading! reblogs are very much appreciated!

attention: as this story takes place in victorian england—you as the reader don't have to imagine yourself as an angel in the christian sense.

warnings. cunnilingus. fingering. making out. odd british english used for dialogue. possibility of the character being ooc. possible inaccurate historial clothing.（2.4k）

“and to what do i own this...dreary visit from a creature like yourself? are you not content with puffing your feathers all over the place?” it's often said that opposites attract—daredevils with goody-goodies, introverts with extroverts, or curious cats with cautious deers. a statement created to teach us humans that despite many characteristics and attitudes, a certain appeal will fester to bring one another closer. in your case, you couldn't say with confidence that said statement holds any truth. how could you, after all, take the words of contradicting creatures such as mortals as gospel? that's just an invitation for a migraine that will numb your brain in the long run.

“my feathers? then do tell, do you, not tire of selling ‘solutions’ to humans whenever you influence them to sink deeper in their vices?” the frantic noises of conversation as wine glasses rattle against one another lingered across the room—the ceilings were an attempt to reach the skies limits, the tinted roof was embellished with several chandeliers, and music was playing in the background. everyone was dressed in their sunday's best, all practiced smiles spattered on their faces while ensuring their true intentions weren't worn on their sleeves. out of the crowd, it was impossible not to have been picking up on your presence—a true pearl amongst the common rocks.

dressed in a light pink evening gown that featured silk and lace trim around the neckline and small, form-fitting sleeves. only small parts of your body you allow others to see. your collarbone, neck, and face were bare, keeping the rest of your skin covered. always the modest one, weren't you? so prim and proper, so high and mighty. “are you seriously asking me to reject my nature? that is just plain cruel.” and there he stood, an unwelcome thorn in your side. just as he couldn't ignore your presence, the same could be said about you. his mind is as sharp as a finely honed blade, and his cunning is like a cat playing with its mouse. his steps were so graceful that it seemed as if he were dancing to close the distance between the two of you. his body was clad in all black with only a stiff-bosomed white shirt with small golden studs attached on the cuffs being the exception. the man, who had hair as black as the night, emitted a subtle coppery odor. quite fitting for a demon of his caliber. not that you could give him the pleasure of having to hear that out loud.

“and yet here you are. pretending to be civilized,” you remarked, lips pressed into a thin line as your voice carried just enough disdain. “while leading these humans deeper into their damnation. their lust, their hatred, their jealousy. it is a delight to you, is it not?” that silly little act of his—masquerading as someone who always had himself under control. mind you, this is the same being who waltzed around with skeletons in his arms back in inferno.

“you are making it look like being a professional at one's craft is some sort of scandalous matter.” a sneering and scornful expression formed on his lips, indicating his amusement at the situation. “you need me, as much as i need you for us to play our part. even if you are too proud to admit that to yourself.” oh, how you loathed the way he could effortlessly pull the deepest truths from you with just a few words. but were you in any right to complain when all is fair in war and ardor?

“as i have my contracts to uphold, you have a reputation to keep.” his strong hand enveloped yours, intertwining his fingers with yours as he lifted your hand towards his lips. the delicate silk of your gloves carries the faint impression of his warmth, a gentle reminder of his touch. but his eyes—auburn-colored that had a dash of crimson passing by told you another story. he was throwing the ball in your court. a challenge to see if you would catch his throw. and you did so well in taking it. “—!” else you couldn't have jerked back swiftly as if something had burned you severely. how your body tensed up temporarily. or that grimace that took over your face for just a moment. the melodies of tonight's piece continued playing in the background, creating a rhythm that could serve as a metronome for your unspoken battle. the commotion of the ball turned into a whisper as the tension between the two of you reached a degree that could be viewed as tangible. the history between you guys was the master of this silent, elegant confrontation. pulling the strings of both your hearts and minds.

“i must excuse myself, now.” you turned promptly toward the doors, leaving without uttering another word, denying the man any opportunity to respond. with a racing heart, threatening to break out of your ribcage, you hurried out of the lively place filled to the brim with the bourgeoisie that paying you no mind. every step was an intentional attempt at largening the distance between you and sebastian. even though out of sight, you felt his gaze burning on your back. like he was following right behind you. that said, your haste has resulted in your feet losing their typical poise. you had no time to think about anything else, and if it hadn't been for your reflexes, you would have stumbled down the stairs. “this damned gown—”

“it seems like you have lost something, little dove.” a mixture of arrogance and charm dripped from his words like acid. once more, perfection radiating from his frame. he was standing there again, a sensation of control as no fractures could be seen. with a grin that might rival that of the greediest businessmen, sebastian was holding the slipper that, in a cruel twist of destiny, had been left behind a short distance from you. looking more like a chance for him to bask in your misfortune, he held the item between his fingers like an olive branch. “could you like me to help you out before you go ahead and lick your wounds for the rest of this evening?” at this point, he started applying vinegar in addition to salt in your wounds. making it clear that refusal wouldn't be an option on the table to take. a devil through and through. “please, i insist.”

your pride prevented you from appearing weak in his company, even if every nerve in your body screamed in protest and you wanted to reject it outright. you were taking a deep breath, searching for some serenity. you nodded slowly and maintained steady eye contact with the man with adamant resolve. sebastian, with a smirk still lingering on his lips, extended his hand towards you in an invitation for you to follow. accepting it reluctantly, you allowed him to take the lead in this displeasing dance of dislike and tension.

he took you to a more peaceful place where no partygoer's inquisitive gaze was present. there stood a lit-up oil lamp on the corner of a desk that dispersed enough illumination for you to see the furniture inside of the room. a large, gilded chair is where he gestured to you to take a seat. and that you did—with a posture oh so refined. with praticed ease, sebastian kneeled before you. a mischievous gleam passed his eyes by while he tilted his head upwards to look at you. “may i?” he asked, holding out his other hand to take hold of your ankle. the question, even though seemed innocent by itself, was anything but due to the way he said it. how he looked at you while doing so.

“just hurry up,” you finally said, the room had its tension intertwined with intimacy and was getting overwhelming—too much to handle. you brought up your skirts just enough for the man to do his work, his gaze tracing down your stocking-lad leg. “put it where it belongs and get out of my sight.” his touch was anything but rough.

gloved fingertips followed the curve of your ankle as he carefully reattached your shoe to your foot. the warmth of his contact stayed just long enough to be remembered, without being bothersome. there was a hint of subtle affection in the gesture, flourishing a sense of not only familiarity but forbiddenness as well. sebastian stayed on your ankle for a little bit longer than you would have liked after finishing, but he eventually let it go. for the sole purpose of spite. “there you go,” a triumphant grin made its way onto his face. “you are much more pleasant to deal with when you are like this.” his remark held a certain dispute, and you know knew that he relished in igniting the raging flame that was threatening to set the tension ablaze. in the twinkling of an eye, that mask of feigned politeness fell apart.

your mouth met his, and despite your strength at the moment, he was not deterred; instead, he straightened up and leaned forward, his hands taking hold of your brown thighs. increasing the kiss's intensity of passion. your bodies were teeming with energy that overwhelmed all rational thought. both hands were busy feeling up each other's figures, tugging on the fabrics of your garments in a desperate attempt to finally rub against each other after years of poorly veiled yearning. you knew it was wrong. to harbor such profound feelings for the same entity that opposed what you believed in. you would get a temporary lover that particular evening. a fleeting moment of madness to indulge in before you both returned to normalcy. among the few things you noticed were your quick breaths and the ruffle of your clothes. the following words that came out of sebastian didn't get registered in your clouded mind. “...goodness. you surely know how to surprise someone. do you want to see how far this goes?”

sebastian was anything but a brut. he prefers willing prey that bows their head down on their accord—regardless of how stubborn they may be at the beginning. then one he has to put down by force; force is for the savages and barbarians. for those who do first, and think later. and he, a being of greater nature, would rather die than be placed in the same category as those types. cocky? most likely. the only difference is that he has the means to back those claims up. “i will not continue unless you voice your choice to me.”

with a voice, no louder than a whisper, a soft ‘yes’ left your soft lips. but that was enough for the man to feel overjoyed as he planted his lips down to yours again.

shockingly the contact of his mouth against yours didn't contain that over-consuming fire of beforehand. instead, it was soothing. as if it was offering reassurance. as he moved to remove your garments and reveal more of your copper skin to him, his hands calmed you down and laughter echoed around the room. as your mouths continued to explore, there would occasionally be whimpers, whines, or little gasps.

he started undressing himself as soon as he saw you fully nude. a mesmerizing display of passion was in progress as layer by layer was peeled away. you couldn't take your gaze away from him; at this point, you didn't want anything to divert your focus elsewhere. not even for a split second.

“ah—!” your voice has taken a higher note. its pitch foreign on your tongue. there is only so much you can do to a devil before he succumbs to the blatant temptation that you represent. laying down between your tanned legs, sebastian lunged out to form a long stripe on the open section of your pantalets, pressing his mouth squarely onto your clit as he sucked on it—stimulating it to no end—causing you to throw your head back with joy. “beautiful.” he muttered to your cunt before going back on twirling and pushing against the puffy nub with the tip of his tongue. slurping up the appetizing extracts that were seeping from your pussy. ravishing you without remorse. at the same time, his fingers were expertly penetrating your opening, refusing to leave any unmarked territory unattended. “it is frustrating how good you are at behaving so depraved.” you gasped out, warmth traveling up your cheeks while you looked away from the show, in which your most sensitive regions were having the leading role. of course, you wanted this. of course, it felt electrifying. nevertheless, that nagging voice of embarrassment didn't go away so easily. how could it when you allowed someone like sebastian to reduce you to this state of disarray? “do you believe that it is a wise choice to use sarcasm in your current position?” “and what of it if i do?”

instead of bragging about your attempt at putting on a front of confidence, you should have taken his little lift of the brow as a warning sign. but, he would give you the rare chance to preserve your scraps of dignity. sebastian knew that his cruelty had a time and place to come out. so see it as a small ‘act’ of leniency. it would be asking a little too much from a devil to show you any true compassion.

his fingers curled inside your soft, warm walls. as he resumed his work, he was further coated in your fluids. he quickened his speed as if his tongue was preparing to perform some sort of spell on you. tuning you to sing the most exquisite moans he has ever had the privilege of hearing, much like a musician tunes his instrument. every soft touch had the intent of pushing you over the edge. and it sure did motivate your body to get you to that finish line as quickly as possible. your legs began to tremble as an unfamiliar tenseness began to form in your lower abdomen. “wait—i think i am going to—” bingo. it was as if you saw him transform into the cheshire cat with how the pleasurable build-up came to an abrupt stop. his coal black hair came more and more in sight as he lifted his head from your legs, facing you completely when he ran his tongue over his lips in one sweep. savoring up to the tiniest bits of your essences. “how about you behave a little bit properly next time, dear angel?”

©vuesour

[valle-de-sombra-de-muerte]

Homestuck Reread: Act 5-1, Part 1/5 (p. 1989-2099)

Read the previous post here.

Well the last post got a much more positive reception than I expected, so that's a relief. Anyway, get the grey face paint ready, because it's time for Act 5-1.

Alternian script is the Daedric alphabet from The Elder Scrolls series flipped upside down, which I'm sure most fans know already. The user tries entering "Turdodor Fuckball" for the planet's name.

Interestingly, the correct name is not "Alternia" but "Trollplanet." Is that what Alternia translates to into English? There's like zero discussion at all about troll language because Hussie did not give a single shit about developing this alien society beyond "grey violent humans with horns."

Right out the gate, Karkat's intro leads with his key character trait: his crippling self-loathing. Everything about him, from how he excessively plays up his competence and knowledge to his naturally angry and defensive disposition, stems from the fact that he views himself as a defective freak that constantly needs to prove himself.

His interests are similar to John's. He likes bad movies, specifically romcoms, which ties into his greater passion for romance and the study of interpersonal relationships as a whole. He also has an inexplicable interest in programming. It's at least implied that Karkat only attempts to learn so he can try to compete with Sollux in a futile rivalry. The reason why John likes to program is anyone's guess.

His greatest dream is to join the Alternian military, which is probably the only viable career path for someone of his pariah status. He's constantly in danger of being culled, so he wants to prove to the Empire that he's more valuable to them alive rather than dead. In order to preserve his life, he's willing to serve them and become a tool they can use to further their intergalactic conquests.

"Trolls think fashion is stupid." A simple phrase that is regularly ignored by people who create fantrolls with garish and elaborate outfits.

A good programmer would have no trouble with this modus, so Karkat forces himself to use it until he gets good. Even though it's frustrating and causes him misery, he's so stubborn to prove himself as a good programmer that it reaches the point where Sollux has to take it away from him. Probably because it has become too much of a hindrance. IDK, we never see much of the trolls' session to find out, which is a fucking shame.

Karkat's stubbornness is also a key part of his character. See also: his trolling scheme of trolling John backwards through time is something he admits is stupid, but he continues to go through with it. He will admit he's wrong, often begrudgingly and self-deprecatingly, but will double down and refuse to change course despite that. Giving up is synonymous with failure, something he is deathly afraid of.

If Karkat is so afraid of letting his blood color become known, why does he have candy-red awnings outside his hive? He might as well have a big sign alerting everyone that a mutant lives there.

Everything about Karkat has to be big, flashy, and important. His huge ambitions compensate for his self-loathing so that others don't view him as the worthless mutant he sees himself as. He has to prove that he is a good programmer, he is a strong leader, and he will be the best threshecutioner in the whole military!

This pretty much summarizes what Karkat wants in life: to overcome caste discrimination and gain prestige and respect.

It's tempting to call Will Smith Karkat's "patron black celebrity" but I won't because 1) that whole thing doesn't carry over to the trolls, and 2) this is actually relevant to Karkat's character and not some bizarre, nonsense """joke""" like with the kids.

