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undermine-the-instinct · 4 months

Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝑳𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 (Then I Intend)

Sesshoumaru x reader Part ||

Masterlist.../ Previous part.../ Next part....

Summary: The Lord Daiyokai often shuts you up in an inn, every few days of the month, for the demons that are attracted to your bloodscent. It is one of the few graces he allows. You would think its for your safety, and truly it is. Because not only do you seem to forget that he is a demon, but also a man.

Rumors of a bloodhungry demon arise, one that prowls the edges of this ghost town, devouring its residents under the shroud of moonless nights; Of which steadily approaches. Under the dark viel of a new moon, all desires will be brought to light.

Content warnings: Misogny, A LOT of it, era apropiate sexism, (physical) assault, dismemberment (a little and not reader) non graphic.

A/N: A lot of the misogyny here is just characters reiterating what women of this era were expected to do, i.e be homemakers listen to men and whatever. However, the physical assault part will be put under a bar if you need to skip.

Length: 15.8K (This one got away from me bois gn)

Part 2 of 4

What I'm trying to say is that, in this universe which sculpted itself from a baptism of fire, I am the moon swept up by your tendernes. You got me dreaming foreign words: gravity, ellipsis, perigee, until all i can think about is becoming ancored into orbit around the saltwater green landscape of your laughter.

You had another strange dream that night, when you fell asleep.

Rin fretted, so you swung between a light and deep slumber, and the images that flashed behind your eyes were strange, to say the least. The remnants you remember play like a movie.

It's dark, the cloud of your body floating away from you like a mist in the darkness. White scales glow. Another man’s voice, frantic, angry almost. A familiar blade. Tenseiga flashes like the cold white edge of the moon, and then, silence.

And then warmth.

Were you just stressed? Was your mind just filling itself with nonsense after what happened– What almost happened last night?

You’re up before the sun, dawn just a lavender-pink bruise on the horizon.

Numachi-san must still be asleep, because no one stirs as you make a pot of tea, ginseng and ginger, like the old apothecary had intended. You’re not sure if they’re meant to go together but oh well. The earthy, warm drink is also spicy, and does wonders to help finish waking you up so early.

The slightest shuffle in the dim dark, and you whirl. Your Lord steps into the foyer, and you try to ease the sudden pounding of your heart.

He lifts a hand when you bow to greet him, barely sparing a glance and striding past. The breeze of his pace cools the sweat on your brow, and you reach out.

Figuratively of course. “My Lord, would you not stop for a cup of tea? It's…ginger and ginseng. It will help reduce stress for you.”

“I am not stressed.”

“Still, it wouldn't be, uh, very good to start the day on an empty stomach, my Lord.” He turns on his heel. And in the pastel colored dawn cringing its way across the sky, his eyes almost glow. They could be glowing, for all you know. The moment feels too trepidatious to really ask.

Your voice is soft. “...What are you doing today, My Lord?”

“...It is none of your concern.”

“I’m not concerned, I'm just curious. Will you tell me?” And you step forward. Just one tiny step but he tracks it.

“The demon, stalking this village.”

“So they’re real? Not a rumour?”

“Yes. It must have some measure of strength, I intend to test it.” A hand on his blade, not Tenseiga. That is for emergencies.

“So that's why you’re gone throughout the day. Are we... Will we see you at dinner?” He sighs harshly, suddenly, and turns where the foyer leads to the front doors.

“What is the point? Does it bring you some added comfort, my presence?”

“Yes, it does.” He meant that rhetorically, or sarcastically, you only realize. And you answered far too honestly. You backtrack.

“And Rin, too, as well. It would do her some good to know that you are still around. The last time she saw you was early morning yesterday; You leave signs of yourself even when we are on our travels, so I suspect she’s worried. And, that that's why she had a nightmare.” You wring your hands, you’re babbling too much.

Why are you nervous…? This isn’t new territory, not really.

There's always been some odd kind of tension between you and the Lord, even if you were hesitant to call it so. He’s been more lenient though hasn’t he? Besides the night before. He doesn’t really force you to walk on foot anymore when you forgo honorifics, and he’ll just ignore you when you get too obnoxious. Nothing crazy, but he’s already used to you!

You always just figured he wasn't used to company before, especially one such as yours, and there has always been some feelings of safety and attraction on your end. He is rather beautiful, though you wouldn't call yourself vain. Yesterday just breathed to life the embers that have been left smoldering for too long.

Above all, you just want things to flow naturally.

He sighs. “You so readily coddle the child.”

“Should children not be coddled?”

“No.” He pivots, eyes eerie and pointed. “How will she survive, if you spoil her so?”

“That is different, she is a child, and the adults have the responsibility to care for and protect her. That is different from coddling.”

“That sounds exactly like it.”

“But it's not. She is still being taught what she needs to learn. And if you're so against this ‘coddling’, why did you let me leave to take care of her last night?”

And just like that, the breath in the room is sucked away at the slightest mention. Sesshoumaru goes still, still in that way that reminds you that yeah, this isn't a human. He isn’t a bomb, steadily ticking towards explosion. No, he’s a mountain, a breath away from a landslide.

But he doesn't say anything. The way he looks at you seems to be daring you to make mention of that again, and you’re not sure that that is such a good idea anymore.

“...It's just…she's a child, and I believe all children deserve a happy childhood and… I'm just eager to please her, My Lord.”

“And not I?” You both catch that at the same time, because when your eyes meet, you see the slightest, just the slightest shock in them. A reprimand, for himself.

Huh.

He clicks his tongue, sharp and flat. “Nevermind. You are–”

“My Lord,” You’re bold enough to cut him off, gods be damned. “I can’t even begin to imagine what I could do that would begin to please you, with our…differences. Should I start? You have to be clear with me.” You take another step closer, and when did you become so bold? His eyes flit to yours.

The silence doesn't just fall, it crashes, like a boulder landing, like a current pulling you under.

That came out… much more bold than you were intending. But you don't backtrack, you wait.

There are no distractions now.

“I ‘must be clear’, with you?” He steps forward, in that all too familiar way. It's like he’s gliding more than walking, and the proximity makes your heart pound. You hold your tea closer.

It's still a touch too warm, stinging your hands, but it doesn't seem to affect him when he takes it from you, sets it down; With his one hand he grabs your wrist, his hand large enough to dwarf yours, a thumb pressing into the lowest thrum of your veins.

“Your pulse is quick.” He murmurs, head dipped. He’s so close to you. You drink in those regal features, the way he’s so fixed on your hands.

He rubs over your wrist, slow, deep circles that slow your heart under their prudent care. You don’t say anything, you just breathe as he works, oddly…focused.

His nails, his claws, are hued red at the points, fingers long and defined and pretty. Not soft, calloused and rough, he is a samurai…but pretty.

He moves to rub his wrist against yours, and a slight shock of static makes you jump, but he’s too close for you to get that far. Not that you want to go far. You’re reminded of when your mother would rub lotion on your hands, or scented oil into your wrists. He does it once, twice, on both wrists, sliding his skin across your wrist, the inside of your forearms, before he moves to the delicate skin behind your ear.

You laugh and jolt away. “That tickles.”

“Just stay still.”

“I’m trying.” Not hard enough, you jitter away from his touch with breathy laughter, and with a breath of a mutter he cups the back of your head, and replaces the slow drag of his wrist with his teeth.

That stills you. It's…barely a bite, what he’s doing. But his teeth are there and you’ve never felt anything so sharp so close to your neck before. You quiet, under the conscious threat of being near something so sharp. But he wouldn’t do anything.

You're 80% sure.

He murmurs against your skin. “Are you going to keep still, now?”

“Uh, yeah?” you breathe. “Your fangs are at my throat, duh.” He doesn't rise to the bait, he just drags his teeth over the soft column of your throat, his claws tangled in your hair.

“What... are you even doing?”

He clicks his tongue, and you can almost feel the wet heat of it. “Dense as always.”

“I am not ahh-” a staggered breath, just pushing a moan of your lips when he bites down, just above your collarbone. It's gentle, not even breaking skin, and that's what surprises you.

You’re clinging onto him, you realize, strands caught between your fingers. You lean back, but there's nowhere to go between where you were and him.

He just sighs against your skin, and leans into you more, so your back is arched and you’re melded against him, like a pressed flower. There's a rumble in his throat you can feel when you squeak.

Well, two can play at that game.

You reach, press into him with your body and return the favor; your mouth tracts the pointed shell of his ear. When you reach the pointed end you bite down, and he jolts. He actually jolts.

Not away, mind you. But his teeth clamp down before he moves, leaving an imprint around that plum colored bruise.

You look at each other, caught in this twilight moment. And he draws away. You want to cling, but you have your pride, and reluctantly you let him out of your hold, white strands of silk slipping through your fingers. His face is smooth but you sense a contentment? There, the slightest sense of smug satisfaction.

You press your fingers to the spot his teeth were in, just seconds ago, when he leaves. There, just above your collarbone. If you had a mirror you could see it, but you’re certain. A lavender pick bruise, delightfully sore.

You press down, hard.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Breakfast is a normal affair, or abnormal, as you were the first person up which happened almost never. Breakfast was served anyways, and it didn't take much cajoling to get Numachi-san to sit down with you again, even if she only accepted a cup of tea, which she poured herself, after she served all of you. Must be a tendency of hers.