I've always been a big fan of "angry/uptight guy" and "goofy dumb guy" dynamics, and Karkat and Gamzee fit that to a T. Even though Karkat is extremely rude to Gamzee, he doesn't ever dispute the notion that they are in fact friends. Their friendship is being treated as an established fact, something Karkat uses an excuse to further whinge about how much his life sucks.

Gamzee drops his typing quirk momentarily. This doesn't happen often in the comic, but it's something trolls only ever do when they're close to someone, if they want to express something serious, or both.

Even before the introduction of quadrants, we see hints of a pale dynamic between them. Gamzee is the perfect sounding board for Karkat's vents, doesn't object to the verbal abuse being slung his way, and is implied much later on to be a somewhat of a calming source for Karkat. Yes of course I ship them pale. I just think they're neat, okay? <> :)

Gamzee very inelegantly changes the subject after mentioning Sollux and Karkat's friendship. Karkat may be Gamzee's best friend, but Sollux is Karkat's best friend. That must be a sore spot for him. But beyond this, we never ever see what Sollux and Gamzee's relationship might be like. It would've been nice if Gamzee was more jealous and protective of his best friend/moirail and not like it when Karkat shows more favor to anyone else.

Gamzee and Karkat's dynamic is something that I believe Hussie wanted to set up throughout the Act so that their eventual confrontation would have a bigger payoff, but he fumbled massively with the execution. Either because he doesn't really give a shit about Gamzee, or through sheer inept writing, I can't say. But it sucks because there's definitely a lot of potential here.

They're the first trolls to interact in this new Act, but they don't really ever talk much after this point. They're only ever seen together sporadically and it's implied a handful of times that they're closer than Karkat is willing to let on, but there's never anything beyond that. They really needed to speak more so their relationship could be fleshed out. I'll talk more about this as I move along because this lives in my brain rent-free.

It's really dumb how Gamzee's "rather obscure cult" ended up turning into a religion that pretty much every purple blood follows, but I'm not going to talk about post-canon garbage. I get a headache just thinking about it.

I do like the Joker Card posters in his room. I had that Riddle Box one in my own room for a time.

He likes to "chat a lot" with Karkat. So I guess they just talk to each other way more than what's shown in the text. Thanks, Hussie.

Gamzee never received a proper upbringing from his guardian and had to essentially raise himself. In the process of this, he became addicted to mind-altering substances. To everyone who says Bro is the worst guardian in the story, I gladly point you all to Goat Dad.

Terezi is being intentionally annoying. I know most of the trolls are assholes, but why do any of them waste their time with Terezi when she makes it a point to be obnoxious? It's even more baffling when people try to paint her as one of the more "well-adjusted" trolls.

Karkat fantasizes about making doomsday viruses, huh? I'm going to keep a pin in this for l8r I mean later...

It's funny how Karkat both admires and envies Sollux. Their relationship is also one that doesn't get a lot of attention, despite ostensibly being the "John" and "Dave" parallels of the troll cast. Oh wait, I guess John and Dave's friendship ended up being really shallow and one-sided too. So this tracks, actually.

Sollux disparages Gamzee's religion and expresses disgust when he suspects Karkat might be a convert. So again, I think there's definitely some conflict between these two. Two of the trolls that Karkat is closest to don't seem to like each other. It makes me kind of wish we got some auspistice action between the three of them.

Even though Karkat is regularly rude to his friends, he still values their company deep down. He might be one of the most personable trolls despite his grouchy attitude. He not only tolerates the obnoxious people in his contacts, he actually considers them his close friends. Gamzee is a total dullard and Sollux is crass and moody, but they're also the ones he's closest to. Out of the main cast of trolls, there's only one whom Karkat actively dislikes and makes no real attempt at being sociable with. I'll talk about that when I reach that part.

"Orchestrating the demise of the wicked" yeah I'm sure John was guilty of being very wicked and dastardly when she sent him to his death.

Terezi has a passion for justice, but keep in mind that "justice" on Alternia is equivalent to sentencing people to death for the pettiest of reasons. So no, she is not at all some moral, upstanding heroine. She's a psychotic gremlin who enjoys killing people if they violate her draconian interpretation of the law. She does not care for defending victims of injustice, she enforces the will of the state.

Part of Terezi's core conceit is that she's this half-assed Daredevil parody. She's 1) blind and has super senses 2) uses a cane to fight, and 3) is a "lawyer." Aside from that, she shares nothing else in common with Daredevil. I imagine Hussie does not know anything about superheroes beyond superficial, pop culture knowledge.

I remember when people loved to portray Nepeta and Terezi as good friends, but Terezi doesn't actually like role playing with her. She treats her like a joke, much like everyone else. Poor Nepeta gets such a raw deal.

In Nepeta's very first speaking appearance, we get a glimpse of her horrible relationship with Equius. Despite the physical distance between them, she's so browbeaten into subservience that she feels the need to ask him for "purrmission" before doing anything. She is scared about expressing her honest desires around him, preferring to skirt around the issue and just blindly hoping that things will work out and he won't get mad at her. It feels like someone trying to wear kid gloves around an abusive partner or parent. Despite Terezi's concerns, Nepeta tries to downplay the issue and pretend everything's fine.

This conversation is honestly sad to read. "But nooo they are bestest friends!" I hear the fans cry as they flock around the flanderized, fluffy art of Nepeta and Equius. Is that why she straight up admits that she's scared of him? Fuck Meowrails. I hate that shit so much. I'm going to spit so much acid every time it rears its ugly head.

We have to constantly be reminded of Terezi's blindness since it really doesn't impact her character in a meaningful way. Sure she can't see, but she can navigate the world around her so adeptly with her super senses that it's a non-issue. Nobody would even notice that she's blind if she wasn't always pointing it out.

Eridan is mentioned as being part of this inner circle that's in the know about Sgrub. Huh.

I'm old enough to remember when Eridan had yet to be revealed and the only information about him was this page. Some people thought he'd be some kind of environmental activist. It's funny to think about now, but I really miss the days when fans would theorize about future updates and unseen characters. All that guesswork and theorycrafting led to some really fun discussions and fanworks. The boundless creativity shown by the fans was what made the Homestuck fandom something really special in those days. And it's something we lost once the comic was finished and Hussie's completed product didn't measure up to the fans' expectations.

I really really miss 2010-11, you guys...

I really have to question the logistics of this convoluted reproduction cycle. If the adult trolls are off-world, how long does it take the drones to transport the genetic material back to Alternia? Are they just zipping all across the galaxy to do constant jizz runs?

None of this really matters because as previously established, the main trolls were not born in this manner. They're all slime constructs born from an entirely separate incestuous slurry from natural trolls. I think Hussie just has an obsession with creatures being birthed from goo or something.

One of the biggest problems with Act 5-1 is this rushed tone it has. It's weird to say because I remember how often people complained about how long the Act was taking to wrap up, but it's true! Hussie really wants to zip through these character introductions without elaborating on any of the worldbuilding he touches upon along the way. It's what makes troll society as a whole feel so shallow and not well thought out.

These characters really needed their own story divorced from that of the kids and Sburb. A story where the Alternia setting could be allowed to breathe and be explored more thoroughly and thoughtfully. I think that would've made for a more entertaining read.

Sollux gets this fake-out intro that's basically a retread of Dave's. Aside from being kind of standoffish and tech-savvy, this parallel doesn't go anywhere. There's little else that connects Sollux with Dave because Sollux is hardly a main character. He is the tech guy who has mood swings, doesn't like to be involved with shenanigans, and has visions of doom that make him depressed. He's a glorified background character.

Okay, "beenary code" is kind of a lame pun, but I do think "silicomb" is clever.

Kanaya lives near the ruins of Alternia's frog temple. Both she and Aradia are kind of the "Jade" of the trolls' session. Aradia by means of doing background plot stuff, and Kanaya through... I suppose theming? Both she and Jade are isolated, considered "outliers" in their culture/friend group, receive regular visions from Skaia, and are the teams' Space players.

It's worth noting how both the "Jade" trolls wind up being the most stoic, unflappable characters of the cast and mostly serve the purpose of being exposition-dumpers and plot devices. Kinda like Jade herself, except instead of being deadpan she's quirky and all over the place.

I feel like this post could've been a lot longer, but I'm limiting myself to only five posts for this Act. I don't want to stretch this project out too long, lest I be yapping about the trolls until the end of time.

[hedonistpoet06]

What If The Storm Ends? - Part 2 Five Hargreeves x Female OC

'What if Five's time during that first apocalypse was slightly different, what if he wasn't alone for all those years?'

Chapter synopsis: Still slightly stunned by the presence of another human being in the apocalypse, Octavia decides to mediate the tension by offering Five food back at her base. Despite both obtaining superhuman abilities, Five couldn't be more different from this bubbly stranger he happened to stumble across. Five finds himself in a complicated predicament as he naturally gravitates towards Octavia's warmth but he cannot forget his most important priority, getting back to his family. The two decide to strike up a deal beneficial for their survival, after all, strength is in numbers, right?

Authors Note: I don't know if this work is showing up on any of the tags i've listed it under. Is this a common problem for anyone else? I've never posted on tumblr before so I'm still trying to figure out the ropes ;w;. Let me know if this is appearing under any tags for you guys.

Nevertheless, enjoy this chapter!

Word Count: 7197

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

ii. 𝐀𝐧 𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

After almost an hour of walking, Octavia had guided Five to where she had been staying for the past two years. The walk was pleasant but mostly silent. Octavia would try to ignite some form of small talk whilst Five kicked a rock along the ground to keep himself entertained.

In reality, Five was still processing the fact that he was no longer the last man on earth after the destruction of the apocalypse, a notion which he believed to be true for almost two entire years. Yet here Octavia was, another superhuman survivor. She wasn't just an apparition of his malnourished delirium, she was real and warm to the touch as Five had evidently felt earlier that day when he took her hand in his.

The pair had finally reached what Five had presumed was her dwelling. It was located amongst the outskirts of the city and consisted of the remains of a decent sized concrete building with the roof intact, it had to have been no larger than a small street front store.

"Welcome to my humble abode. It's not much but it does the job." Octavia pulled back a large sheet of metal which acted as her front door. Five followed her inside and was met with the insides of her shelter.

It wasn't gloriously spacious by any means but it was just big enough to fit a mattress, a few milk crates where she kept her belongings in and a small wooden desk, like those you'd find in a classroom.

"This is where you've been living this whole time?" Five noticed the scarcity of her settlement and although his own was far from luxurious, he felt somewhat uneasy at the bareness of her space.

Five couldn't find it in himself to judge however, especially if it had helped her survive against the past two bitter winters.

"Yeah. I think it used to be some storage shed for a high school. It survived the impact well enough... it gets kinda cold during the winter but it gets the job done." Octavia explained and Five agreed, it had most of its four walls and a roof which was rare considering the demolished state of the city.

"It's practical. I like it." Five complimented and Octavia smiled proudly before walking over to one of the plastic milk crates. She knelt in front of it and began to rummage for the tinned goodness she had promised Five.

"Why thank you." Five regretted inflating her pride any further but remembered that she was the one who offered him food so he bit his tongue.

"Here, catch." Octavia retrieved a small metal tin of baked beans from the crate before standing up again and tossing the can to Five.

Octavia was secretly impressed by his abnormally sharp reflexes as he retracted a gloved hand from one of his pockets and caught the can without fumbling.

"Thanks." He said curtly but the boy couldn't ignore the intense rumbling that erupted in his stomach as he saw the dusty label that read "Original Baked Beans In Rich Tomato".

Five hadn't eaten anything since the previous morning when he mistakenly decided to test the myth of Twinkies lasting forever, turns out it was just in fact a myth and they too have an expiry date like most edible things.

"I only have one fork and a mildly bent spoon so take your pick." Octavia walked over to where Five was standing in the middle of the room and gestured to the two utensils she had clasped in her hand.

"I'll take the spoon." Five said although he really could not find it in himself to care as his hunger started to overwhelm him.

Five watched as Octavia made herself comfy on her bed, which was really just two old mattresses put together with a pile of some tattered blankets on top. She pressed her back up against the concrete wall and began to open the metal tab on the can.

She then looked up at Five, who was staring back at her awkwardly with a can of beans in one hand and a disfigured spoon in the other.

"You can sit down, you know? I don't bite." Octavia chuckled and patted a spot on her makeshift bed.

"I'll take your word for it." Five decided that he would rather sit comfortably then make a spectacle of himself eating whilst standing up. He sunk down on the old mattress but ensured that he still kept some distance between him and Octavia, who was still a stranger to him.

"Bon appetit, Five." She said as Five opened his own can eagerly. His mouth salivated at the sight of the beans drenched in sauce and immediately began to shovel the food into his mouth.

Five was never a fan of baked beans, his mother often prepared it as a side dish at breakfast time but he always refused it. Now, Five was going on more than 24 hours without food and he did not care about his usual disdain towards the food.

He was forced to put that picky part of himself to bed a long time ago when survival became his top priority.

"Damn. Someone's hungry." Octavia stifled a smile that began to grow on her face as she watched the boy next to her chow down on the canned food in an almost feral way.

"And you're not?" Five replied, he then brought the sleeve of his jacket up to his lips and wiped the leftover residue away.

"Oh, I am. I just haven't lost my table manners two years into the apocalypse, that's all." Octavia let out a small giggle at her own remark. Five paused his eating to glance over at the girl next to him, he noticed the calm and poised manner in which she held her fork. Now Five just felt embarrassed.

He cursed himself for growing flustered so quickly, after all why should he find it in himself to care? It was the apocalypse and the table manners which his adoptive father incessantly drilled into him had completely left his mind.

"How are you so... perky?" Five asked, he was genuinely intrigued how someone who had survived as long as he had managed to be so giggly. It was borderline infuriating and slightly unexpected for Five.