“Hey, Numachi-san, have you lived here in this town your whole life?”

“Hm? Oh, no, I moved here when I was quite young, no older than you, actually,” she tells you as she sits. You pout a bit.

“Oh, I was going to ask you some things about the Demon haunting this place. Like whether it's been here longer than you have or something.” She looks at you oddly, with her dark bangs. Her eyes and her hair.

“They've been here a few years before I came here, and the attacks weren’t as bad. They got worse over the years. This used to be a popular spot for a resting Daimyo on their travels, as it was a good spot to rest travel wise. One was eaten though, and his entourage, that's what made people stop coming here. If even a Daimyo isn't safe, no one is. People are too poor and sentimental to move. And some others were eaten, trying. Most don't bother anymore.”

“And…yet you chose to stay? Your sons were able to leave, why didn’t you go with them after you're husband passed, since I'm sure you don't get many customers nowadays…”

“Oh, because when I do get customers, they’re amazing ones, like you honored guests! There's the occasional weary traveler–but I get monks, samurai, swordsmen, hunters looking to take down a fabled demon…those folk hardly return though.

“I…you could say, inherited this place when I came to this town, after I left my village. It was when the Daimyo had been eaten, along with the samurai who protected him and the old inn keepers. I worried it would be too hard a job for me to fix, but my sons helped me. It’s only as furbished as it is now because they helped me with the more tedious things.” She delicately raises her cup to drink.

“How helpful of them. What are your sons like, Numachi-san? They’re visiting pretty soon, right? You must miss them a lot. ” She looks up from the tea in her hands, tilts her head.

“Oh, well, yes of course…I had twin sons, one would have been ideal, but having two...You might not know but twins are an ill omen. When I gave birth…It was either leave one or be banished. So I was driven from my home, and found my way here. No one cares about ill omens in a town that's already cursed,” she shrugs. “Now I’m here.”

“You said your husband stayed with you?” Her smile turns sour.

“Well, no, he…visited. He too believed in the ill omen of twins…and he was a very reclusive person, even at his most affectionate. So the visits dwindled until…he eventually passed away.”

“I'm…so sorry for your loss?” Even though he sounds like an asshole?

“Don’t be, it's a relief in some ways...” The bitterness surprises the both of you, she pauses, and then covers her mouth in horror.

“I-I mean…It's just–”

“You...don't have to explain anything to me, Numachi-san.”

“I don't want you to think I’m ungrateful,” she presses, daring to inch closer to you. Her hands tremble.

“You’re so kind, honored guest, and I’d hate to spoil your image of me. I am grateful for both my sons and my husband when he was with me. I'm grateful for this Inn, and the people in this town who are kind enough to not have chased me out like my birth family. Truly, I am.”

“You don't have to be grateful for the bare minimum.”

“Hm?” She looks so confused, and the expression she wears nettles at you. You’re not irritated with her, just her attitude. She’s so….timid. Mellow.

“Of course you can be grateful for the blessings, all the good in your life. But it's okay to…not be okay with just the barebones. You don’t have to be thankful for the scraps.” You can be angry too, you know, you want to tell her.

You think of a girl, with twin boys, being driven from a village by her own family. Traveling alone for goodness knows how long, until she reached a cursed village and a dilapidated inn she would painstakingly restore. A husband who only visited ‘sometimes’.

You would be livid.

Maybe that’s why you’re always so hesitant when it comes down to the new, the change. A chance of failure is never completely zero.

Maybe that’s why you’re always so hesitant to take a step forward.

But Numachi-san, unfreezes, and laughs, waving away your words like more than a too cool breeze on an autumn day.

“You’re such a strong-spirited person, honored guest. I admire your strength; and I am a bit envious too.” She rises, and takes the teapot with her.

“I think I’ll go brew a new pot, this one is no good cold. Excuse me.” Even though her hands on the pot flush pink from the heat, you watch her leave.

Jaken shakes his head at the woman, bug eyes closed.

“That woman is far too meek and soft-spined for a town like this–no husband, no sons…Though, her attitude is the proper one a woman should have, nothing like your brashness and lack of manners and respect.”

“Jaken, can you kindly shut the fuck up?”

“See! That's exactly what I mean!”

“Rin.” Rin looks up from the table she’s been staring intently at. People think just because she’s mute, she is also deaf. She hears much of the world around her, more than people realize. Her eyes are young and wide as you speak to her.

“...You don't have to rely on a man to define yourself. You can do what you want to do, anything at all, alright?” She nods but her eyes drift back to the table. You tap it with your knuckle to get back her attention.

“I'm serious. You have me. You have Sesshoumaru. A-un and Jaken too, I guess. If you need something….”

Jaken cuts in. “Go to the Lord, he’s much more capable.”

“For like...intimidation and murder and money. I got everything else.”

“Like?!” You shrug.

“Well, she’s going to grow into an adult one day..."

‘Like you’re a proper example.”

“I am!”

“Of course you are-’ And Rin breaks out into laughter, snickering behind her hands, eyes crinkled in delight.

You feel your heart warm, swelling three sizes and all, before you reach over the table to tickle the girl.

“Hey! What are you laughing at?!”

You might not be a parent, but Rin is the closest thing you have to a child, and you’re going to do right by her. Coddling and all.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

In your musings it takes more than a full hour to traipse your way to the rice paddies from the inn. You've gotten faster at walking, during your travels with your little group, but it was still away, at the other end of town, at the bottom of a small mountain which a stream ran down from, and fed into the rice paddies. Behind that mountain, miles and miles past, you could just see the peaks of a mountain range. That was where Sesshoumaru wanted to go after all this. It was pretty far, on foot it would take at least…a week, or two? With A-Un, and the Lord, only two or three days.

When you went up to the little house on the hill overlooking the paddies no one answered, and you looked about for any signs of the oldman.

Rice paddies spread out below you, and you look down the hill to check for any signs of life. Luckily, you did, a group of people working close by in the fields below. You went to meet them.

And promptly fell down the hill.

And oh no, you couldn't just trip and roll down like a normal person, or even bonk your head on a rock and pass out, which would be merciful. Instead, you do this stupid half trip, half wobble and catch-yourself-but-still-very-much-falling dance down the hill like a demented horse, before gravity finally lets you go; You collapse like a maiden struck by a curse.

‘Gods, are you there? Why have you forsaken your most devoted child?’

With an audience to boot. Well, at least you didn't fall into the water of the paddies, you landed barely a foot away from where the grassy hill turned into mud, and sloped down. A guy, thigh deep in the waters gapes at you. Three identical versions of him you see in your swimming vision as he steps forward and nudges you with a wet hand. You give him a thumbs up to show you’re alive. You think he calls back to the others you saw with him.

Some of the words swim in and out your hearing, your head too dizzy to focus on them, so you can only squeal as your world tilts, and you're suddenly held in the arms of the first man (or three) you saw, the world flashing in colors of blue and green and brown.

You try to protest as he starts carrying you up the hill but he doesn't listen to you.

“Excuse me?! I said put me dow–”

“I can hear you.” His tanned hands are wet and warm from the sun and work, black hair pulled into a ponytail. He looks around your age, if only a few years older.

“So then put me down.”

“No, that was a long, erm, fall.”

“It was nothing, please put me down.”

“Nope! What if you rattled your head and your brain comes spilling out your ears if you move too fast?” A beat of awkward silence, and he tries to laugh off that crazy ass sentence like it was a joke.

You have to get out, you're in the hands of a madman.

“Uh… that, wasn't a good thing to say... sorry? Really though, if you’re hurt we should get you checked out–the Doctor is actually here for our father today, so she can just look you over real quick and then you can be on your way.” Finally at the top of the hill, he sets you down on your feet gingerly.

“Actually, what are you here for? Aren't you those fancy guests at Numachi-san’s honjin?”

“Uh, I guess. We’ll only be there for a few days, since we’re there to...recover.” Yeah, you’re not telling him the real reason. But he nods, looking over you, assessing.

“Traveling on the road, even with such a powerful Lord, must be exhausting for you two. Of course you should rest while you can!”

“Us two?”

“You and the child, of course.”

“Oh yeah, of course…”

The tense silence doesn't seem to bother him, in fact, he just waits…and waits. When no one tries to break it, he perks. “Yes!” He shouts and you jump. “How about I help you with what you need? Did your Lord send you to buy an order…?”

Couldn’t have asked that quicker? “No. I’m just running some errands for Numachi-san. Though that's not a bad idea, some rice would be good for our travels…”

“Our rice is grown from the melted caps of the mountain streams, you won't find anything better. Fit for your mighty Lord's tastes, I should say.” And he leans in, eyes gleaming. “Hey, please indulge me, for curiosity's sake… he wears a kimono with two sleeves but he’s missing an arm…did he lose it fighting some horrible demon?!”

He is a horrible demon. Technically. “I…suppose so? He left me in a village so I didn’t see the battle.”

“What about those markings on his face?”

“He was born with them, I believe?”

“And his chinese robe, very strange fashion, but he’s a demon right? Where did he get it, his sword, his armor?”

“The sword came from his father…? And I don’t know about the robe and armor, I’m pretty sure that's a result of his Yoki energy.” Did he make it with yoki or does he acquire it and then have to put it in his inventory, of sorts?

“I don't really know what I can divulge to you…?”

“Oh...” And, damn, the sad way he deflates endears you, like a kicked puppy, so you offer something else.

“I’ve seen other battles though, though they can hardly be called that with the strength of my Lord, if that would suffice.”

“Yes! I am Takashi, by the way, forget the honorifics.” He bows, and when he rises he winks, ushering you inside.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“...So he swiped out with his poison claws, and the demon fell to ribbons. It was so quick, so precise, that no blood stained his hand. It careened in an arc in the air, the slice so clean it took a minute for the demon to start bleeding out. We just continued on our way then.”

“Amazing…” He breathes, awestruck. The tale is practically playing behind his eyes and you laugh.

“It must be amazing to be able to serve a Lord like that…”

“Honestly? It is.” Despite your troubles and woes, there are sights that have taken your breath away and moments that are seared into your memory. Even in your world, you doubt you would have ever seen as much, ever.

Takashi-kun, as he cheekily insisted you call him, tilts his head to the side in question.

“You serve him?”

“Yes, it's tedious, but I’m glad for the work, it keeps me busy.” Never let him hear you say that, he would hold it above your head forever.

“...No, I meant being his disciple, not his servant.”

“Yeah, that's what I meant.”

“You are his disciple?”

“Yes…? The Lord is much too…dignified and proud, to name any disciples of his own. Still the imp wields the two headed staff, and Rin carries a tanto.”

“And you?”

“I can take care of myself, I have to,” you shrug. “I'm a woman, traveling. I’ve asked the Lord to teach us how to wield the naginata, but every weapon’s master we’ve seen never meets his specifications, so he won't teach us until we get the right weapon. ” you pout.

“Seriously, shouldn’t he put more priority on teaching us, if we’re to be traveling on the road with him?”

But Takashi fiddles with his hands, running fingers over some age-old scar there, looking down at it with a pensive expression. “Well why should he? Why would he? You’re a woman.”

“...Excuse me?” He gestures.

“I mean, even in this kinda’ place, we’ve heard of the Lord of the Western Lands. Such a strong and disciplined leader, it would insult him if you continued to pester him about teaching you how to wield an actual weapon, as if he weren’t capable of protecting you and the child.

“It's already awfully gracious of him that he allows the child the tanto, or that he allows two women to accompany him; I assume he provides you shelter and food and the like. Shouldn’t you be more grateful?”

“Huh?” There's this odd look on Takashi-kun's face, just beneath the surface, and the mischievousness that was present there is gone.

“No. No, I'm appropriately grateful. And there's only one woman; the girl is still a child.”

“Yeah, I guess you're more his type.”

You slam your fist down on the table. “Repeat that.”

You forget though, the men in this era haven't ever been taught to heed a woman. So he just looks at you oddly and says, “I assumed that you served him as steward or maid, though I guess I was wrong.” He points towards the table, the pot of tea that has been sitting there.

“The pot has been sitting for a few moments now, and you have not served. I figured you were enraptured by the grand stories of your Lord, which is understandable. You are a guest here, yes, but as eldest son here it would still be rude for me to serve. Your Lord must be an odd one.” He sighs.

“Were you a sacrifice, from your village? Is the child yours? Oh, is she both of yours? Forgive me for my earlier comment then…Maybe that's what the Tanto is for–I heard Samurai give the Tanto and Naginata to their wives and daughters to defend themselves and the home from enemies. That must be the reason, right?”

“...”

“But again, he is a demon. Who is he to follow human conventions? Perhaps you aren’t a ‘wife’, exactly–” You stand so quickly the table is jostled, and he reaches out a hand to steady it, looking up at you unperturbed and confused at your outburst.

“...Do you not think before you speak?”

“Excuse you?” He frowns. “I’m making basic observations. You are really pretty, and not too old, so you must have been with him for some time, if the child yours. Are you his concubine? Your teeth aren’t black, obviously you’re not a wife,” he sighs.

You want to smash the chipped cup into his face. You want to pour the hot tea into his lap and burn him. He looks so satisfied with himself for this genius conclusion, not even considering the truth of the matter. You are a companion–not concubine.

But you breathe, you reign in your temper. Calm down, he doesn't know any better.

“I…am not a concubine. Nor a wife. No, I do not serve him in those…ways. I am simply a traveling companion. Nothing more.”

“But you are a woman. What else do you offer?”

Just before you throw the tea pot into his face, an old frail frame strides into the room with purpose–and when you look up you stare right into the hard eyes of the apothecary, and the wrinkled face of the man who walks in with her.

“Oh, Father! Doctor!” Takashi-san rises to feet like he’s going to embrace one of them, but she just looks at him and he backs down. Her gaze turns to you.

“Ah yes, you, young lass. Put down that pot before you spill it. What are you doing this far from your hotsprings and futons and mochi?” You’re ready to snap at her but the old man speaks before you do.

“Oh, you’re that girl who came in with that Demon Lord, right? How about you sit back down and tell us what you came all the way here for.” His wrinkled face is spotted in moles and cherry, and you can’t help listening to the old man.

“Father–”

“Shh!” The old man hushes him, and Takashi-san rolls his eyes, playfully, but you see the exasperation in them. You all sit, and the apothecary is the one who pours. Takashi looks at you.

“I’m just running an errand for Numachi-san, I don’t feel right just sitting still and relaxing when she has so much to do.”

The old man gives a precious wrinkled smile. “Oh, what a kind girl you are. And what a generous Lord to allow his servant to help others.”

“I don’t think he did allow it, Father,” Takashi cuts in. “You weren’t there but I saw him; A Lord of that caliber wouldn't allow his… servants, to run off to do manual labor.”

“And what were you doing so early in the morning, before even dawn, that you saw them go inside the honjin, hm?”

“I…I wasn't! I was here, sleeping! I saw him after, when I was in town delivering!”

“Sure you were.” Old man Taiga, as you know he is, looks up at you, and so fast you almost miss it, winks. “Must have been taking mighty long if you had time to ogle at some demon Lord.”

“He's the Lord of the Western Lands Father!”

“Yeah, yeah, how about you go now and gather up that rice now for the good lady, and pack her an order too, for that Lord you so admire.” You like this old man. Takashi-san doesnt even look at you, he just grumbles under his breath as he shuffles from the table to go to fulfill his father’s orders.

The apothecary grins. Her teeth are white and straight as a US military cemetery. “One good thing about being a haunted town–at least we don't have to pay any taxes! We can eat all the rice and mochi we want and not have to worry about any Daimyo coming to raid the town.”

“A bad thing is that we don't have that many workers for the fields, so we often work more than we eat.” Taiga sighs, patting his back. He looks at you.

“The last Daimyo came to collect taxes since we had not paid for some time, and stayed at Numachi-chan’s inn– Well, it wasn't hers at the time. But he came with some few samurai, which were more than enough for a town like this. But not enough for the demon.”

The apothecary huffs over her tea cup. “I bet he ate well that day. And hasn't eaten that well since.”

“‘He’?”

She shrugs. “Female demons aren't so voracious. Or maybe they are–maybe she’s got a brood she needs fed.”

“What kind of demoness still feeds her kids for thirty, forty years? They’re grown and out now, if they exist.”

“If they exist. I'm betting it's a male demon though.”

“And how would you know?”

She slaps the table. “I’ll find out when I get eaten of course!”

“With how bitter you’ve become over the years? Ha!”

“And with how sickly and tough you are? You got a few good years before your time Taiga. And it won't be by demons!” They laugh, while you look at them over the rim of your cup. They seem to be pretty old friends, if the way they talk is any indication.

“Ah, I still wanna see my son and daughters get married though,” Taiga huffs. “Four daughters and one son…I wouldn’t mind if Takashi was sneaking about to meet a Lady, but instead he’s training, like the next Samurai that comes in will notice his potential and take him on,” Taiga shakes his head.

“He thinks he’s gonna be the one to slay the demon of this place. He has more luck minding his business and keeping his head low. I’m still here after all, my children and all.” You notice no mention of a wife though, and tamp down your curiosity.

“Does…anyone know anything certain about the demon? Like, what type, or how old?” The apothecary and Taiga look at you, look at each other.

“Only the dead,” she supplies unhappily. “Though, we have seen the marks they left behind… the ones who fight back. And the wreckage the demon leaves behind, like the wrecked buildings in town”

“The demon seems cocky, to openly go into town and just into random buildings to eat people.” Like knock knock, delivery. Oh! You're the meal.

“Arrogance, yes, but no ones seen nor caught em’ yet. Been here for years and will probably move on when we’re all gone or eaten. A mighty demon to be sure, most definitely.”

“But stronger than her Lord?” Taiga points his cup towards you.

“Lord of the Western Lands…I grew up hearing the myths of this Lord, never thought I’d ever be so close to him… You must be honored to be able to serve such a Lord.”

“Uh…I guess?” What was he, some God? “He’s actually pretty frustrating and pretentious but to each their own.”

That didn't give you the reaction you thought it would. Instead of chuckling, they gape at you, moon eyed.