He always was a cynical person, even before the apocalypse. Five knew he was smarter than his own siblings and often gloated about it. He had a natural inclination towards mathematics and physics thanks to the nature of his powers but his intellect only heightened his ego.

"What do you mean?" Octavia lowered her fork, taken aback by his question. She knew that her lively attitude did not correlate to their situation; however she found it completely futile to adopt a pessimistic mindset when everything else outside was crumbling.

"I mean you. You're so bubbly for someone in our predicament." Five explained and watched as Octavia's brows furrowed at his words. He felt his cheeks turn warm, he hated how he sounded like one of his siblings who would often imbue humour with their respective powers. "That pun wasn't intentional." He insisted and Octavia gave him an unconvincing look.

"Well, I guess I kind of always have been. Don't get me wrong, I certainly wasn't jumping for joy when the whole world ended but I guess I quickly realised that there was no good just wallowing in my own despair. I just had to keep going..." Octavia explained as she picked away at the remains of the cans label.

Five watched her nimble fingers scratch away the adhesive sticker and started to dwell on what she had said. Despite the morbid context, Five secretly admired how her bright attitude had remained continuous.

"Just had to keep going, huh?" He asked. The ambiguity of her words had reminded him too much of himself.

"Yeah, I always did kind of hold out hope that I'd see something or someone and that would reassure me that I wasn't completely alone out here." Octavia looked over to where Five was situated on the other end of the mattress.

"And yet when you did you thought it would be a good idea to trap me in your bubble?" Five teased.

"You had a gun! And besides, stranger danger still applies in the apocalypse." Octavia exclaimed and threw her hand towards the direct of Five's rifle which he had propped up against the wall.

"I mean, I'm technically still a stranger to you." He stated truthfully.

Although Five had only met Octavia that day he concluded that they gravitated towards each other so comfortably because of their mutual connection through their powers.

"As am I." Octavia retorted confidently and Five softly rolled his eyes, a smirk tugged on the corner of his lips as he continued to eat his beans less feverishly now.

"How old were you when your powers first manifested?" Five spoke up.

The surrealness of the day had begun to catch up on him and the boy had to remind himself that he was in the company of not only just another living person, but a person with superhuman abilities much like himself. Only Octavia wasn't like himself or his adoptive siblings or even the other mysterious children who he shared a birthday with, she was an entirely different entity. She existed outside of his world and time and Five found himself increasingly fascinated.

"I was four." She admitted.

"And how did it happen?" Five pried further.

"You're asking a lot of questions." Octavia smirked, giving the boy a taste of his own medicine.

"You're the first person I've seen in two whole years and you expect me to not ask questions?" Five declared and this caused Octavia to chuckle softly again.

"No, you're allowed to be curious. But does this mean I get to interrogate you next?" She abandoned her now empty can of beans to the floor. She then crossed her legs in an attempt to get comfortable and shifted to face Five.

"Depends on if I'm feeling nice enough." Five said vaguely, keeping the aloofness present in his voice. The truth was he didn't know what to tell her, his situation wasn't exactly the easiest to explain.

Five was positive that Octavia would recognize his affiliation with the academy if they both lived in the same city despite the years between them.

"Well if you must know, I made my first forcefield because I didn't want to take a bath." Octavia revealed.

"Pardon?" Five had choked on the last bite of food which he had mistakenly put in his mouth.

He was caught off guard by the unserious nature of Octavia's statement. He was not expecting that. Five watched out of the corner of his eye as Octavia tried to hold back a smile from forming at his simultaneous struggle of choking and chuckling. She thought the humorous sight before her was almost endearing.

"Let me elaborate, when I was younger I used to run circles around the living room hiding from my Mom because she would chase me to take my nightly bath. I wasn't a dirty or unhygienic child, believe me." She started and Five found himself grinning at her words.

"Sure." He quipped back, eyeing the state of her dirtied jacket. In all fairness, he was not exactly the pinnacle of hygiene at the moment.

"Watch it." Octavia said menacingly before she continued to speak, "I just didn't like bath time because I knew that bedtime would be straight after and I didn't want the day to be over yet. One night, my Mom was chasing me and I turned my head to look back at her. I could see the horror on her face as I ran straight towards the dining table. I should have split my head open on the corner of the table but I didn't. I braced for the impact but I never felt any pain. And when I was brave enough to finally open my eyes, I was surrounded by a soft purple sphere of light." Octavia's eyes softened as she narrated the memory, a mixture of both nostalgia and melancholy lacd her voice.

Five listened attentively to the recollection of her memory as he compared it to his own and that of his siblings.

"So it sounds like they first materialised as a natural consequence of self defence." Five assumed based on the information she had provided.

"I mean, I guess? That's a very fancy way to put it." Octavia tilted her head, shrugging her shoulders as she looked at him. She had never really thought about it in that regard. Her powers were always a part of her, like her cells and DNA, her power was hardwired into her very being and she knew it was what made her different.

"What did your parents do, when they found out that is?" Five asked.

"Panic probably. But after they got over the initial shock that they had a super human baby, they tried their hardest to keep everything discreet and give me a somewhat normal childhood. My mom was an elementary school teacher so she left her job to homeschool me during those years when I couldn't quite keep my power under control. They were always scared that I'd accidentally slip up and show my power off at school and then the government would hunt me down and do research on me like some kind of lab rat." Octavia explained and she felt a complicated smile grace her face as she remembered her youth.

Octavia knew that her powers had to be kept a secret, but she was never kept a secret herself. She knew that her parents loved her an immense amount and they proved that through their actions.

"Seems like they made quite the sacrifice to keep you safe." Five replied, his voice slightly solemn which surprised Octavia.

Five couldn't deny the familiar feeling of jealousy that washed over him at Octavia's description. It was the same bitterness he felt when he'd walk past a park and see children playing or when his siblings and himself would go on missions and reunite hostages with their families. He was resentful of the way the parents would weep and hold their child as if they were never going to feel them in their embrace ever again.

"They did. I'm eternally grateful for how much they gave up for my benefit. But don't get me wrong, they didn't deprive me of a normal childhood. I wasn't on house arrest my whole life because of what I could do, my parents were just cautious. Cautious of who came to the house, cautious of how my temperament affected my powers and such. But other than that I had a pretty normal childhood." Five tried to subdue the envy that coursed through his being as Octavia spoke.

"Is that so?" Five asked, curious by what she meant exactly. He knew that being home schooled wasn't a part of the typical American nuclear family checklist, Five wondered to himself if Octavia had also felt the same isolation which he had.

"Well, every summer when dad could take time off work we'd drive out of the city to my grandparents farm up north. We'd spend every summer there with my cousins and I could just let loose and be a kid." Octavia watched as Five nodded softly at her response, he was absorbing every detail that she gave him and tried to picture it in his mind.

Five tried his hardest to imagine what her childhood would have looked like in stark contrast to his own, the rural nature of the farm and the company of her family sounded almost heavenly to him.

Although Octavia felt slightly embarrassed at her mindless rambling at this point, she was also appreciative of how he let her speak so freely, how he listened so diligently. His snarky demeanour that she had gotten well acquainted with since they met only hours ago was gone and was replaced by something almost curious.

"Sounds like you had a good life before all this." Five forced himself to bury his jealousy deep within some dark cavern of his chest and tried to conjure a genuine response.

"I really did," She said, her voice mellow as she began to reminisce on the nostalgic details of her youth,"My cousins were all older than me and they knew about my powers. It was our big family secret. Although, there was only one strict rule enforced which was absolutely no force fields allowed on the farm." Octavia chuckled at her recollection of her grandmother's authoritative voice.

"I don't blame them, they're not exactly pleasant to be trapped in." Five huffed in amusement and Octavia shot him a playful glare before continuing.

"My family used to have this joke that I'm our great-something-grandma reincarnated from the Salem witch trials and I'm here to enact my revenge." Five chuckled as she tried her hardest to sound wicked.

"A witch reincarnated, huh?" Five had to admit he found the inside joke slightly comical.

"I wish. As cool as it would be to be related to a witch, I think I'm just the anomaly in the family." Octavia sighed and Five was painfully reminded again of how different their separate lives were before the apocalypse started.

"I wish I could relate to that sentiment." His voice was barely above a whisper but Octavia managed to hear it clearly.

"What part, being the witch or the anomaly in the family?" She asked and Five instantly regretted opening his mouth to respond.

"The latter." He silently prayed that his dry tone would encourage Octavia to not poke any further, unfortunately it had the opposite effect.

"You have a big family?" She questioned, eager to know what the boy meant.

"We aren't talking about me here." Five dismissed her quickly.

"You said you'd tell me about yourself once I opened up." Octavia recalled their agreement they had made only moments ago.

"If I was feeling nice enough." Five replied quickly, making a heavy vocal emphasis on the 'if' at the start of his sentence.

"And are you?" She queried.

"I'll decide once I finish eating, bubbles." Five smiled at himself for the genius nickname he endowed on her and grinned even harder when he saw her jaw clench in annoyance.

"Hey! Don't call me that!" The blonde girl exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well don't call me Cinco!" Octavia let out a melodramatic groan and rolled her head back against the wall in defeat. Five let out a small huff of irritation at her childish behaviour however his smirk was still plastered on his face and didn't seem to be going anywhere.

"You are vexing, you know that?" Her head was still resting against the wall however she tilted it slightly to look over at Five.

"I'm surprised you know what that word means." Five hurled back.

"Dickhead." Octavia mumbled but Five didn't take her profanity to heart, "You know when you're homeschooled it only takes about two to three hours maximum to complete the assigned work." She stated and Five tried not to scoff again at the irony of her words. He was no stranger to the concept of homeschooling.

"I'm aware." Five for once was being truthful. Although the academies teaching regions were mostly tailored towards their superpowers he also had to complete traditional academics.

"Well then you should know that with that abundance of spare time that I had the opportunity to indulge in literature, meaning I have developed an extensive lexicon." Octavia proclaimed and Five chuckled at her confidence.

"And you called me the nerd?" He mocked Octavia's earlier sentiment when he was attempting to explain his power in a sophisticated way.

Octavia's face flushed at Five's remark, however she quickly mumbled some curse word under her breath before changing the subject.

"What about you?" She asked, obviously deflecting Five's previous taunting.

"Hm?" He pressed his lips into a thin line, not exactly sure of what she meant by her question.

"How old were you when you found out you had powers?" Octavia elaborated and Five shrugged his shoulders in a casual manner.

"Not entirely sure, our powers have been ingrained into me and my siblings' lives since before I could even remember-" Five began to speak but he was quickly interrupted by Octavia's exclamation.

"Ah hah! So you do have siblings!" Five let out an irritated sigh and rubbed his eyes.

"Shit." How had he let that slip so easily? Especially after all his effort trying to shift their earlier conversation away from his past.

"I knew I could make you crack." Octavia laughed and Five was absolutely furious with himself. His hands tensed around the empty can of beans in an attempt to conceal his annoyance at both himself and at her.

He wasn't directly annoyed at Octavia exactly. He was enraged rather by the fact that she had so subtly maneuvered the conversation to make him open up which he so desperately tried not to do.

"Damn it! Fine! I have a family, six other siblings if you're dying for specifics." Five said, the defeat evident in his voice.

"Wow, that's a whole village. And you all have powers too?" Octavia asked, attempting to put some of the pieces of information together herself.

"The majority of us do, I guess you could say it runs in the family." He answered.

"What are they?" Octavia knew her chances at prying any more information out of the boy was slim but she still wished to try.

"That's all you're getting." Five had pulled the plug in this conversation.

"Five, please!" Octavia insisted and Five noticed how she shuffled her body to face him. In doing so, she had effectively moved a few inches closer to Five, something which he was now incredibly aware of.

"No." Eventually, after half an hour of annoying Five she finally gave up.

Their empty cans of beans were long forgotten on the floor. The rigid yet fresh tension that surrounded the pair since they first met had started to melt away as they talked. It was a bizarre predicament that neither of them expected to happen when the day started. Both Octavia and Five had woken that morning believing that they were each most likely the last person on earth, only now to find themselves amongst each other's company.

Octavia was still bewildered by the fact that she had met this boy only a few hours prior and here she was in her own base, sharing a meal with him and letting him sit on her bed and talk to her.

Of course she didn't want to believe the terrifying prospect that she really was alone, but the possibility of someone else being out there felt inconceivable.

The pair talked about a myriad of things, mostly apocalypse related but some not.

Five told her the story of how he was forced to eat cockroaches for a week during the winter because he was so short on food. Octavia gagged at his vivid narration of the memory but she had to admit that she had also done her fair share of disgusting acts in the name of survival. Octavia relaxed as Five spoke, resting her head against her hand as she laid across against the worn mattress. Five was still stiff and alert however, sitting upright on the mattress with his back up against the wall, but his arms were loosely crossed over his chest which Octavia had interpreted as being his attempt at relaxing.

Their conversations were still filled with some witty remarks but their topics of discussion flowed very naturally. Octavia didn't expect it to be so alleviating to talk to another person after two years of solitude, it was like a boulder-sized weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

A small girlish part of Octavia had forgotten about the current obliterated state of the world outside. For a slight fraction of a moment, she had discarded the reality of the apocalypse. She imagined what this conversation between us would have been like if the two of them didn't meet this way. Octavia couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if they had met at school, maybe they two of them would be be academic rivals turned unlikely friends, and she would invite Five over to her place to work on a project, only that the pair would find themselves on Octavia's bedroom floor, talking rather intimately, much like how they are now.

However, Octavia was brought back to their unfortunate reality by Five asking what time it was. She quickly stood up and walked over to the sheet of metal that substituted a front door.

"Oh shit. I lost track of time, it's completely dark out." She cursed as she was met with the lack of light outside.