“...I don’t think it would be wise to talk about such a Lord in that way… Imagine if he heard you, girl!”

“I’d say it to his face.” Again, that doesn't give you such a good reaction. They both just stare at you, though the apothecary’s eyes narrow.

“Hm, well…he must be lenient with his servants…very lenient! Maybe he just is unaffected by a human’s words!”

“No, he’d just tie me to the back of A-un, our demon steed, if you will, and make me walk a few miles. Or cut my food rations. But honestly, he needs to be taken down a few pegs. Everyone is walking on eggshells around him, singing his praises, he needs a dose of reality.” You grin sneakily. “Just a small dose though, so he doesn't realize I’m just blowing hot air and he really is all that.” The old man looks like he could choke, poor him, and the Apothecary shoots to her old wrinkled feet.

“Come on now,” the apothecary grabs your wrist, and with more force than you expected, drags you up and out. You’re only able to pull your wrist back when you’re leaving the front doors of the house, leaving old man Taiga behind.

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

“No, what are you doing?” She throws your hand back. “You’re dumber than I thought if you think you can get away with talking like that in front of that kinda folk.”

“What do you mean-”

“The only reason they’re not ganging up on ya is because they think if they butter up the Demon Lord’s concubine, then maybe he’ll slay the demon for them. Do you even know how rare it is for travelers to actually arrive here, intact, this close to a full moon? It's either intentional or luck, and I'm betting on the former, in your Lord’s case.”

You scoff, but you can't really argue with her words. You’ve seen this sort of thing play out before, so it's not implausible.

You’ve seen plenty of desolate towns, both with and without your Lord, you’ve been driven out of a few of them. But with your lord, they always beg aid, offering up their most valuable goods, resources, wares…people. Your Lord has always rejected them all. It's very rare if he decides to take them up on their pleas.

Now that you think about it…wasnt it always whenever you were running low on something?

There was one time a rather prosperous village asked for aid in a demon that kept eating its women. Sessoumaru refused, and you nearly left, if not for one merchant, who offered some sweets amongst the things he could trade. You and Rin had perked, Jaken had scoffed, and your Lord...accepted. You and Rin were feasting on mochi for days.

The Lord had killed the demon quickly—but still called it a waste of time.

“I’m not his concubine…” She clicks her tongue at you.

“Yeah, it figures. I assume he wouldn’t let ya wander around on your own if you were.”

“He hardly lets me do that now,” you gripe. “He just always avoids me during these times so I got some leeway now.”

“You mean you can't let yourself get caught out here like this.”

“...It’s not that serious, I just don’t want to deal with him, that's all.” She coughs out a laugh, and slides a hand down her face.

“Oh girl…you might not be a concubine, but you must be something to have the courage to talk about him like that. Out or to his face.”

“Yeah, I’m a traveling companion.”

“Dense as a rock too.” Why do people keep saying that about you?! It's not true.

She waves a hand. “I know haughty types like that, and they’re not the type to take your kinda attitude girly.”

“How would you know? You know nothing about me.”

“Of course I know you, I used to be you.” She sighs and leans back against the walls of the house. You’re staggered into silence, and she takes the opportunity to talk again.

“Same attitude, same talk, same naivety. That's why you ought to take advantage of the things you have, and not leave them to chance. You got something going with that Lord of yours. Do something before he changes his mind–if not for yourself than that girl you got.”

“Rin? But he…” You know he cares. He brought her back to life for goodness’ sake. “He wouldn't do anything.”

“But he could. And if he could then there's always a chance he will.”

But you remember. The look in his eyes as you and Rin feasted on mochi. The almost teasing way he nettles at Jaken, who is none the wiser. The golden shade of his eyes in the lantern’s shine, in moonlight, the dim gleam of dawn. They way he murmured and breathed against your skin, like he wanted to–

You stop that thought right in its tracks.

Your fingers rush up to press against the bruise. The sore throb is a reassurance.

“But he wouldn't.”

She pauses, and she coughs a little in her incredulity. “Oh, girl,” and her face twists in sympathy. “You’re in love with him.”

“...It's not that serious.” Was it?

“Well, so much for your bluffing, you’re already too far gone,” she scoffs, like you didn't say anything.

She clicks her tongue, something lighter, and almost…fond? She walks closer, and starts fixing your clothing, like a grandmother would, adjusting things this way and that.

“Did you try the tea?”

“Huh? Yeah, I had some this morning.”

“Take some when you go back, It’ll be good for you.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Hm. Then take this word of advice too girly,” and she wipes her hands down her front. “Besides talking about your Lord of course. Don't get too chummy with that innkeeper. You don't like being called a concubine, fine, whatever, you can afford that. But some people aren’t given that choice. She’s one of them.”

“What? She’s a widow. Her husband died.”

“By her own design. Why do you think her sons left her? Normally I wouldn't fault her–do you know how many potions I sold to all sorts of women? But her? I can’t forgive her. I won’t. ” With those ominous words and her hawk gaze, she walks away.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Takashi-san, whose Father insisted on ‘assisting’ you, who had insisted on carrying the rice bag because’ it’s much too heavy for you, you’d probably make it to the inn by sunset!’, nevermind that it was barely noon now, is annoying you. Damn chauvinist.

You didn't let slip the change in attitude he had, since you mentioned the Lord and the tanto thing. Before was the politeness and cordial attitude of a person talking to the servant of a nobleman or something. And yeah, you were used to that. That attitude, and even the cloying, patronizing way that this boy spoke to you was better than the outright venom that people spat at you with, when you dared to call yourself his travel partner…

It was still no less frustrating.

“Shouldn't we head to the inn as soon as we can?” he called to you, as you left him near the bottom of the stream.

“I wouldn’t want to upset your Lord because you’re not where you’re supposed to be.” A vein could pop from how tightly wound you are.

“I have chores to do, and then you can ‘escort’ me back. You followed me, so we’re going by my schedule.”

“Did your Lord grant you permission for you to be on your own?”

You pause, and turn to him slowly to show your displeasure. “...He doesn’t care. What does it matter?”

“But still…I should at least accompany you on your way.”

“You really shouldn’t. I'll be fine on my own. I've lived nearly the same amount of days on earth as you have, and I’ve definitely traveled farther. I'm good.”

“You’re very audacious for a woman.” And he wants a rock to his head, doesn’t he. “I'm offering my help. Even if you were being bashful, trying to deny me, you could be more pleasing.”

“...You have a shallow ego don’t you?”

“What?”

“....Takashi-kun, I appreciate how kind you are, but I would be remiss if you were to aid me any further. I want to please my Lord by bringing something pleasing for dinner, but if you help me it would just ruin all my efforts. Please wait here for me, please?” You make your voice sickly sweet, and bat your eyes. Though his brow twists, he doesn't offer a rebuttal, struck dumb by whiplash.

…Is it really that easy? “That…does make sense. He’s already letting you stay at a honjin, you should do something to thank your Lord.”

“Yes of course. Now, I have to hurry so I’ll be quick, alright? I’ll be quicker on my own anyways, and then the Lord will praise you for your efficiency. I’ll call you if I need you Takashi-san!” And you scamper away with your basket and a wave, letting the wide smile you put on drain away as you roll your eyes. You were sooo fake, did he really not notice?

Twenty, thirty, forty or so paces upstream, just underneath a few big rocks, nestled in the low current, the traps lay. Just where Numachi-san told you. The current was lazy, about waist high as you hopped along the rocks dotting the banks. You set your basket on a tall rock. There, you strip to your innermost layers, and stride in to catch your fish.

You have to be quick, and careful, odd high waves often rolled over, Numachi-san warned you. There were also other animals that came here to hunt, so you had to scurry.

There are only three or four bright red snapper fish as you checked, and pretty young by the looks of it, barely over a foot long, and weakly trying to swim free; despite your sympathy you know it was your job to bring them back. Alas, why must so many of the tasty foods come from things alive?

And then you realize something. Beyond the bumbling stream, you can't hear anything.

And no, the water isn't loud enough that it blocks everything else out, no. It's just silent. No birds, no shuffling, no wildlife. Silent.

Somethings here.

Your hair stands on end as you reach for your tanto. There's nothing on the banks, and no movement in the undergrowth but there–

For a second, a blur races out of your peripheral vision. Cold dread followed by a flush of heat under your skin. You bring up your knife and whip your head to chase the sight, but it runs quickly and you only see a dark smear slither into the trees.

A few moments pass in tense silence, before you hear the birds again. You untense, and lower your knife. The blur was pretty large, probably…a bear cub, wandering from its mother.

But that silence… Still, you need to hurry, lest you want to wrestle with some bears over fish. There's a specific way to untie the part of the net that would free the fish-of course, you grab onto the tail of one so it can’t slip away, already flipping around in your hold. But you can't pick at it.. You’ll have to go under to do this.

So you hold your breath, and plunge.

The water is just hitting the edge of too cold as you go under; It's rocky and craggly under, and quickly you untie the net and grab your fish, one by one; The first two you grab by the tails and stride over, hurriedly tossing them into your basket and closing the lid after. The other two are harder. With extra room to move they fight, and you barely get the third in before you notice the water receding.