"Damn it. You're right." Five stood up and walked over to where she stood, examining the dark landscape from over her shoulder. He let out a small sigh at the sight.

Five should have known better than to lose track of time and Octavia felt incredibly guilty for forgetting the desolate wasteland outside.

"You can't just teleport back home?" She asked and although it was a valid question, Five's abilities didn't exactly work like that.

"I told you I don't teleport! Besides, my powers are more effective when jumping smaller distances." It was true, the reliability of Five's spatial jumps began to dwindle when he tried to cross farther distances.

Then there was an awkward silence between the two of them and Octavia's mind began to race as she tried to find an appropriate way to articulate her solution.

"Five." She spoke up.

"Yes?" He looked at the girl who was only a few feet in front of him. He admired the way some of her hair had become loose from their braids as they spoke, it made her look like a little kid who was ready to succumb to the comfort of sleep.

"Do you wanna maybe spend the night? I don't want you walking back to your base in the dark. I have enough bedding and I can set it up if you'd like?" She proposed her idea and Five felt his brain effectively shut off in that very moment.

Did she mean what he thought she meant?

"Uh..." Five had been rendered speechless for the first time in the whole six or so hours that Octavia has known him.

"We're not sharing a bed you weirdo! I've got a spare mattress you can take and even a blanket. " Octavia exclaimed and rubbed her temple in dismay.

"I wasn't insinuating that!" Five's face reddened for what was probably the tenth time that day.

"Get your mind out of the gutter." She replied with a small smirk as she walked past him, bumping his shoulder,"Or do you want to risk getting killed by god knows what while walking home in the dark?"

Five's stomach tightened as he felt her shoulder brush his with enough pressure to be forceful but also playful.

"Oh shut up," Five muttered, his tone unfortunately betrayed him and revealed his slight embarrassment and frustration. He grumbled for another moment before he spoke again. "Fine. I'll stay the night."

"See, you didn't have to make it weird." Octavia called out teasingly as she began to look for the spare bedding that she kept in one the milk crates. Five huffed again, and even though Octavia wasn't looking at him she could feel the agitation emanating from his body. She then dragged the secondary mattress she used to elevate her bed across the floor and to the opposite side of the room.

"There you go, now you won't get cooties." She said jokingly as she looked back at Five. His hands were shoved into his pockets and his face was softly illuminated by the oil lamp she kept on the nearby milk crate.

Octavia felt her snarky remark fall back into her throat as she admired his sharp yet ethereal features for the millionth time that day. She just had to remind herself that this was probably just a combination of her isolation and the start of her pubescent hormones. He was just a boy. A boy who was sleeping in her home, only a few meters away. But he was also the only boy Octavia had seen in two entire years.

"Thanks." He said softly, "For this and dinner." Five gestured to the cans that were abandoned on the floor.

"No worries," She said and began to unlace her shoes in preparation for bed, "Goodnight Five. Thanks for not murdering me." She smiled and Five did as well.

"Anytime Octavia... 'night..." Five began to strip his shoes and jacket off and tried to make himself comfortable in the makeshift bed Octavia had provided for him.

It took Octavia a little longer than usual to fall asleep that night.

She was suddenly hyper aware of the boy's presence who was sleeping only a few feet away from herself. Perhaps it was just the fact that she wasn't used to coexisting with another living, breathing person in two whole years. Or maybe she had truly become accustomed to the silence after all her time in solitude.

She found that her ears were extra sensitive to the sound of his tossing and turning against the bedding, he was obviously struggling to sleep as well.

Octavia woke that morning to the sound of Five's feet pattering against the concrete floor of her base, as if he was pacing around softly.

"Good morning, sunshine." Octavia said sarcastically as she sat up. She reached her arms up in an attempt to stretch out yesterday's stiffness from her back.

"Morning," He responded, his voice slightly softer than normal, his voice still laced with the residue of sleep.

"How'd you sleep?" She asked as she got out of bed. She noticed Five was already dressed in his jacket and his boots were fully laced. Octavia began to question if he was just extremely eager to get out of there and away from herself.

"Fine, until you started snoring." Five teased. Octavia didn't actually snore at all that night, the sound of her breathing made it hard for Five to drift to sleep but he simply wanted to provoke her.

"I do not snore!" She exclaimed, sounded very offended and Five mentally celebrated his little victory.

"Oh really? And who has told you otherwise?" Five enjoyed how riled up Octavia was getting over this, it was extremely amusing to him.

"Who's to say that you don't snore?" Octavia began to gather some clothing that was folded in a nearby crate.

"Well, did I?" Five asked as he watched her turn her back to him.

"Take a guess." She called out and Five rolled his eyes at the aloofness of her words, "Now can you do me a favour and step out while I change. Or are you going to get weird about that too?" Five groaned at her successful shift in their banter.

"How are you so good at pissing me off?" Five asked, more so to himself than to her directly.

"You're very easy to piss off." She answered him anyway, "Besides, I grew up as the youngest of my cousins, my word is my best weapon." Five could somewhat relate to her explanation even though he would never verbally agree with her.

"Very amusing." He said dryly and stepped out to give Octavia some privacy to change into whatever spare pair of clothes she had the fortune of having.

When Octavia gave him the all clear to come back into the concrete shack, Five was surprised to see her packing a backpack.

"Are you gonna help me scavenge for breakfast or are you just gonna huff and puff in here all day?" She asked as she shoved a water bottle into the bag.

"Alright, fine. Let's get breakfast," He said firmly, his tone slightly reluctant as he tried to brush off her previous teasing.

— -- —

The pair had returned to Octavia's after a successful food run and Five immediately got to work taking out the cans of food and setting them on the dusty floor. He eyed each of them silently before he began to mutter about how much protein was approximately in each can and how the two of them could stretch them out to last them as long as possible.

"Rationing there, are we?" Octavia questioned as she removed her backpack, leaving it by the door.

"We have to, smartass," He said matter-of-factly, "Rationing is how we get the most out of the food we have, to make it last longer. Christ, how have you survived this long?" Octavia grimaced unpleasantly at the comment, feeling as if it was completely unnecessary.

"I know that, Five. I'm just pointing out the fact that I did only ask you to stay the night yesterday and now you're speaking as if you intend to stay for longer than I anticipated." She crossed her arms and looked down to where Five was situated on the floor.

Five's heart dropped at the gravity of her words. He couldn't believe that he had taken it upon himself and assumed that this wasn't just a temporary thing. It wasn't everyday that you meet a fellow survivor in the apocalypse, Five only thought it was a smart decision to stay together.

"That's not what I meant-" Five shot up quickly and started to defend himself.

"Hey, it's fine. I was gonna bring it up earlier anyway but you were in such a foul mood before breakfast." Five quickly forgot about his previous embarrassment and quickly became defensive at Octavia's accusation.

"I was not in a foul mood." He stated.

"Yeah and the sky is purple." Octavia taunted, crossing her arms.

"Oh shut up." He grumbled.

"What I was trying to say is that... what if we don't part ways, what if you don't go back to your base and I don't stay at mine. I mean strength in numbers right? We've gone these past two years alone and thinking that we were the only people left on the planet... it feels counterproductive to split up, no?" Octavia tried to formulate her words in a cohesive manner and Five was stunned that she too had the same idea as him.

Five didn't respond. He was consumed by his own thoughts which for the first time in his life, felt illogical.

"I mean if I really do annoy you so much that you would prefer to choose a life of isolation then be my guest. But I want you to know that I'm thinking about survival for both of us." Octavia insisted.

"No, no, it's not that-" He started but was quickly cut off.

"Then what is it?" Octavia asked. She didn't know whether to feel offended at the boy's hesitancy or dismiss it as his lone wolf ideology he had adopted after two years of solitude.

Five couldn't exactly label this unwelcome feeling that gnawed at his bones, and his lack of knowing only contributed to his irritation. His answer was so obviously yes, he didn't want to leave her, not when he had spent this long being alone. And yet he couldn't find the right words to say.

"If you don't want to, that's fine, after all its double the worry, double the supplies and double the effort, but I thought for both of our sakes and sanity, survival in numbers is always safer, you know like you see in those apocalypse movies." Octavia continued, substituting Five's silence with her rambling.

"That is a horrible and inaccurate comparison to make." He rubbed his temple at her passing mention of those cheesy apocalypse movies which were over sensationalised and not at all a reliable source of information.

"You know what I mean." She shrugged, obviously defeated.

"Fine, let's stay together." Five agreed, although he didn't actually need much convincing unlike what Octavia thought.

It's not that Five didn't want to stay with her, he was taken aback by how badly he did want to stay with her. But Five couldn't ignore what he had been working so tirelessly at ever since the apocalypse started, finding a way to get back to his family.

Five was scared that involving Octavia in this hypothetical equation would only further complicate things. However, the benefits of her company seemed to outweigh the minor hiccup which was that Five technically belonged to the past.

"Really?" Octavia was almost startled at how quickly the boy had agreed to her proposition.

"But we're not staying here." Five added as he looked at the small structure of the building Octavia had called home.

"Thanks." She said bluntly, offended at his choice of words.

"No offence. My place is a lot more developed, there's more space and resources. I think we'll both be a lot more comfortable there." Five justified.

"If you say so." Octavia saw no reason to argue.Her place wasn't exactly the pinnacle of comfort and she could only assume how the lack of space would be inconvenient and uncomfortable.

"So I guess we're going to have to lay some ground rules." Octavia declared and Five raised a brow, curiosity forming in response to her statement.

"Ground rules, what are we? Roommates?" Five was only teasing at first however the reality of the situation had just occurred to him, they would indeed be sharing the same space and living alongside each other.

"Well, kind of. It's just like you said earlier, we only ever had to think for ourselves until now. We have to learn to coexist with another person and keep enough supplies going to last between the two of us." Five watched and smirked as she spoke with her hands.

"Right, what were you thinking?" He stepped forward and brought himself closer to Octavia.

"Well, the first thing that comes to mind is food. Obviously we need to make it last. Do you want to scavenge for our own food or scavenge together and share what we have." She counted on her index finger before looking back up at Five.

"Share." He said swiftly, not thinking twice about it.

"That's surprisingly generous of you." Octavia was caught off guard by his response.

"I don't need any potential arguments to start because of a lack of food." There was the traditional survival logic that seemed to justify all of Five's decisions.

"Fair point." Octavia clicked her tongue, agreeing with him.

"So food will be a team effort. And as far as living at yours, do you have enough bedding? Or are you expecting me to carry my mattress across the city?" The question was a genuine concern but Five chuckled softly at the image he conjured in his mind of forcing the girl to drag her mattress across the miles of debris and rubble.

"I have more than enough at mine. You'll be fine." Five confirmed and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Anything else you want to lay on the table?" Octavia asked.

"Yes actually. I'm curious about how we're going to coexist with each other." Five had been thinking an awful lot about their pleasant conversation from last night.

Although their conversation was mostly free from bickering and teasing, Five found that he could speak to Octavia in a way that he couldn't with anyone else, not even his siblings. He had strangely enjoyed talking to her for such an elongated period of time and seemingly forgot about the world outside.

"What do you mean?" Octavia wanted to know more about what Five had meant. She was worried for a moment that the boy believed her stranger danger paranoia might get the best of her when he least expected it.

"As appreciative as I am of human company during the end of the world, I still require some degree of privacy." Five thought about the old library which he now inhabited and the equations that were painted across the remaining walls.

Just because he knew he wasn't alone anymore didn't mean he was ready to give up. He needed to get back to his family.

"Come again?" She asked and Five had to think carefully about how he was going to phrase his next few words.

"To put it bluntly. I'm working on something to do with my powers. An equation of some sort." So far, so true.

"Why?" And there was the very response he had anticipated.

"I believe that not only do I have the ability to jump between tangible spaces... I can also jump through time." Now that was a blatant lie. Five knew for a fact that he could jump through time, it was the very reason he got stuck here in the first place.

Five had tried to tell himself that it wasn't a complete lie, he was simply obscuring the truth. After all, if Octavia was going to live with him she was bound to have questions about what he was doing and why. He was simply just feeding her a watered down version of the truth to keep her from asking anymore questions.

"It's a hypothesis. If I get the numbers right, I believe I could time travel back to before the apocalypse even started. Maybe change one small link in the fabric of time to prevent it from ever happening at all." This was probably the most truthful thing he had said yet.

"Are you fucking serious?" Octavia's jaw dropped slightly. She couldn't believe the words that had left his mouth.

Even though Octavia was no stranger to superhuman abilities the very concept of time travel seemed incredibly far fetched and next to impossible. Yet here this boy was, standing in front of her and insisting that it was possible. She didn't know the technicalities of how it all worked but the very prospect of being able to go back in time before any of this had happened lit a warmth within Octavia which she hadn't felt for a very long time.

"I haven't stopped trying since the moment the apocalypse started." Five said, averting his gaze from Octavia, who was very much still gawking in disbelief.

"So, what does this have to do with us? If you don't mind me asking." She fidgeted with her fingers as she spoke and looked at the boy in front of her.

"All I ask is that I require my privacy whilst I'm working on my equations." Five stated. The hard part for him was over.

"Sure, I've been alone for this long. I'm sure I'll fill in the time doing something." Octavia complied, not wishing to disrespect the boy's boundaries.

"You'll be pleased to know I've settled down in the remains of an old library. And surprisingly, plenty of books are still intact." Five remembered the piles of books which he had collected in his own dwelling and smiled when he saw Octavia's face light up instantly.

"I'm sold." She blurted.

"It doesn't mean I don't want you to talk to me. All I ask is that you understand my request, it's been a long time since either of us have had to live with anyone else." Five continued, he didn't want Octavia to think that her presence was going to be an inconvenience for him. There were just some things that were safer for her to not know.