You’ve read enough to know when an incoming current is gathering. Quickly, you duck back down to untie your last fish, fumbling your fingers over the knot. You get it loose, but the fish, smarter than its brethren and slippery, darts around your hand and tries swimming off.

‘Oh no you dont–’ you turn under water to chase it, just grabbing the ends of its tail and holding on, but your foot gets caught in a crevice between rocks.

You get your face to break water right as the current comes in, knocking you back, hard. You don't land on the rocky bedfloor, but you’re thrown off balance, your foot stuck. You’re left floundering, you don't know how you don’t let go of the damn fish, but you don’t.

You try to reach up again, lungs burning, only to snort water as another wave smacks you dead in the face, pulling you back under. You’re losing air, and fast. You reach a hand, trying to break the surface, and kudos to your incredible luck, someone grabs it.

You are yanked out of the water, ankle scraping painfully against the rocks, choking on air on your way up.

“What are you doing?”

“Takashi-san?!” He pulls you up, your arm socket protesting the movement; He gathers you into his arms and drags you onto the banks.

“You followed me?!”

“What was I supposed to do, leave you on your own?”

“Yes, that's exactly what you were supposed to do.” You wrestle in his arms, they way he just lugs you over to the banks like…like a bag of rice. Of which he had, now you cannot see. You look around and reach for your basket that teeters dangerously on the rocks.

“You thought you could sweet talk me into acting like some…some–!!”

“Some what, Takashi-kun.” You wipe the droplets from your brow. Takashi-san sees this, the inner robes you wear. You’re still in his arms. He goes red.

“I knew you were just faking that demureness. How shameless.”

“Oh? And what gave it away?”

He drops you like hot coal.” You called me Takashi-san. Normally I wouldn't question this, it's only proper, but you’ve been calling me Takashi-kun. You slipped up.”

“Oh darn,” you roll your eyes. “And here I was thinking I could ditch you.”

“I couldn’t just leave you be, you know there's a demon lurking around here–”

“Like you can fight off a demon?” You rub the hip you landed on, and grab your basket. Seems he tossed rice to the side, presumably when he went to rescue you.

“I’m more capable than you are?”

“I'm not in danger of drowning now, am I?”

“Listen woman,” he hisses, his mirth replaced with irritation. He reaches out to grab your arm but you dodge out his way. “You’re a stranger here, you don’t know these parts. No one comes up here to fish, it's too far away and if you screamed, I wouldn't have heard you over the water.”

If you scream now, no one will hear you.

“Then fine, let me just grab my things and we can head back, alright?”

But his eyes narrow, and he shakes his head.

“No. We’re going back to my father’s house, it's closer. Then you’re going to wait for your Lord, or that Imp to escort you back.”

“I am not a child, nor do I need a chaperone–”

“You were taking too long!” He keeps advancing and you keep retreating. “I was waiting, and the woods went silent. That’s never a good thing. I had thought a demon had gotten to you, and then what would I say to your Lord!”

You roll your eyes. “Glad to see you’re so worried for my well being.”

“Good! You’re welcome!”

A harsh sigh drags its way past your teeth. “I did hear that odd silence, that’s why I was rushing. But maybe if I didn't feel so rushed, I would have waited until the high wave rolled over.”

“But you didn't, instead you almost drowned. Should you even be out? I mean, hunting surely isn't your strong point.”

“And keeping your mouth shut sure isn’t yours.”

“Excuse me?” You know that drop of voice. You could recognize it in this century or the next. So before he could get on with his next tirade, you snatch your outer layers, hurrying them on and making your way back down with your basket.

“Where are you going?!” you hear him fumble with the rice, but he decided to carry it, so that’s his fault.

“Back to the inn, where else? Are you following me or not.”

“You need to do as you’re told! You're not going to–”

“Listen Takashi, you're a rather pretentious prick, so if you have nothing of value to say, then be quiet.”

“You are supposed to–” you whirl around and he stops in his tracks, brow furrowed and one hair away from a full blown scowl.

“I didn't ask you to be my escort, protector, or chaperone. You were the one who decided to take the roles on yourself, so don’t get upset that I'm not playing into your little fantasy of being some noble village boy helping the poor maiden. Who are you to tell me what I'm supposed to do? You, some village boy?” You would poke his chest to emphasize the words, but you’re not getting as close as needed for that.

“And for the record. The Lord isn't going to acknowledge you just because you ‘escorted’ me. I’m not his pet.”

“But you are a woman,” he grits. “And you are his. There are basic rules you must follow for order–”

“Rules are meant to be broken.”

“You shouldn't even be wandering out on your own. Look what happened when you did, you nearly drowned!”

“I didn't nearly drown because I'm a woman idiot, my foot was stuck in a crevice.” Your ankle which, now that you’re on land, smarts. You can feel the blood dripping, not yet clotted over.

“Thank you for your aid in getting me out of that, honestly–Your attitude could use some work though.”

“My attitude?” And you turn away from him. That is your mistake.

A hand yanks you back by the back of your collar and you choke, dropping your basket. Your instincts kick in when he tries to wrap his arms around you. You drop, and while he fumbles with your dead weight you grab his ankle and topple him over.

He must fight with his sisters a lot or something though, because it's hard keeping him down, even as you claw red lines into his face and skin, making sure he doesn't pin you instead. He seems to know where you’ll kick, the vital points you try and dig your fingers into. But you persevere, you get the upper hand when you get him face down in the grass and pin his arm behind his back, a knee in the soft dip of his spine.

He huffs against the dewy grass, a soft angry-laugh. “I'm going to make you regret this.”

“Oh yeah?” Your tanto knife looks deadly against the skin of his throat, and he stills. “Repeat that for me.”

“Your Lord–”

“Can you not imagine any woman’s choice or actions being independent of anyone? What about my Lord? If you've forgotten, he’s a demon. He’d care less about me killing some human than whether it’s going to rain in the coming days.”

“Guess you don't know how crucial rains are for rice growing.”

“Save me the metaphors.” You huff. You tap the knife against his neck as you speak, if only to make him flinch.

“You know? I used the little blade on more men than I have demons. Isn't that something?”

“...I bet you don't even know how to use that.”

“That's for you to figure out. Try me. And do I really have to know how to use a blade to be able to stab you?”

“Your Lord-”

“I call him that out of gratitude and habit, but he is not my Lord.”

“You still must obey him.”

“Because he offers me protection, shelter, food, whatever else I could need. Mostly, because he is a demon.

“ou and I are on two very different boats, in two very different waters. So. you’re going to get up, and pick up the things you dropped. You will walk in front of me. You will not speak and if you even try to pull a stunt like that again, I will make you bleed. How much depends on what you do, but you will bleed. Understand?”

And it takes him a moment to quell the hate in his eyes and swallow, but he jumps as your blade digs in, red dripping down, and stutters out a “Y-Yes.”

“Good. Thank you. You can do just that.” You stay close, in case he tries to get some distance on you for a hit or grab, but he just does as you told him, hateful eyes cast to the floor, and starts walking.

You follow him back down to the inn. You don't sheath your tanto.

You don't parade Takashi through the streets, but enough people stop in their tracks to stare at the way Takashi walks in front of you, face stormy and pace brisk. He probably did that to spite you to run after him, but again, you’re used to traveling so it is no issue for you.

In no time at all you reach the inn, and Numachi-san is already pacing the entrance, wringing her hands in worry, she rushes up as she sees you two approach.

“I’ve had a few people come up to the inn already to tell me something odd has happened. J-Jaken went with the Lord into town and should be back soon. Rin is here…So is everything alright?” She rubs at the side of her neck, like theres a kink there. You shake your head.

Word does travel fast in small places. “Everything is fine.” You had long put away your tanto when you entered the village, but kept it in your sleeve, flashing it whenever Takashi looked back.

“We got the rice and the fish–”

“I would like to sit inside and rest, if I may, Numachi-san,’ Takashi cuts you off. His face is cool and he doesn't look at you.

“I’m tired from walking all the way from my home to here with such a heavy load. Will you let me inside?” Her dark eyes flash between you two, her hands worrying that spot on her neck. She meets your eyes, and you shake your head, warning her with your eyes.

But she looks back to Takashi-san, the tense way he waits like a coil about to spring, and sighs. “Perhaps… just for a cup of tea, before you go?” You throw your hands in the air, and stomp after him as he walks in.

He settles down, and Numachi-san is ready with the tea quick enough. But he goes on talking, or stalling rather, and you’re not stupid enough to wonder what he is stalling for. You glare at Numachi-san, who only has the courage to meet your eyes for a few seconds at a time, keeping her head bowed to the young man.

For someone who might’ve killed her husband she sure is meek.

“I’ve never seen the inside of this place, but it's wonderful, Numachi-san!”

“Thank you, Takashi-san.”

“I mean, I was just a child when the last owners, erm, moved on, but the building seemed damaged beyond repair. The fact that you restored it, and ran such a thriving business before the demon attacks increased–just proves what a dedicated woman you are.”

“You’re much too kind Takashi-san.” She refills his cup and he sends you a pointed look, like you’re supposed to feel something other than annoyance. Out of the corner of your eye you see Rin poke her head into the room. She’s not sly though, and Takashi catches note of her.