"Well, how about this? During the day we can do our separate things but every night after dinner we have our designated 'us time'. Time when we can interact and socialise and not think about apocalypse or survival shit, like what we're going to eat tomorrow or if we're going to freeze to death. We can talk about anything or not even talk at all. We just need to keep our socialisation up without stepping on each other's toes. And also to help us from going completely insane of course." Octavia had come up with her second great proposition of the day.

Five didn't find it in himself to argue with her, he didn't want to. Her very idea sounded somewhat actually pleasant to him.

"I can work with that." Five said softly.

"Sounds like quite the beneficial agreement." Octavia concluded and he nodded his head in agreement.

all images above were sourced from pinterest!

[chirpsythismorning]

Watching Wayward Pines for potential ST5 inspo bc the Duffers wrote a couple episodes in s1, and when I got to their second (last) episode and their name crossed the screen, I noticed a visual parallel that might already exist on the show…

Recognize it??

It instantly reminded me of that last shot for the opening of s3, with the landscape peaking out behind the Russian base. But when I went back and actually compared the two, holy shit it’s near identical, and not just the landscape.

I didn’t even remember the helicopter being there on the left, not to mention the pillar-esaue contraption at the center. Like… they’re the same picture.!

With them being credited right at that moment, it’s obvious this was an intentional nod to their previous work.

I just thought it was cool so I wanted to share, but in terms of my watch overall, there is a LOT going on that they could pull from. I’m only halfway through s1, though I’ve heard the show goes downhill in s2 so we’ll see how that goes 😂

[vaugarde]

very funny out of context fun fact about my ocs is that dr footstep caused castor’s parents’ divorce

[seelestia]

✧ i'll show you (if you'll let me).

⎯ there is a certain touch of beauty to witnessing a side of theirs revealed to you so naturally. it becomes as easy as breathing if you just let it happen... so, will you? ( or in other words, a way you enable them to be themselves. )

#STARRING. aventurine, dr. ratio, sunday, dan heng ft. gn!reader. { 4.2k words }

#TAGS. fluff, established relationship. more: minor spoilers for aven's backstory (described mostly abstractly), ratio is referred to by his first name, i called sunday a nerd (sorry), dr. ratio & dan heng are certified workaholics.

#P/S. i think i may have yapped a little considering the word count but i hope it ends up being a good kind of yapping. tysm for reading! ♡

© seelestia on tumblr, may 2024. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

★ 〜 masterlist.

will you let aventurine hold you close when he sleeps? . . . whether it's an arm slung over your hips or his nose buried in your shoulder or fingers tracing shapes onto your skin. he doesn't ask for too much; only that you grant him the permission to cradle you in his arms, somewhere within his reach. it's a habit, he hopes you don't mind.

you have to wonder, though. considering the plenitude of pillows on the bed, why do his hands still seek you out? with all the credits he spent on those cotton-stuffed angels, you thought aventurine would relish them a bit more. but ah-ah, see? that is where you're wrong. sure, the pillows are extremely comfy but he always has a preference for things with much, much more value.

and the truth — well, his truth — is that even the softest cushions from oti mall couldn't compare to the privilege of laying his head on your chest, he'd say. especially when you brush his hair with your fingers - oh, one of the easiest ways to paradise. truly, the best value there is! can you blame a man for being honest and a little lovesick?

(“sappy,” you accuse. he pouts, offended.)

but aventurine has a flair for theatrics, you know that. his witty quips are as feather-light in weight as light-hearted they are in intent. but his touch - in the forms of kind caresses or rhythmic taps to a tune from his forgotten culture - lingers on your skin, with a yearning so heavy. you question whether it could be nostalgia or instead, silent awe at a reality he never imagined could ever be his.

(kakavasha remembers. clinging onto you for warmth like he once did to his sister, falling asleep with her prayers to mama fenge in his ears. the avgins believed gaiathra triclops to be the symbol of humility; so naturally, their prayers to her should also be humble, not too quiet but not too loud. all in moderation. for a frail child like him, those gentle prayers alone were enough to let him drift into a dreamless slumber and to ignore the shackles of reality if not for the briefest moments.

time passed. came a time where the melody he associated with slumber was no longer a soft voice lulling him but pure static, a noise to distract his mind from the chains around his wrists. they burned themselves onto his skin, searing, but he was already too familiar with the sensation to care. the mark on his neck was unwelcome, laughing at him, but he too laughed at his own pitiful reflection so what's the difference, anyway?

time passed again, the call of slumber then turned into clattering noises of chips doused in gold and dice thrown onto a surface. he thought it'd stay that way forever but before long, it morphed into up-and-down waves he couldn't decipher initially. they're gentle, faint like a human's breathing: your breathing as you allowed him to lie beside you for the first time, he realized back then. although he deems himself unworthy, an ugly grime on your pristine existence that still insists on cradling him — but despite it all, he finds this last melody to be his favorite so far.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

ticklish.

the sensation, minor yet still impactful enough, causes you to stir out of sleep. the light of noon greets your eyes and you become vaguely cognizant that the root of it all is the tufts of blond hair brushing against your neck.

there is a solid weight on your torso and a pair of slender arms loosely wrapped around your waist - but they're nothing you haven't grown used to. you comb your fingers through the messy locks licking at your skin, instinctively, and the fragrant scent of what you register as penacony's limited edition perfume kisses your nose.

“...ugh, what system time is it?” you let out a grunt, shifting around slightly to let your limbs breathe. you don't get an answer to your question, instead, aventurine's arms reestablish their hold on you. hooking you closer to him as if to wring out whatever proximity is left, if there is even any. his simple proclamation of “who cares?”, in a sense.

there it is again, that ticklish feeling. you feel soft lips grazing feather-like kisses against your collarbone. oh, he definitely isn't letting go just yet. truly merciless, a dozy morning thought accompanied by your tired sigh. the noise still comes out fond, however, so your feigned act of annoyance is fooling no one.

“it's warm, you know,” you grumble. but the yawn escaping your mouth right after betrays whatever stern image you're trying to adopt. not like you can ever be too stern with him. aventurine knows this, yes, and he gives you an A+ for effort each time.

“mhm,” he finally speaks, snuggling into your chest with no care about anything in the world, “g'morning to you too, lovely.”

his favorite mornings aren't his favorite if not thanks to your innocuous complaints and delightful attempts at pushing his pretty face away, no? a lazy grin graces the stoneheart's lips and eyes like exquisite gems, although sleepy, flutter open to gaze at you languidly. he takes the sight of you in then lets out a sigh - a fond noise just like yours earlier; the both of you really are two peas of a pod.

you must look a terrible mess right now and yet, the sight of you has aventurine smiling dazedly. “ah, what a spectacular sight. i really am the luckiest man in the galaxy,” he hums in approval. you want to roll your eyes but stops as he leans up to pepper (ah, one necessary correction: smother) kisses all over your face, arms dragging you closer to his chest like a cage. your eyes widen comically. what a nefarious trap, he has the advantage!

every remnant of sleepiness clinging to your mind evaporates. you squeal with laughter, shoving at his shoulder using the strength of a baby deer because no, you don't really want him to stop. he knows that too, of course.

“mwah, mwah, mwah—”

“pfft...! kakavasha, i can't breathe!”

(he has half a mind to pinch his skin, as if to remind himself that this is real. he can feel your giggles tickling his skin as if to tell him in return: yes, you are.)

will you let veritas pour his heart out after a long day? . . . well, that could count as too much of an overstatement. others say, “that man is like a brick wall!” some more dare to whisper, “doesn't his temper already exhaust whatever emotional quota he has?!” needless to say, everyone knows that dr. ratio is a man ruled by the mind, not by the heart. alright, that's quite true - but does that imply he has discarded the latter altogether? if so, then you beg to differ.

(not in the literal sense, of course! the heart is a vital organ of the body. saying otherwise would be akin to spitting on his shiny phd in biology... or his seven other phd's at that.)

the pedestal which the public places veritas ratio on reaches still great heights, even if it may not rival an ivory tower a member of the genius society resides in. it is so high up that mundane troubles of those below can't reach a genius like him, surely? well, as tall as he stands - somehow, the universe grants you a front row seat for a particular sight that proves otherwise.

if only they knew the doctor has a habit of mumbling these incomprehensible (more like barely intelligible) grumbles under his breath, striking a resemblance similar to a grumpy old cat. if you strain your ears hard enough, you might catch a “...this has to be it...” or “...i dare not think so...” from time to time as he roams around the room with materials in his hands.

(absurd, people would say. but you think it's extremely cute.)

veritas doesn't say it out loud - but you can tell by the hunch in his stiff shoulders, by the one or two sighs he huffs every six minutes - that he is itching to tell somebody of all the tomfooleries he has encountered today. of course, the topics he laments about vary; it's only when you hear him exhaling the loudest sigh that you get to find out.

mostly though, it's about his students and remarks on how they can further improve their performance — sure, he could phrase it a little gentler — but you still find it sweet that he cares. if not that, then it'd be about indolent colleagues, complicated formulae and more. on some days, he'll even let out an exasperated “truly mind-boggling! could you believe that?” to which you'd reply with an “uh-huh, go on.”

at the end of a ranting session, veritas takes careful note to leave a kiss on your person afterward. no matter where it is - on the lips, the cheek or your hand. no matter where you are - sitting on the couch beside him, behind the kitchen counter or across the room. the warmth that stays on your skin when he pulls away is somewhat tingly. appreciative, you think, especially when he looks at you with such loving eyes that his colleagues would be sure to retch in shock if they were a witness.

looks like you are right on the money; he has never discarded his heart, after all. so yes, to rephrase - will you lend veritas a listening ear when he needs it?

✧ a moment among the stars:

“...yet another headache.”

as unsubtle as ever, the doctor's complaint is barely hidden behind the guise of a mumble. those neatly styled violet bangs of his aren't doing an excellent job at concealing that frown strewn across his forehead either. veritas's posture is tense, a dead giveaway, as he goes over the piles of documents on his desk.

you cock an eyebrow upon seeing the stamp belonging to the intelligentsia guild on one of the papers. definitely work. it has been two system hours since he took a seat at the work desk, you concur, or lifted a finger to do something besides flipping through drafts. a mere glance at the stack of documents is enough to convince you that those researchers at the guild must really value veritas's input.

a perk of being a genius, maybe? the phantom of a weight lands alight on your shoulders. with a mug of black coffee in hand, you make your way to him. your footsteps are without a sound, only the noise of porcelain being placed down onto woodenware is enough to announce your arrival. “rough day at work?” you ask, peering down at his progress.

(a doctor's handwriting really is something. you resist the urge to squint.)

veritas doesn't seem to mind. if the way he smiles at the sight of you, albeit tiredly, is any indication. “hah,” he rests a hand on his temple and scoffs wryly, “so much grievances like you wouldn't believe.”

oh, he is teetering on the precipice of a tangent but stops himself. “...fret not, i'm fine. this is hardly something beyond my expertise,” he shakes his head, the motion causing his reading glasses to slide down a smidgen down the bridge of his nose.

you're too familiar with the self-assured bravado he puts on. you're quite endeared, actually. “okay, mr. i-require-no-rest,” you take the glasses off his face and he breaks into a frown. at the childish tone you're using or for having his reading glasses taken away, you don't know.

“why don't you take a little break?” you suggest. veritas sighs, “need i remind you that dilly-dallying is for fools who wish to waste their time?” and crosses his arms defiantly. he knows your strategy, he has come face-to-face with it several times.

“do you think a break with me is a waste of time?” you present him with a rhetorical question, quite the difficult adversary.

(and he keeps losing to it every single time.)

“well, that's—” the doctor nearly splutters, taken aback. “that's different if you insist on inserting yourself as a variable,” he infers, putting emphasis on the last part accompanied by an incredulous look.

“the answer is up for debate then,” you shrug with a cheeky smile. your hand then deftly lifts the mug you previously set down to your lips, veritas's eyes dilate in bewilderment. “so,” you hum at the rich taste of your handiwork, “wanna tell me about your day? haven't heard about the council in a while.”

“you—” he gasps in defeat, “i thought that was supposed to be my mug of coffee.”

(he has a slight pout on his face, but you dare not point it out lest it disappears in the blink of an eye.)

“our mug of coffee,” you take a few more sips with an innocent decadence. “all is fair in love and war, doctor.”

“i can never win with you,” he buries his face in his palm with a groan. you laugh heartily, a sound that chimes like quaint little bells in his ears - it elicits a reaction from his lips, for them to quirk up at the corners in the smallest of ways.

“regardless. . .” veritas relents and reaches for your free hand. you let him. “it seems a break wouldn't be so amiss, after all,” he then presses a kiss on the side of your wrist, affectionate.

(your heart skips a beat.)

will you let sunday regale you with facts you've never heard of before? . . . a man of eloquent words, no less a man of educated mind. you have no doubt that the books in the dewlight pavilion really aren't just there for show - not that you're allowed to browse through them at your own desire. a servant's voice would stop you in your tracks should your fingers ever brush against something in the family's secret bookshelf.

how mysterious.

but sunday makes it known to the staff that you, in particular, are allowed more access to the shelves - perhaps, not too much - but more than even mr. mccoy, at least. with the way you have to crane your neck far up to pinpoint the tallest height that the shelves reach, you wonder: has sunday gone through everything here personally?

your immediate answer is most likely. you know sunday fairly well; to have something that he hasn't scrutinized from the inside out in his possession will surely gnaw away at his psyche incessantly. not being in the know at all times is a looming fear for him. but of course, you have other ways to confirm the answer for yourself.

pick out a book from a shelf there, either intentional or purely arbitrary, and watch as sunday carefully traces his steps towards you. his curiosity is piqued, which topic has caught your interest this time? but he tucks it under proper cordiality. with a hand behind his back, he'd utter your name in the softest tone and ask the familiar question of “would you like to know more?” — asking for your permission to ramble, essentially — you find this tendency of his to be charming, so you nod each time.