“Is that the child that accompanies you? What's your name girl? You don't have to be–”

“You have no right to speak nor look at her, and I suggest you leave before you dig yourself in any deeper,” you shut that down real quick, and Numachi-san’s shoulders hunch up to her ears.

But he just tilts his head at you, like he’s looking at a bug.

“Speaking without being spoken to, such base manners. I’ll be sure to bring this other point up to your master. I hope you’re teaching the girl to be better than that.”

“Am I supposed to be scared?” You take the pot closer to your side so Numachi-san can't refill his cup, knowing he wont do it himself.

“And it's still better than a prick who derives his worth from how well he can be served by a woman. Or one who attacks another from the back because their pathetic ego was injured.”

Takashi-san slams his cup down. “Better than one who doesn't know their place or lot in life.”

“What place? What lot?” You laugh. “If anything, take your own words to heart. You just can't handle seeing someone else living your dream while you waste away in a place like this. You can't handle your fragile ego being challenged by a woman, no less. That's why you attacked me.”

You grin as he leans forward. Your voice drops to a hush, a loud whisper. “I'll be sure to savor it more in your place when we leave.” You see Rin dart away from the corner of your eye, gone like a leaf in the wind. Good. Better she doesn’t see this anyway.

“You are so insolent. Your Lord allows this?”

“And you're a simp. Always mentioning ‘my lord’ this, or ‘my lord’, that. It’s like you’re the one that’s in love with him.”

“I’m going to–”

“What? Try me, make my day!”

“Please!” Numachi-san cuts in, waving her hands between you two. “Let's just settle down now. There's no need to get so agitated. Look, the tea is getting cold.” She tries to take the teapot back from you but you don’t let her.

“I would love to Numachi-san, but someone has to tell this one that their manners are uncouth,” He grits, “Befitting of a low class sow.”

“Aha, you’re mad,” It's childish but you poke your tongue out. “And jealous too. It's not a very pretty look, you know?”

“Be quiet!”

“Make me!”

“What is going on here?! ” Both of you turn, and Jaken stands there in his bug eyed glory, that eerie two headed staff in his hands, eyes narrowed. Takashi immediately gapes– for a resident of a town stalked for decades by a demon, he acts like he never heard nor saw one of one until this very point.

“Human.” He points the staff at you, and both Numachi-san and Takashi flinch. “Explain.”

“The boy overstays his welcome,” you drawl, “though he was never welcome to begin with. He took it upon himself to be my chaperone and insists on staying to meet the Lord.”

“Ha!” He squawks, and Takashi’s eyes dilate at the sound.

“You? Meet the Lord?”

“I just…I-I just wanted to, to explain! Yes, explain what happened today. His servant nearly drowned in the streams–”

“I did not–”

“And t-the silence… I just wanted to advise the Lord that maybe it's best that she remains…here. Women aren’t suited for manual labor, you know…?”

“I know?” Takashi pauses, gulps. “So I just…wanted to offer my services, is all!”

Jaken doesn’t look impressed, but he rarely does. “You’re trembling in front of an imp, and you think you can be of service to the Lord?” Takashi shoots you a baleful glare as you snort, and draws his shoulders up.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

You see Takashi-san tremble when Jaken smiles, perfectly too wide and uncanny, and on purpose. “Well good. You can plead your case to the Lord then, he is here.”

“What?”

“And that's my cue to go.” You rush to your feet, and don't bother with bowing or muttering your goodbyes.

“Wait, excuse you?! Where are you–”

“Human–”

“Don't forget to tell the Lord how you tried to pin me down on the banks. And everything that we’ve said to the other. Everything.”

“Running, are you?” He grins. It shakes at the edges.

You just smile, really smile; Wide, and with your teeth, gleeful and mischievous, pulling at your cheeks and crinkling your eyes.

“You know, you’re much more tolerable, and cuter, when you keep your mouth shut. Remember that.” And as the confusion settles on his face you go.

You hear the sliding door rushes open, and you disappear around the corner quick enough not to be seen. You can hear the muted, frightened, greetings of the two you left, but that's none of your concern anymore. Numachi-san should have never let them in and he shouldn't have been such a sexist prick.

You bathe first, the day's dirt and sweat sloughing off your skin in the water, and you wash quickly, eager to soak in the hot springs. You clean off the dried blood on your ankle. You dip your toes in when you’re ready, it's a touch too hot, but nothing unbearable, and you dip into the water with a wince, then a sigh. The heat smooths away your aches and pains, and you sit in the spring, content.

You don't know how long it is, but moments later, you hear banging, and rushing, yells. A man’s voice, Takashi-san. It doesn’t sound like he’s being murdered. The Lord is efficient enough you wouldn't hear him scream. Maiming it is then. Takashi-san sounds high pitched and afraid, and you listen to the sounds of crashing and screaming throughout, and then, silence. Nothing.

Nothing else. Rin appears, comes over to the edge of the pool you're in, toiletries in her hand.

“...You okay?” she nods. “Where did you go earlier?” She points back inside. “Went to get L-Lord Sesshoumaru.”

“That was you?” A nod. “He was actually c-close b-by.”

“...Okay. Okay, thank you Rin.” She hums when you pet her hair. “That guy was being a j-erk.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t stop going on and on about what I should or shouldn’t do, because my Lord,” You groan and roll your eyes. “What happened after I left?”

“That guy told on you,” her breath is hardly above a murmur, but steady. “You were in trouble at the stream. Wood went silent so he followed. Fought with you. He said you, y-you shouldn’t be on your own. No common sense. He said he could h-help.”

“Ha! Stupid.” You roll your shoulders as she lays out the towels.

“And what did our noble and regal Lord say to all that?” She gives you a look like you don't know exactly what he did.

“Are you alright?” She nods again, then thinks, shrugs. “The Lord l-looks upset. He took his ear.”

“...I asked about you. Did you eat, bathe already?”

“Yeah. A-And Numachi-san gave me snacks. So it's your turn n-now.” You smile at your girl as she reveals what she hid in the bundle of towels, a cup of tea and some mochi.

“Wow, wonder where Numachi-san got Mochi from in a place like this.”

“She made it.” Oh. Maybe that's what the rice was for. Rin supplies. She sets down her wares and pats your arm.

“Don't take too long, or you’ll faint. Dinner w-will be ready soon.” And her feet pitter patter away.

You don’t know how long you speak there, but the light dims from what peaks under the rag, oranges and red slowly bleeding into evening. You hear nothing save the water and crickets and the wind, Jaken on the inside scurrying to do who knows what. Rin said that dinner should be done soon, so Numachi-san is fine, and the Lord was either in his room, or long gone, back to find whatever demon was plaguing this town. You sink deeper into the water.

When you open your eyes, Sesshoumaru is there at the brim of the spring, staring at you.

You gasp, and choke, consequently.

He watches you flounder, as you hack up the water you inhaled.

“Almost drowning twice in one day. A record for you.”

“Not on purpose!” you flick water at him and speckle his cheek with water drops. But he’s unperturbed.

“I heard,” he drawls. “That something happened at the stream.” and his eyes, so they dilate?

“Tell me.” He leaves no room for rebuttal or refusal. So you tell him what happened at the Old man Tianga’s place, at the stream. You don't mention the odd silence, mainly because he didn't ask yet.

“....The boy is not wrong in what he said. But he put hands on my belongings; That warrants punishment.”

“Belongings?”

“You are my servant, and he deigned to put his hands on you.” He takes your wrist and pulls your arm, gingerly, out the water. He turns it, this way and that, and only now do you see the faint marks from your scuffle in the banks.

“They’re not that bad.”

“The problem is that they are there at all.” His eyes are bright, and angry. You only know that lookin passing–whenever you would annoy him too greatly. This is ten times that.

“Not only that, he insulted you, b y extension me. And to have the audacity to ask to be my disciple? I should have taken his hands and his tongue, not two simple fingers.”

“And an ear. Which I wonder about…you were lenient with him, my Lord.”

“I was,” he lets your arm slip back into the warm waters. “The child was watching.”

“Ah.” Rin was no stranger to gruesome sights- they were unavoidable with a demon samurai Lord for a master, but at least he had some discernment, if not compassion for the young girl.

“So why the ear?”

His jaw is tight, as is his voice. “The boy didn’t heed his senses. He continued to spout nonsense.”

“Haha! That's what you tell me all the time.”

“Yes, those inane tales you drivel on about… at least they serve a purpose.”

You cross your arms on the lip and rest your arms in their cradle, looking back at him. “What, entertaining Rin and staving off her nightmares?”

“No. Beyond that. You speak of the future–that I will live to see.”

“Like, wait what? That's… hundreds of years in the future, Seshoumaru.” You almost slap a hand over your mouth over the lack of honorifics, but he doesn't correct you.

“I will still live to see it. These things you speak of, skyscrapers, electricity, automobiles, public parks and libraries and sprawling cities. I will be witness to it all.”

You didn't think he paid any attention to the things you rambled about. You didn't think he listened. Or cared. “So what am I, like, your seer?”

“Exactly.”

“...I never thought of it like that.”

“Dense.”

“Stop calling me that! I am not dense.” You huff and pout, but he ignores you, as he often does, choosing instead to lean over, looking into the waters for…something.