(and he smiles when you do. a smile less refined at the edges, kinder and relaxed.)

the best place to start from is always the beginning. you think sunday agrees because he often starts by telling you the history and its origins before moving on to its impact on the galaxy, then his personal stance on the topic. it's a pattern, you notice, his ramblings have a pattern. and it's consistent every time, you might've believed he was reading off a script. and what's more? sunday is blissfully oblivious of it.

fascinating. you ponder: what kind of things you can do with this information? decisions, decisions, decisions. . . but ultimately, you opt for keeping it a secret like a treasure only you're allowed to see.

(that might be true in a way. you don't doubt that robin, his dear sister, is familiar with this side of him. does that mean he treasures you like he does her? your chest starts to feel a bit lighter.)

if you were to point it out, you fear you might never witness it again - goodness, to know that he has been displaying such foolishness or rather, what he viewed as an embarrassing freudian slip in front of you? his wings might as well resort to covering his face for good until the end of time.

as you listen to him talk (with such elegance at that), you can't help whatever tender look you have on your face. really, who would've thought the head of the oak family could be such. . . a nerd?

(you hope in secret that sunday will be more willing to show sides like these to you in the future. and that they're not a weakness at all, not when they're shared with you.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“it looks like you're fascinated by the dreamscape nursery rhyme this time.”

sunday spares the article in your hold no further inspection. one glance at the cover and walls of memorized information rush to the front of his mind. he looks familiar with it; could it be a part of his childhood too? but then again, everything found here is within his knowledge.

“i am,” you say with intrigue, “it got me ruminating for a while.”

you meet his gaze, stumbling upon yellow irises that glimmer akin to gold under penaconian chandeliers. you think you see a hint of affection in them, swimming around your reflection like a school of fish in a pond. it makes you smile.

he smiles back, oblivious to your thoughts but returns your gesture. he asks, “how so?” and you reply without delay, “i read through it and the morbid undertone took me by surpri—”

or at least, it's supposed to be without delay until you realize sunday has stepped closer in order to peer down at the page you're holding open. and suddenly, you're extremely aware of every minute detail like how his breath brushes against the side of your cheek and how his chest rumbles as he hums in acknowledgement.

(you flush in the neck and he perceives this reaction of yours with mirth.)

“my apologies,” sunday chuckles and pulls away, “i've simply forgotten the rhyme and wished to refresh my memory.”

“somehow, i feel that isn't the case...” you mumble accusingly. that seems to amplify whatever little amusement he gets from flustering you. “oh, my dove. i can assure you that it is,” he caresses your head, a little placatingly.

most times, sunday isn't so laidback about giving affection in public — since he has an image to maintain — so you assume the fact that the servants are out and about, leaving only you and him here, plays a role in his unusual boldness. you accept the gesture with a bashful pout.

“now, where were we?” sunday clears his throat, “ah, yes. some people have noted on the nursery rhyme's strange quality but still, it retains its popularity in penacony. it is also widely assumed that the hound resembles the bloodhound family while—”

you hold back an amused sigh, but it's more out of fondness than anything. he'll start from the history then the effect on the general public, as per usual, but you're not the only predictable one here. you'd listen to him anytime too, won't you?

(you do adore when the head of the oak family would put off his public figure mask around you. if only for just a while.)

will you let dan heng rest his head on your lap when it's just you two? . . . the sense of comfort it provides isn't something he can explain with words. as if he has ever been good with words in the first place. saying a sentence bereft of logical reasoning or witty remarks doesn't come easily to the express’ guard. neither does intimacy. . . but you know that already, don't you?

after all, it isn't a secret that dan heng prefers speaking with his actions. if to show one's intentions is the end goal, then actions are the fastest route to choose. words, although able to sweeten the trip like how a beautiful scenery can, will eventually lead to actions regardless so why take the extra step?

but you're different from him; you articulate what you think and what you mean. you're honest in ways that keep catching dan heng off guard without fail — just like the first time you offered your empty lap to him when his head was swirling in pain — but he supposes that is one of your charms. “words can be useful. we're not all born mind readers,” you told him once and he hummed, accepting of your perspective.

(“look at you two! opposites attract!” march chirped. he recalled shooting her a look of indignation and she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly in response.)

dan heng has learnt to grow used to your propensities - but by far, your shameless invitations are still one matter that can't be comprehended even with time. he cannot understand; how you smile as you sit on his futon in the archives (he doesn't mind), how you link gazes with him so effortlessly, how you pat your lap knowingly and say, “why don't you rest your head here?”

(he has to restrain himself from bursting into flames like a heliobus.)

sometimes, he'll accept reluctantly or he'll decline with an underlying tone of longing he doesn't want you to notice. because as much of a good hold dan heng has on nonchalance, he cannot deny that this particular gesture of yours has left a mark on him.

(it remains persistently.)

when he rests his head on your lap, he can't help but take a deep inhale - your fragrance fills his senses and he discards the selfish desire to keep it all to himself. your fingers are soothing as they thread through his hair gently. the feeling that washes over him is serene, almost comparable to submerging himself in the pure waters of scalegorge waterscape.

when overcome by such a tranquil state of mind, dan heng wonders what expression he might be making at that moment? he always keeps his eyes closed, so it's a shame he may never know. but you do, and you don't think you've ever seen him look so at peace before like he does now.

(perhaps, that's why you keep offering him this in the first place.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“someone looks tired,” you state with a pointed stare. the archives isn't a room too spacious and the only ones here are you and him. the target of your sentence is obvious.

but dan heng doesn't take the bait, barely looks away from the entry he is currently authoring. still, he spares you a glance and hums glibly, “are you projecting? if so, feel free to use my bed in the meantime.”

you let out a noise, something gibberish that conveys disappointment but it is effectively drowned out by the typing noises. “you haven't even touched the food i bought you,” your voice becomes mellow, “why don't you rest for a while?”

he isn't convinced, you think, since his fingers are still hard at work. the new info the team brought back must've been a lot if he's that focused.

“dan heng?” you try again, hopeful for the last time. you don't take him for a fool, of course, he'll know when he reaches his limit and have proper rest then. but would that really be ideal? a second passes and that hope flickers like a dimming light. but just an inch before the edge of giving up, the typing slows to a stop.

“. . .alright,” he murmurs. finally, after a good hour spent drawing patterns on his backside with your eyes, dan heng turns around to face you. he look tense, you note with abject concern.

“here,” you usher him to your lap, empty and conveniently so. dan heng shoots you a blank look - this isn't the first time you offered and this isn't the first time he reacted like that. you try to suppress a laugh, failing gloriously at it. “just for a little bit,” you utter through a stifled fit of chuckles.

dan heng shakes his head, not in rejection but in defeat. his eyes slip close, second nature, as he leans to situate his head on your lap. you welcome him with a hum and let your fingers card through his hair. a calm sigh falls from his lips like a water droplet in springtime.

“this. . . is nice,” he admits, sudden and unprompted. you nearly doubt your ears for a moment there. did he— “i don't hate it is, uhm, what i mean to say,” dan heng adds and it dawns on you that your ears are still working. his eyes are still closed, not that you'd expect anything else, he prefers to treat it as a shield from being face-to-face with embarrassment.

(or to avoid your ecstatic gaze. he can feel warmth rushing to his cheeks already.)

“i know,” you smile, brushing away a few messy strands from his forehead. he isn't an open book but you think you've read the pages enough to remember all the little details. “but thanks for telling me. i'm no mind reader but i think i can read yours pretty well.”

“i shall provide no further comment,” he holds back an incredulous exhale, yet his lips still curl slightly at the corner. you feel the teeniest desire to trace the curve of his lips with your fingertip but settle for silently admiring them instead.

“it's fine. i know the answer already,” you say, words dripping with affection. such a shame dan heng never looks up at you during a time like this. because if he did, he wouldn't have missed seeing the sheer fondness in your gaze that rains down on him in light showers. a true shame.

(one day, he'll gather the courage. maybe.)

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. ♡

[still-a-morosexual-help]

I find it really funny that Mammon is genuinely one of the kindest demons,

• He rarely loses his temper

• He was picked to look after a human because of this and so he's the only brother that never attacks or genuinely threatens MC

• He adopts some random 9yr old orphaned human, is determined to pay for all her needs until she's an adult, and lets himself be extorted by the witches just so they continue to look after her

• He forgives any slight against him if the person who wronged him says sorry

• He has put Luke's happiness & safety over money multiple times

• His whole reason for Falling was just so he could follow Lucifer & continue supporting him while he was suffering

• He gave a birthday present he received to a random demon who tried to hurt him because he figured that demon needed something to make him happy

• Even though Raphael doesn't see the good in him, he still wanted to help Raphael see the beauty of the Devildom

• He was worried about Simeon and ready to fight Michael on Simeon's behalf

• He tries to give up a prize he would have won for Asmo

• The thing that makes him initially reach out to MC in Nightbringer is seeing them being nice to Levi

• Levi describes him as a "jerk with a heart of gold"

• Levi says Mammon makes friends easily and isn't selfish

• He cares deeply about consent

• MC says he's "innocent & genuine"

• MC says Mammon has "always been kind" and the others don't disagree

• He says that angels, demons & humans are all people and shouldn't be treated differently because of what they are

• He gets upset because of the way Cinderella's family treats her because he thinks family should love each other, and it doesn't matter if they are blood related or not

• He cries during nature documentaries

• He's the one that takes the first step to make things normal with Belphie again after what happened in Lesson 16 despite the fact that he was the one who was most outwardly affected by MC's death and was mocked for it by Belphie

BUT

The only thing stopping him from doing a complete 180° and becoming a villain is that MC has decided to use their considerable power for chaotic neutral level hijinks and not chaotic evil level destruction

[slttygeto]

°˖➴ when your baby …— (JJK MEN)

જ⁀➴ featuring: nanami kento, kamo choso, fushiguro toji, geto suguru and gojo satoru.

જ⁀➴ word count: 2,6k

જ⁀➴ tags: fluff, pregnancy, birth, babies, domestic jjk men, they're all your husbands, them being perfect.

જ⁀➴ note: not proofread, some of these are a bit unrealistic, but keep in mind that it's fiction and i don't have a baby.

°˖➴ when your baby smiles for the first time: [nanami kento]

Birth was a blessing in itself, but having a partner as supportive as Kento made everything worth it, down to the sleepless nights you have been spending trying to get used to your baby’s constant need to be cuddled, fed and taken care of. You were frustrated, it was pretty evident by the tears welling up in your eyes every two seconds along with how you simply refused to be near anyone but your baby and Kento. Thankfully, he was always the one coaxing you to get out of the bed and sit on the balcony, have a full meal and relax while he took care of the baby.

On the outside, it seemed as though Kento had everything under control, and that nothing could affect him as long as you were okay. He never cried when you did (beside when he held the baby for the first time), and he made sure to validate your every frustration and fear, all while telling you that everything will be okay.

Which brings us to this moment, with both of you sitting on the couch with your baby on his lap. One of your favorite things about these nights was that Kento never skipped them and always made sure to play with your baby for a bit before helping you put her to bed. Even when he was incredibly exhausted.

Kento rocked your baby back and forth, enjoying the happy and curious noises leaving your daughter’s mouth. Your husband’s pointer was gently tracing her face, humming a soft tune about how adorable she was all while helping her be more aware of her body.

“And those are your eyes,” his tired voice came out. “And this is your nose,” accompanied with a boop, “and those are your precious cheeks,” a laugh escaped his lips when your daughter seemed to try to escape from the ticklish feeling of his finger and you chuckled at the scene. Your happiness was so contagious that your daughter’s lips twitched and a giggle escaped her lips.

“Oh,” Kento paused his movements but it only seemed to make your daughter giggle even more. “Look at you,” a smile broke on your husband’s face and he leans down to brush his nose against hers. “Is daddy your favorite comedian already?” And the louder her giggles got, the harder it was for your husband to contain his own laughter. He throws his head back on the couch and closes his eyes, and when he leans back down towards your baby girl, her smile only gets bigger and bigger.

You bring your legs up to your chest and watch the scene unfold with a heart full of love and adoration for your husband and the human being you both created. And when Nanami notices your silence, he supports his baby girl’s head with one hand and reaches his free hand towards your leg to caress it.

“Are you okay, darling?” To which you flash him with a smile that Kento could only describe as one that filled his heart to the brim.

“Never been better.”

°˖➴ when your baby first rolls over: [kamo choso]

You were well aware of how anxious and easily nervous your husband could get. Throughout your entire pregnancy, you were never allowed to be even a foot away from him. On a normal day, you would’ve asked for personal space, but lucky Choso, your pregnancy hormones seemed to make you even more attached to him.

Now that your baby boy was here, all of that anxiety and nervousness was doubled. Instead of worrying about one person and a bump, Choso had to make sure you and your baby were both okay all while trying not to tire himself to stay awake for you two. Night feeds were usually his favorite time of the day, despite your tired self and the sleepiness on your face, watching you try to hold your baby while feeding him always made him lean towards you and press a kiss to your forehead.

Your baby was about three months old when Choso started becoming even more involved with diaper and outfit changing. Not that he didn’t want to at the beginning, you were always far too nervous to let him do anything unsupervised. Your baby was currently on the bed while his father reached for the outfit that he laid out for him. And while Choso was always super careful, you had called out his name before walking into the room and so he turns his head to the door and is confused when you’re wide eyed and staring at the bed.

“What?”

“Look- the baby, Choso!” He turns to stare at his son and is pleasantly surprised when he notices that his son had fully rolled over and was now on his stomach. Your husband doesn’t say a thing as your baby makes noises, almost complaining to you both that he wasn’t seeing you and that his muscles were still too weak to support his head, so Choso rolls him on his back and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“…don’t you think it’s too soon for him to try to leave mid-conversation?”

“Baby,” you let out a chuckle. “I’m sure that’s not what he meant.”

“He’s moving too quickly! What do you mean he was able to roll over?” Your husband complains and he slowly dresses up your son.

“It just means our baby is healthy and functioning well.”

“Yeah,” Choso says softly before picking up your baby. “Our baby.”

°˖➴ when your baby starts crawling: [fushiguro toji]

Toji always thought that he didn’t deserve a second chance at life. He simply thought it was too late to start over, that was until he met you and you made him realize that ‘too late’ didn’t really have a place in your dictionary. You made him experience everything all over again; from falling in love to raising two healthy babies along with Megumi and Tsumiki. You gave him a second chance at being a father all while helping him fix his relationship with his kids.

You always made sure to help Tsumiki and Megumi with their homework while Toji stayed with your baby boy and baby girl. He would sit on the floor and watch as they struggled to even hold up their heads and try to reach for him.

“Come on now, I know you can do it,” Toji held the toy your baby boy was whining to his father to give him, and your husband was very stubborn about what his kids were capable of. Tsumiki and Megumi were already excelling at different sports and even academically, and despite you trying to convince your husband that your babies were only six months old, he wouldn’t listen.

Shifting his attention from his son to his daughter, he reaches for the toy in her hands and slowly takes it away from her. He watches as a pout forms on her lips and her eyes get teary almost immediately, and Toji has never believed in mother instinct as much as right now, because you burst out of the study room at the same time as your baby girl crying.

“Toji,” your disappointed tone as you walked towards the scene made the man turn back towards his babies.

“I just think they should be crawling by now.”

“They need time baby,” you step behind him and look over your baby girl who was trying to rub her teary eyes. “You can try by setting it in front of her, then she can try reaching for it.”

Your husband does as he is told and completely forgets about his son’s toy. Too focused on getting your daughter to move towards her toy, he fails to notice his son slowly crawling towards him to retrieve the small item sitting next to him but you do.

“Oh!” your gasp catches your husband’s attention and he immediately notices his son. “Come on baby! Good job!” Toji doesn’t waste time and turns back towards your daughter, gently coaxing her into moving towards her toy.

“Come on baby girl, come on,” it is very rare for Toji to be smiling so softly but whenever he was with his kids, his cheeks would end up hurting him from smiling too much.

Your daughter’s attention quickly shifts towards the person that walks out of the study room, and when her eyes fall on Megumi, a giggle escapes her lips and she starts moving towards her older brother. You and Toji watch in awe as Megumi sits cross legged on the floor and talks very softly to his baby sister, words of encouragement leaving his lips as your baby girl stops a couple of times and whines at the difficult task at hand.

“Just a bit more, come on,” But once in Megumi’s arms, the boy holds her carefully before walking back towards you and his dad. Toji stands up with his younger son in his arms before patting Megumi’s head.

“Good job, boy. You did well.” To which Megumi responds to with a shy nod before handing you his baby sister.

Moments like these sure made it feel like everything in life was worth it.

°˖➴ when your baby says their first word: [geto suguru]

You never knew you could fall in love twice until you saw your husband become a father to your beautiful baby girls. Not only was he supportive, which was obviously the bare minimum, he still managed to be present for all three of his girls at the same time. The girls were obsessed with their father, and rightfully so, but something you truly admired about your husband was that he made sure to include himself during their play time.

And despite your attempts at convincing him that play time meant playing with dolls and plushies, Suguru was adamant on teaching his little girls very interesting words that had their tiny eight month old brains almost short circuit.

“Sugu, easy there. They can’t possibly know what pontificate means.” You say followed with a low chuckle, watching as the man sat down on the floor with his legs spread wide open for his two girls to sit in the space there and glance at the book their father was holding.

“My girls are smart like their parents,” your husband says with a serious look on his face. “I need their first words to be something smart, something big…”

“I need something that screams Beyoncé,” you say jokingly and your husband shoots you a playful glare.

“Be serious.”

You squat in front of your baby girls and it immediately shifts their attention from the book Suguru was holding and you smile at that. You instinctively open your arms and wait for them to crawl towards you, but instead one of the girls looks back at Suguru and waits for him to look down at her.

“Mama,” your little girl turns to her sister before staring at you and starts crawling towards you and your jaw almost touches the floor.

“Did you just say mama?”

“Mamama,” your other daughter mimics her sister and tries to escape Suguru’s hold, but he catches her in his arms and his happiness seems to be a lot more obvious than yours.

“Yeah baby, that’s mama! She said mama, did you hear that?” You grab your baby girl who was crawling towards you and grin at your husband.

“Didn’t you say you wanted their first word to be something big?”

“You’re their everything, so it is something big.” There was no doubt that you picked the right person to father your children.

°˖➴ when your baby starts walking: [gojo satoru]

You’ve always known that your baby was going to be as hyper as Satoru. Ever since he was in the womb, your baby would not stop moving and kicking, it even resulted in him almost wrapping the umbilical cord around his neck but thankfully, the birth went great and he came out as healthy as ever.

Despite being so sure that the baby would be a carbon copy of his father, your baby boy ended up taking your every facial feature. Satoru couldn’t deny that he wished his baby had his white hair, but something about having a second human looking exactly like you melted his heart. But that was literally the only thing the baby had about you, just the looks. Because God, was he an active baby.

He was holding his head up and rolling on his stomach faster than you had expected, and since Satoru loved to test his boy’s limits, your baby ended up crawling soon after. Not even two months later, your baby was saying his first words and all you could do was nod and smile as people told you how unique your baby was, and a part of you could only wish that you would shelter him from all the attention he was getting. But he was a Gojo, and stuff like this was bound to happen.

But the moment your husband noticed your discomfort, he immediately stopped accepting people when they asked to come over. He was excited to become a father, but it wouldn’t be the same if it meant robbing you of the same place that was supposed to bring you comfort.

And apparently, only he could keep up with his son’s hyper self. Crawling from corner to corner, squealing in excitement and tossing his toys around, Satoru even encouraged his son to grab onto the couch and crawl around the space that was heavily baby-proofed.

“Ah, you’re so eager to walk, aren’t you?” Satoru teases his son as he tries to hold onto the couch and stand up. With a little bit of support on his bum, your baby managed to stand up but freezes there and turns his head to the side where his father was staring at him.

“What, are you scared? It’s not so fun anymore, hm?” Your husband teases your son who seems to be taking his father’s words not very well. He pouts and rests his head on the couch, refusing to look at his dad and Satoru laughs out loud.

“Come on, I was only joking, you’re good at everything just like your dad.” You eventually walk down the stairs and you raise an eyebrow at your pouting eleven month old son.

“What did you do?” you immediately pin the blame onto your husband who gasps and puts a hand on his chest.

“I didn’t do anything!” He pats your son’s bum as your baby’s wobbly legs try to move him around the couch and towards you. “He stood up and got scared, and I found it funny.”

“Oh baby,” you squat down to your baby’s level and reach out your hands to grab him. “Papa is so mean, isn’t he?”

“Am not,” Satoru rolls his eyes but he watches as your son reaches the end of the couch and hesitates to let go. You lock eyes with your baby, and your husband thinks it’s a beautiful example of mothers and babies silently communicating, because no words were exchanged yet your baby knew to trust you completely.

He doesn’t fall into your arms but instead, he pushes himself away from the couch and takes a very small step towards you. You try not to gasp in surprise, and you wait as he takes another step—then another, and another before falling in your embrace and both you and Satoru are wide eyed and surprised at what just happened.

“He just—“

“He walked!” Your husband jumps from his spot on the ground and takes your baby in his arms. “My son is one of a kind! I’m telling you, he will win a nobel prize—“

Satoru always found a way to be excited about any of his son’s milestones.

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[scara-writes]

paramour

Yandere!Cheating Duke X Duchess! Reader X Yandere!Lover Servant

I just want to write a reader who has the same/more power as/to the yandere(s).

The setting is still in the fantasy/manhwa world, medivial, any setting as long it's not modern.

CW: two yandere, rivals, cheating, consent smut, infidelity.

I'm making the darling a little more forward(?), daring, more power or that can go against a yandere. Atleast, that's what the darling thinks. Also, this is not polished like my other stories.[ Forgive me, I'm not good with smuts! I also love y'all comments and your ask/request(will answer them soon!). The Yandere Emperor and Yandere Crown Prince son really outnumbered the yandere Omega. Y'all are crazy for that!]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

"Mistress." He murmured. His arms hadn't let go off your waist. It was the first thing your eyes landed on when the sunlight came in to greet a new day from the window balcony. You closed your eyes again to find your way back to sleep again.

Your hands went to trace his back full of scar last night from your nails. You hummed when he gave you a pepper kisses on your exposed skin.

"Morning." He gave you one last kiss on your lips before snuggling between your chest. His arms hadn't move around your waist since last night."Mmmh..morning..." You muttered looking away—eyes still close—from the sun when it kissed your face.

"Do you want me to call the maids to serve you breakfast?" His sweet voice lull to sleep more. You whispered no. Last night, this man gave you something akin to that of heaven, something your husband never gave you.

Last night, you made love with this man. The same man you rescued from the human trafficking, kidnapping commoner from the outskirts of the kingdom. Now, indebted by your kindness he devout himself to you with his life.

You groaned, feeling your body is aching all over. This goes not unnoticed by your lover."Did I hurt you to bad?" He asked. His earth orbs are gleaming with shine and now getting filled with tears. "I-I'm sorry, I was rough with you mistress." His voice full of regret and loathe on himself.

You opened your eyes, ruffling his curly brown hair before stroking it. Staring down at his eyes. "No. You did good." You smiled at him, cupping his face, before kissing him in the lips. He whimpered,deepening his into yours.

The intoxication of alcohol must have taken over you. Drowning yourself from the alcohol beverages after your husband didn't arrive on the scheduled date, you waited for him for a whole day to arrive. Alone in the gazebo, Everett was the one who went to your weeping figure. That was a month ago. Everett offered himself to shower you with his love. At first you feel reluctant about this, you will never be the type of person to use someone just so you can feel yourself happy. Everett didn't care about it whether you use him or not. He wanted to prove himself that you are worth to be love. This man made your heart flutter in a way that your husband once gave you before the marriage.

"I-I love what happened last night, my mistress." He whispered bashfully, his pretty swollen lower lip,you bitten hard last night, went to reach his eyes giving you a wide smile. The sun kissed his tan face adding a charming look. His neck has full of bites and bruises from you. His cheeks become a little darker shade from blushing, he must have reminisced something last night.

Now, you made him your lover. Though not completely in love with Everett. You also shower him with items or materials that most commoners would love to have but it doesn't seem like this man is materialistic. He just wants you.

You didn't hide Everett to your husband.

What's the use of hiding your fling to Theodore when he was the first one to cheat on this marriage?

Despite being loyal to that man you loved. He had the audacity to tell you that you shouldn't pry on his private his life after you confronted him with a newly hired maid going out. "Our marriage contract states that the two parties should not meddle one another's private life else this contract shall be annuled."

So all of his flexing his love for you was nothing but a hoax? A show? A lure for you to agree to marry him?

Though, your marriage with him was for the politcial marriage. You once fell in love with Theodore. The same man who gave you flowers everytime you two date, the same man who kissed in your cheeks after he walk you home, the same man who always writes poems about his devotion to you. Did he pursuade you to continue this marriage by making you love him so that the two duchy became one? It may seem like you wanted this marriage at first. You didn't, your family wanted it and they have asked you—no annoyingly, they plead you to marry him, because your parents and his parents signed a contract that their children will reunite the two duchy.

"Your ladyship, the duke asked for your audience to join him in the breakfast." Your butler from the other side of your room, outside the door, knocked and speaks after. You frown upon hearing it, looking at the closed door, what does he want?

You feel strange about your husband nowadays. He had been asking for your presence this past few days. Never once he called for you after your wedding with him.

You clicked your tongue and turn to look at your lover. You notice Everett's face was frowning too. "Tell the duke that I will be there in a moment." You announced to the butler outside the room expecting the old man to gear you through it. You look back at the man leaning his weight on you. You tap the curly haired lover to let you go from his hold yet he didn't budge after moving yourself to sit up instead you heard yourself going 'oomfh!' and finding your lips were on his again. You groaned while he moaned weakly. He pushed you down on the bed, his lips never leaving yours until you were out of breath. A string of saliva trailed between your mouths. Everett was smiling before diving his lips into your skin, to one of your chest, fondling the other. You feel a little ticklish and panting at his stimulation. "Eve—! Wait! Ah..." Your voices went unheard, The male's mewling, sucking on to your flesh like thirsty man who hadn't had a drink.

Your hand went to tug his hair as you moaned out his name. "Shi—Eve... Oh! S-stop... Ah.."

His other hand goes to put one of legs above his back and parted the other leg, accessing himself between you even more."m-mistress!"

You groaned when you felt him grind between you. He looked at you with a pleading eyes, he look like he will cry again, the tears filling up yo the side from his eyes. "M-mistress." He whined his mouth was already in another mound. You feel his hardness between. "p-please? I'll be good! Please... huff..I'll make y-you feel good!"

Your eyes are hazy from the pleasure. "You want.. hah... it?" His eyes getting filled again with tears. You tug him by the hair not enough to hurt him. You landed your lips on his ears. Panting and breathless when you felt his hands is still fondling your body. "You got..ngh... to earn it, pretty boy." You murmurs made him whimpered. "You have to be my good boy... Are you my good boy?"

He nod, a tear fell down to his cheeks, he leaned down to your lips, murmuring, i-am-your-good-boys, thank-yous and I-love-yous.

The room filled with noises that could make anyone flustered and uncomfortable. You didn't realize from your high you are feeling that the butler is coughing uncomfortably behind the door excusing himself as he will inform the duke what you told him earlier.