“You’re injured.”

“Huh?” What? He just saw your arm. It takes you a moment to realize he probably means your ankle.

“Oh yeah.” How did he know? You almost forgot. By now the wound wasn't so fresh, not yet scabbed over and just starting to heal. Soft and pink and shiny.

Sesshoumaru looms over you.. “Show me.”

“...?” How? Are you supposed to do a handstand underwater? He sighs, annoyed, and reaches down–

And suddenly he has you by the collar, pulling you up and out of the water to sit at the brim. You splutter, but he pays it no heed, just crouching down so he could inspect your ankle closer. Despite the furrow to his brow he sets you down so gently.

“It's fine, it's already started to heal.”

“That's for me to decide.”

“Oh really, of course, of course. Tell me when to breathe too, I’ll keep your words in mind.” And, quicker than you could blink he reaches for your ankle, pulling you forwards a bit. You almost topple back into the waters, your third drowning of the day, but right yourself in time, casting a glare at Sesshoumaru. Your ankle is bird thin and fragile looking against his pale hand. This touch too, is careful.

You're still technically in your underclothes. If he lifts your leg up any higher he's going to see something.

He just…stares at the wound, soft from the water, something pointed and uncanny in that gaze. He looks at it, this way and that under the mellow torchlight, evening deepening into a darker hue of blue, sunlight gone.

“I should have taken both his hands…”

“I think that would have been a tad too much.” Yeah, he's a prick but you didn't want his life ruined.

Sesshoumaru hums under his breath, a light note. “You defend him?”

“Like any good samaritan will do,” you respond cheekily. “Plus, he’s the only son of old man Taiga, so he stands to inherit the rice paddies.”

“So?” The tone he uses is still light, but dangerous for its levity.

“If there's no more rice how will they make any mochi? This is the best we found in recent months.” You reach behind and snatch a piece from the plate Rin left you, humming at the treat.

“I can forgive any slight so long as I’m awarded treats in return.”

“Glutton,” he pushes out a breath. “I knew you were never loyal.”

Oh, was that a joke? You laugh. “What can I say? I have needs that must be satisfied.”

As he looks over your ankle you take the moment to look over the contours of his hand, the elegant wrist disappearing underneath the robe, the crips collar of his Kimono. Even here, like this, he looks so unruffled.

“Needs?” And he lifts your ankle higher. “Do I not account for them all?”

“...My most pressing and immediate ones.”

“Hm. And seeing as those are met, which others might I satisfy?”

Oh.

And your heart pounds into overdrive.

He brings your ankle closer to his face… and licks.

You flinch back in reflex, but that only amounts to an inch within his grip. His eyes flash over to you, but when he meets no more resistance his tongue darts out again, lapping over the wound.

It doesn't hurt– his tongue is wide and flat, and thin, like a dog, you think, and just swipes over, cleaning the skin almost. But it feels weird, and you’re puzzled, and his grip tightens as you flinch back.

You’re trying not to tremble, but when his mouth moves to the thin part on the back of your ankle you gasp. There's a pause he takes, before he bites down. It's just a nip really, but you gasp again, and then his teeth are trailing, up, up your calf– then he stops.

Well, only for a second. His hand moves, smoothing along the soft skin of your leg, underneath the wet cloth. It slides to your thigh, and he pulls up and back. He slots forward in the open space between your thighs, leans forward, and suddenly you're folded up tiny against the grass and his chest, one leg on his shoulder and the other pretty close.

You squeak, hands flying to his shoulders, while his nails trail softly over the back of your thigh, raising goose flesh, creeping on dangerous territory.

Something soft rumbles in his throat.

“You still smell like that boy…”

“O-oh?” you squeak, breathy.

“I don’t care for it.”

“Well, it wasn’t like it was on purpose.”

"I should hope not." And he moves even closer. The spikes of his armor press into you and he's all around you--His hair a curtain that blocks off the outer world, a few strands dipping into the springs. Like earlier, he goes straigh to your neck. He trails the tip of his nose along the conturs of your neck, the under curve f your jaw, dipping down to your collarbone and starting the journey over again. Almost like he's nuzzling you.

He takes slow, deep breaths through his mouth. He breathes in, holds it...and releases it steadily, like he's trying to make your scent stick to the back of his throat. You smell nothing on him but cold, and metal, and silk. But beneath that frigidness is something...softer. Not gentle, more refined, almost. fresh, not unlike linene, or fresh cut greenery. You like it.

But you can't really move, and it's getting hot, and not in a good way. You feel his weight, yes, but it feels more imposing thatn comforting. The gurgle of the water is all you can hear; that and the blood in your ears.

If you scream now, no one will hear you.

"Wait, wait," you gasp, your voice a pitiful breath. "I can't...wait a moment." For a second you think he's not going to move, he presses closer into you, further pushing the breath from your lungs. But with a growl deepening in his throat, he moves away.

You can't help feeling like his gaze is accustaory when he looks at you

"You breath is scarce. Calm yourself."

"I am calm."

"Hm." And he takes your wrist, presses his thumb to your veins. For a minute you think he's going to slide his wrist across yours in that soothing motion, he moves to, but he doesn't. Its disappointing.

"No. Your pulse is too quick." He lets you go. "I can smell your lust. But above that, your fear. I told you, I wont have a tearful servant girl in my bed. You must be willing or not at all."

He rises to leave, but you panic, leave, dont leave---you're confused between the two. But you grab onto his sleeve, and he stops.

"Im not...Im not scared of you, not exactly...not really."

"I can--"

“Just--!! I don't understand. Why do you want me? What do you get from me?” You scoot back.

“Everyone keeps calling me your concubine or wife but I want to hear you. You said I was your seer, but what is that? Is that all you want from me? I don’t think it is.” Beads of water stumble down the cradle of his jaw, and you watch them instead of his eyes.

“You said 'willing or not at all'… Why do you care so much if I'm willing? You can just take.”

“There's no pleasure to be had when it’s forced,” he says. “And there is no need for force. You wouldn’t have come to my room if you weren’t enticed.

“And are you enticed?”

“I am. But that's not the issue here.”

And you think he’s going to sigh harshly, glare, or worse yet, leave. You don't want him to leave now. You see his furrowed brow and his waning patience, and you want to huddle into yourself against the brisk cold he’s sure to blow your way.

And he does sigh, but he doesn't leave. He lends back, and lands you back your space. “Then what is?”

"You're going to listen to me?"

"Yes."

"...Why?"

"Because I want to."

The emotion that swells in your breast makes you duck your eyes, if only to hide the tears that have suddenly, embarrassingly, sprung. "Does a mountain need to heed the clouds?"

"The clouds dictate the skies. Even mountains are weathered by storms, and thrive in sunlight." He extends an open hand to you. "No more of this timidness. Speak plainly."

And so, you try.

“....I know this world is different from mine. In just the way I’m perceived. I am not your servant, your steward, or a disciple. I am not a companion, but a concubine. A wife if I’m lucky.” You snort.

“....But I’ve always been more than just my body, my Lord, and I do have my pride, meager though it may be. I've never belonged to anyone but myself. Whether this pride is at odds with you depends on your answer,” you sigh.

“I’ve named so many titles already. But what exactly am I to you?”

—------------

Torment. Lovely. Inferior. Endearing. Mine. Mine.

Damn instincts. Instead he asks, “...What need is there for specifications?”

“Forgive me my Lord, but…it is needed. What I am dictates what I can give.” You fumble with your hands, before clasping them together and holding them between your thighs, where he was moments prior. He should be back there, lapping at the slick dripping from your core, tasting it, tasting you but--- Ah, you're speaking. You said something. He has to listen.

“What do I give that is of value to this group? To you? Actual value, not those silly stories. I can neither set up camp quickly enough nor forage, fish or hunt better than the others can. My etiquette, or lack thereof is obvious. I'm much too insolent, in Jaken’s words. I take care of Rin and I love the girl to death but she’s mostly independent... She prefers Jaken anyways.”

Rin, who you took under your care and nurture, The same girl who could barely look him in the eyes or utter a sentence running in the middle of a dilapidated, haunted town to find him, for you.

“...So what do I offer you, that makes it so that I’m pulling my weight here? I don’t want to be useless.” And I don't want to be coddled either, he hears the unspoken words. So he answers you.

“Spring wears

A cloak of mist.

A thin fabric,

For the mountain breeze

Would, doubtless, disarray it.”

Your brow furrows. “I don’t–”

“An exercise in subtlety,” he remarks. “And an answer to your question.” He gestures. “Go on.” Ariwara again? So you reply,

“In my yearning

I am fading completely as

The morning dew;

This morning to arise

Was beyond me.”

He ‘tsk’s’. “Again, with the dew?”

“I mentioned it, what, once last night? You can't fault me.” You say it a bit too defensively; You wish he would just answer you, or leave you be, but he does not. You just have to stay there and listen as he recites, your breath stuttering when his hand moves to your face, a finger over a cheekbone, nothing more.

“More even than the dew

From an illustrious house come

This chrysanthemum, so

The flower’s Mistress

Will live longer still, I believe.”

Chrysanthemums… Sunlight?