You went down the stairs with a difficulty, aching between your thighs. You can't find any dress to cover the one hickey on your neck, Everett apologize and helped you cover it with a foundation but it failed horribly from covering seeing that the foundation wasn't blend well and you do not want your maids do it for you. Not when you found out that almost all of them had already been with your husband. You were planning to replace them sooner.

You stopped at the closed door leading to the dinning room. The butler from earlier straightened his posture, clearing his throat after he saw you. He announced your presence behind the door opening the door for you."My lord, your ladyship is here."

You walked in after thanking one of the male servant for pushing the seat for you once you sit across the lord of the household, your husband, the Duke.

The breakfast before you was served cold. If you have arrived earlier you could have eaten warm. You glance at your husband, surprised that his plate has not been finished and it looked like he didn't touched it. You noticed his eyes is trained on to you since you came in, yet his eyes isn't on you but to your neck and the way you walk earlier.

His grey eyes seemed to be narrowing, he scoffed. "You're late."

You glance away, picking one of the utensil, stabbing the meat, landing it to your mouth chewing it. You gulped it down before taking another bite. The marinated pork seems to be delicious even if the breakfast a little no warm.

"It seems you are enjoying with your toy a little too much." He added, there was anger rising beneath his voice.

Oh, the egg is a little bland but it is still edible nonetheless.

"There are more new reports about your speculated infidelity to the public. Do you know that?"

You looked at him after eating the last piece of the sunny side egg, smiling: finally acknowledging his presence."Yeah, what about it? It's not like it will ruin our marriage. After all, you had a numerous of headlines about your 'rumored' infidelity too. Did our contractwas nulled after that? It didn't right?"

"(Y/n)."

"Yes, husband?"

His eyes widened a little before going back on giving you death gaze. "Kick that slave away. I don't like him." He demanded. Though he wasn't shouting. You frowned, how dare he?

"Why would I? It's my decision whether I choose to throw him out or not."

"I do not want him near my property." He complained, gritting his teeth at the last word.

"This is my property as well!" You sternly answered back. Not leaving another room for an argument.

There was silence between the room.

"... I... don't want him near you." You heard him. You blinked at the sudden word that blurted in his mouth.

You scoff standing up, "I think I should finish my meal somewhere..." You starts walking back to where you enter the room.

"(Y/n)." Theodore called you. You didn't observe the way his eyes longed for you. You were focus on the anger within you. "Are we forgetting something, Theodore?" You questioned.

He pondered, those orb you used to love held a confusion.

"Meddling into your partner's private life will annul this marriage... Wasn't that written in our contract?" You bitterly told him. "Sounds familiar right? Do not dare demand me to throw away Everett." You added.

Finally waiting for this moment for this to happen. Guess he will get to taste his own medicine.

"... As long as we do our part in this household we will act as husband and wife. Is not that what you told me?"

"..."

"Now then, I will excuse myself. I have no longer desire to finish my breakfast here." With that, you leave him there.

When you reach the door, opening it, you were surprise to see Everett waiting outside. "What are you doing here?" You asked him. Your frowned face was replaced with a confusion look before giving him a small smile. The man infront of you return your smile with a small grin, placing one of his arm on your waist."W-well, I feel bored and alone in my own room. So I found myself waiting here w-with the butler. Besides I saw you walking wobbly earlier and I-I am concerned that you might have even more difficulty walking... So f-forgive me for not staying put." The look concern on his face adding the pout from his lips made him look cute.

"What are you a puppy?"You poke his nose giggling as you walk away with him, your eyes went back to talk to the butler. Telling him you want to continue your breakfast at your garden, asking him to make it for a two people. The butler bowing to your order before going to the kitchen area to order the maid.

Your husband on the other hand, loath with rage and jealousy mixing under his eyes. His eyes narrowed especially when the slave you brought in leaned on top of your head kissing at the crown part of your head, leaning to your ear to whisper something akin to sweet talks. The arm around your waist went to rub your back.

If only you glance again on Everett's face. You would have caught him giving your husband a smug smirk.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: Hot Wings

A new restaurant opens in Metropolis, boosting the best chiken wings this side of the country. It's a family business run by four siblings, but the owner is the second youngest, a nice young man named Danny Fenton.

He has twenty-two flavors to choose from that vary in spice. The spiciest is called "Ghost King," and the least spicy one is "Box Ghost." It's supposed to be very hard to handle the Ghost King wings, and Danny even claims Metas have a hard time handling them.

Clark tries it out with Jimmy and Lois on their shared lunch break. While both of his co-workers can't handle more than one bite, Clack can stomach three before tapping out. Danny adds his face to the wall dubbed "Ghost Court" despite the fact he couldn't do all eight.

Clark is surprised that he's the only one on there and gets placed at "Court Jester" for the number of wings he could handle. Despite the spice, the regular buffalo (or Johnny's 13) he ends up getting afterward is the best he's ever had.

The trio returned the following week for lunch, all trying a new flavor slightly higher on the spice meter. It makes his taste buds sing in the same way only Ma could accomplish.

King's Ghostly Wings rapidly becomes Clark's favorite place. He takes Conner with him the next time his brother visits and has a laugh when Conner attempts the Ghost King challenge. Conner could handle two, so he sadly didn't end up on the wall.

Conner doesn't seem to mind as he attempts to flirt with the waitress, Jasmine, who only laughs off his flirtations as Pa had beaten how to properly treat women into Conner's head. Clack watches with amusement as his clone's attention is quickly overcome by the Ember Wings he ordered (He thinks there are nine different hot peppers in there), acting like he never had real food until then.

A month later, Clark walks into King's Ghostly, smiling at Elle (Her full name is Danielle because her parents decided on a theme after Jasmine. It's Dan, Danny and Danielle.)

She sits next to the challenger wall, and he is mildly surprised to see more faces now. He no longer holds the Jester position. Instead, there is the smiling face of Stephine Brown, face red, eyes watery, and sweaty but gleeful. The words "Three and a half" indicate why she pushed him out.

Next to her is the Knight, held by a smirking Duke Thomas, proudly stating he managed four but he looks just as worn down as Stephine.

This is followed by the Grandmaster, who shows Jason Todd giving two thumbs-ups and tears streaming down his face; he managed five. Then there is Steward, who shows Tim Drake's half-dead face, looking like he was about to hurl, but his fingers are held up in the count of six.

The Queen position is a tie between one haughty Damian Wayne, looking to be glaring at the wings before him, and a mid-laugh Dick Grayson, who looks like he is having the time of his life with tears also streaming down his face. Seven each.

The King belong to Bruce Wayne who looks just as handsome and sauve as he would any photoshot. There is a half eaten wing in his mouth, while the man winks at the camera. Ariund him are plates with chicken wing bones. The count under his name shows fifteen.

Clark stares, then reaches for his cell phone. The call rings only three times before Bruce's strong voice goes through, dragging out the last word in a a cheerful shout

"What's up, ya slut!?" Great. Brucie voice. This means Bruce is in fornt of people who still think he's a airhead playboy.

"Bruce? Did you and your kids take the Ghost King wings challenge in Metropolis?" He asks anyway, because there is no way the bats were able to stomach this. How are they human?

"Clark," Bruce drags out the ar in his name, sounding like he's spinning in an office chair. Distantly, he can hear some voices mutter under their breath in annoyance. Bruce was in a board meeting he was trying to get out of. "Of course, the kids and I tried that place. Tim's friend, Conner, took him once, and he just had to have us try out the wings. Some of the best I ever had, but that challenge wasn't that hard. Not that I wouldn't mind going for the second round. I'll try it again if you're asking me out, big guy."

Clark feels a shiver run down his spine. Sometimes, he wonders if Batman and his lot had lied to them. There was no way they were human. "Ugh, no, I just wanted to check because it's a really hard-"

"This Saturday? Of course, I'm free. I'll have Alfred watch the kids. Oh and Clark, wear that suit I got you. You know the one.'' Bruce purs in his ear making the alien sit up straighter. He fights the urge to look around, upon hearing the code that Bruce had beaten into his head since day one of Batman and Superman team ups.

Bruce wanted to investigate the establishment and needed Superman's help. But what could the Fentons have done to catch the caped crusader's attention cities away?

Blushing, because couldn't Bruce think of a better cover, Clark responds. "The one with the gold or the one with rose gold?"

"Oh suger, rose gold was made for you" Bruce sighs dramaticly, implying so much in only one sentence. The Fentons weren't human then.

Clark confirms with Bruce staying long enough on the phone to hear him brag to the uncomfortable board members about his farmer boy who will be a fun roll through the hay and winces. If their "date" gets exposed, he'll have a lot of explaining to do when Lois eventually catches wind.

She took the whole "I'm Superman" thing well, so maybe the "Bruce often implies I'm his gay plaything on the side to protect our identities" thing well, too? He should wait for when she doesn't have access to kryptonite, just in case.

"Here you are," Danny says, walking over with a tray. With a kind, relaxed smile, he places Clark's order in front of him. It's the same one he's grown used to since first coming here but for the first time Clark notices the sense of other hidden in his eyes.

Behind him Dan is working on some wings at the open bar where various kids are watching with wide eyes. If Clark stares hard enough he swears he can see the tip of his pony tail lift as if flouting. Elle is carying more then she should be able to lift, and he realized she was pretending to struggle with the overloaded dishes as she busted.

Jasmin is the only one that seems human, calmly cashing out a family at the register.

Of course Clark missed all the signs but the Bats clocked them, likely the very first time Tim walked in here with Conner.

"Thanks, Danny," He says, still mindful of his manners. Who knows, maybe they aren't up to anything. It's not a crime to not be human. He should know.

As Clark bites into his wings, he prays there are no crimes going on. He would be really sad to see his favorite lunch place gone.

[ozzgin]

I just finished playing Firewatch and the cozy, lonely vibes gave me another monster idea! You got a summer job as a fire watch for the closest National Park. All you have to do is to sit in your tower, and...watch. For fires. Sounds boring? Worry not, your supervisor is there to keep you company over the radio. Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, obsessive behavior, suggestive ending

"And? What are you running away from?"

"Excuse me?"

You raise your eyebrows at the unexpected question coming from the radio. The deep voice belongs to your supervisor, the man who'll guide you throughout your stay at the National Park.

"No one picks up an isolated job in the mountains out of sheer desire. Especially someone as young as you." He chuckles briefly, then resumes in a more professional tone: "My apologies. You don't have to answer that."

What a strange way to begin the conversation, you think to yourself. Yet this nonchalance and casualty is all you have for the following months. The other watchtowers don't talk much, if at all. You're entirely alone in the wilderness, save for the mysterious man on the radio.

Slowly, you begin to warm up to his chatty nature. He likes to ask a lot of questions. A terribly curious individual, though you can understand his reasoning: he's been working for the Park for over a decade. How does one survive without another human being?

He never leaves his tower, and thus you've never seen his face. He's content, you're indifferent. Occasionally, he'll mention sketching you to pass the time.

"How would you describe your eyes, (Y/N)?" he'll ask between his pencil scribbles. "I see. I'm sure they're beautiful. Why are you suddenly quiet? Have you forgotten how to take a compliment? I'm just messing with you, kiddo."

You haven't witnessed a single fire since coming here, despite the torrid summer heat. Your days are spent hiking without aim and talking to your supervisor.

One morning, you wake up to the grating beep of the radio instead of your alarm. You pick up the small device with an irritated grunt.

"Would you like to meet?"

You need a moment to process the words. Are you finally going to greet the one man who's kept you distant company for weeks? Intriguing. You mumble your agreement, still half-asleep.

As you make your way down the hill, you notice a supply station covered in moss and overgrown vegetation. You check your map, just to be sure. There shouldn't be anything here. What a peculiar thing to stumble upon. You approach the old wooden box and lift the lid carefully.

The musty inside is filled with rows of newspapers and some scattered notes. You pluck one newspaper out, and rest your eyes on the first headline.

"National Park is saying goodbye to its employees. The area will be permanently closed after the devastating fire."

You gawk at the title, then at the photographed location.

It's your watchtower.

You scramble to read the rest of the paragraphs, words slipping behind in your frantic search. This forest has been sealed off for years. You recognize the name of your supervisor in the report: a father of three, loved by everyone, died tragically before a rescue team could reach him.

"Found anything interesting, kiddo?"

You turn around with mild hesitation. Whoever this impersonating maniac is, or what he wants, is rather irrelevant at this point. You're trapped alone with him.

Across from you stands a creature, resembling a chimera more than a human being. Long, grotesque limbs ending in black claws, hollow eyes, and mangled rows of razor-sharp teeth put together in a grin. Monstrous.

You're out of breath.

"That looks great", the creature remarks cheerfully.

"Don't use my voice to talk. It's embarrassing to hear myself like that", you lecture it as you spread out the food onto the picnic blanket.

It switches back to the supervisor's soft, masculine tone.

"Sorry, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

The monster extends one bony hand over your head, fanning out the fingers and dragging them across your hair in gentle strokes. What a precious little human you are.

You did not run away. A terrifying thought: losing you after all the time spent together. It didn't want to chase you down and make it even worse for you. But you stayed, you truly did.

"By the way", you say as you bite into your sandwich, stretching out your legs. "Is it you who prevents the fires? Usually it's a common occurrence here, especially in summer."

You recall the scorching flames from the newspaper.

"Yes. To keep you safe, you understand."

"Not only did you lie to me about the job, but you kept me out of work, too", you whine. "I got bored to death! Days on end!"

You're suddenly pushed down into the blanket, and you stare into the spiraling, empty sockets, confused.

"I can entertain you to your heart's desire, (Y/N)."

Its snout widens in a flirty smile, releasing a bizarre succession of clicks. Is it laughing in its natural voice?

You blush.

"I suppose there are some ways..." you suggest cheekily, unbuttoning your shirt.

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