“The colour of this flower

Has already faded away,

While in idle thoughts

My life goes by,

As I watch the long rains fall.”

He responds back, just as quickly,

"At Yoshino River

Waves crash high above the rocks

The rushing water

Swift as your

Lodging within my thoughts."

“...I nearly drowned today my Lord, is that not inappropriate?”

“Something more tasteful then,” he comments.

“If it be so, Then so be it

I thought once, but

As white snow falling,

With the passing day

My yearning grows ever stronger.”

There's no mistaking the context of his words. But also not the roiling emotions in your heart. You reply,

“...An ancestral home

It is not, so

Towards me why

Is his heart

So cold and distant?”

His body language goes stiff, the ease in which he held himself something you hadn't noticed until it was gone. You are sorry to see it.

“...Don’t respond so hastily if you don't want to be answered in the next breath,” you exhale. You could wonder at your own audacity, and you might have imagined it, but he pauses before he recites another.

“A secret it is, but

When I feel love rise,

From leg wearying

Mountains, the moon

Sets out, and so do I.”

“...My Lord, please, don’t.” You don’t even know what he’s asking, but he’s running his fingers over your neck, the dip at the base and pressing onto the mark he left. It makes you shiver. You notice it for a soothing habit, and it makes you wonder. But he continues.

“This world of men

Is such a place:

The gusting wind,

Invisible, as she I’ve never seen

And yet do love.”

“My Lord, w-wait--”

“Do you wish to reply?” He’s just petting you with that stray finger, and stuck between your passion and hesitance, you can't speak.

“...I, I just…” he hums a note, too low to be anything more than a vibration in the air.

“Night deepens

With the sound of calling deer,

And I hear

My own one-sided love.”

“It's not!” You rush, your hand coming to the one at your throat. You lean forward. “It's not!”

“Then why this hesitance? Why do you care so greatly for the words of others?”

How do you explain that kind of fear, that kind of insecurity, just like that? “...I’m scared that their words will prove right. That I'll just be another woman of circumstance.”

“You’re unlike any woman nor demon I’ve encountered in this era. If I haven’t killed you yet, what makes you think I would now?”

“...I’m scared of more than just death, at your hands any less. I’m wary of your ire, and the slow rot of my self under domestic subservience,” you admit. It feels like being flayed alive.

“You were never subservient,” He shuts that down. “Why would you start now?”

Why would you start now?

…Yeah. Wait, why would you?

"What...?" Wait...

“I can barely keep you tethered and quiet in one place for an hour, or keep enough sense in your thick skull to keep you out of danger. If anything, this is more work on my end,” he drawls. “So again, why would you start trying to be competent now?”

You start laughing, big, belly shaking laughs that have you holding yourself together. Yeah...yeah! Why would you?

And that, that realization, that relief, is like a breath of fresh air. What were you even worried about?

“What is this–”

You rush forward, laughing still, lacing your fingers in his hair and pulling him down into a kiss.

>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>_>

You rest easily, in his futon, under his sheets. He has no pressing need for slumber, now or otherwise, so he’s never used the bedding here. He regrets it almost–There so much you’re missing, that you don’t know. You deserve a nest–full of pillows and quilts and whatever strikes your fancy. Clothing articles, his, naturally. You don't have the same sense of smell but he’s sure it would be just as effective. Because even now, you burrow into his side and sigh contentedly in your slumber.

A new bruise sits above the one he first gave, darker, and larger. They’re joined by others, varying colors of bruises. It's not a mating mark–not yet. He plans to give you it when you mate, so that the pleasure could override the worst of the pain.

It doesn't matter if you're human or not. He has decided that he wants you. He finds the emotion is reciprocated, and thus, you are his. Honeysuckle scent and annoying behavior and all.

He smooths over the faint marks with a finger, under the curve of your jaw and your parted, kiss swollen lips. Your lashes flutter under his touch, ghosting over your skin and the scent glands right beneath your ears. He bit here too. Not as deep as he'd like.

You just sigh deeper, but dont wake, a steady wash of honey over him as he presses against the glands. He can still taste your skin on his tongue, the way you shuddered.

“Sleep here,” he demanded. But it was not forceful, because he knew you would agree.

“And what about Rin?”

“Tell her, and come hither after she falls asleep then.” He clicked his tongue. “You and your fretful worries…”

But he doesn't mind it. A faint scent of milk lays over your skin, and it’s endearing, for how familiar it is. It doesn't vex him as greatly as it should.

Alpha children are born with more mild versions of their scents, which mature quickly with age. The mild sweet milk scent fades a few weeks after birth. For betas, it stays a year or so, before settling into something bland and weak. For omegas, the scent lasts up to teenhood. Rin has barely finished her first decade.

Two omegas under his ward. What are the chances? He dreads the day of her maturing, twice as many demons following their trail. Perhaps you were right in wanting you both to learn swordplay. If anything, a person should be their own last line of defense.

And you two are especially weak.

He has to tamp down on that dark satisfaction that builds, in your case particularly. Rin is a child, he will ensure her safety and comfort. But you…He has to remind himself despite his instincts. You are not some soft, pampered omega mate he keeps in his abode. Your weakness is not what draws him to you. And neither will it ever, he detests the weak and aimless. It's your fearlessness he favors. Your mind, thick as it is.

A man threatened you and you didn't simper, you pinned him down and drew your blade against his throat. He’s disappointed in you that you didn't decide to draw blood, but he’ll take care of that on your behalf. The thought of the boy and his murky, spicy scent over yours makes his eyes bleed red. He insulted you. Put his hands on you. He cannot let this insult be.

He needs a proper lesson. So he slips away from your lovely warmth, your aroma, and slips outside.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It's easy to find the salt and musk trail of the boy, even easier to walk his way to the rice paddies. But the boy isn't there– He hears the struggling breath of an old man, and four sets of gentle, even breathing. Not there. There's a hidden path leading from the house, down to the streams and into a secluded area. It looks like only one set of feet made this nothing trail, and it's exactly who he’s looking for. Though, It's still close enough that should he scream, people will hear.

He plans to be quick.

He’s training, with a bamboo sword that must have been hand made, decent, despite its crudeness. Sweat and blood and the stressed scent of pain lacerates the air, his skin flush with exertion. He practises a basic set of moves, efficient, but lacking proper stance.

He stumbles, and when he pauses, Sesshoumaru notices he leans towards the side missing an ear, bloody bandages around his hands, gripping onto the makeshift weapon. He lacks talent, and manners, and dicipline, but holds no small amount of tenacity. Which unfrtunately will remain unrewarded.

Sesshoumaru stalks. He doesn’t crouch nor hide–he moves too fast for the discernible, human eye as he circles his victim, looking for the best angle to slice him. His nails and teeth lengthen.

The wind stills and the animals silence themselves. Insects no longer cricket or tribble, and the birds still, ready to burst into flight at the slightest movement.

The night is at standstill. But he is not the reason why.

He steps away. His blade slips out its sheath like water poured out a glass. It rests above the pale throat of its target, the faintest red line rising underneath its honed edge.

The demon raises its hands, a Naga; White scales that would stand out in the pitch darkness, he must use demonic energy to hide himself. The scent of it is thin and acrid, rot-sweet. An alpha, but a weak one.

It spreads it's raised hands, not in surrender, but supplication. It tilts it's head down the slightest bit, even if it digs its throat deeper into the blade.

“You are the demon hunting this town.”

“That is I,” He expected a thin, hissing voice, but the naga sounds like any normal human male. Again, weak.

“And you are the Lord of the Western Lands, the Great Daiyoukai Sesshoumaru. I am honored to be in your presence.”

“And foolish.” Skin parts like butter under the blade, dripping a thin red.

“I let you live so long as you stayed out of my sight. Now you lose your head.”

“Ah ah!” It tries to placate. “I truly apologize, my lord, but If anything, I was hunting here first. You came to me.” It hisses low as Sesshoumaru presses. “And you came to meet your end.”

“Didn't you come here for the boy?” The naga points back. “I’ll, I’ll back off! I was planning to eat him and one of his sisters, or two, but I’ll go! You need not see my face again!”

He seems a pretty weak demon.

But the luminosity of those teeth and scales belied the cowardice It had shown. The wreckage left in the town discredited it further.

Strangely, there is soot over the wrecked buildings, like something had been burned. This would not be difficult to believe, if a demon trespassed into a home and knocked over lighted oil, but there is no sign of fire damage around the buildings; The grass is still fresh and green around it. The buildings are a few years old, yes, but if there had been a fire there would be more pressing signs, Jaken stressed.

“The female head of the staff spews water, and the old male head spews fire, so I know the destruction both could wreck,” the imp pondered. “All the buildings have soot, but very slight burn marks. With how close and tight the community is, there would have been more obvious tells. No one in this town seems to have any breathing problems, or limps, and with these many ‘fires’, this town should have been burnt down, no matter that they live so close to a mountain stream,” He squawked.

“Something is suspicious with this town…”

And he was looking at that something.

“Tell me, why should I not kill you now and ensure that future myself?” A hiss slithers in the Naga’s throat, but It doesn't bear It's fangs. It's tail slashes the air anxiously.

“Because…Because I have done you no wrong nor do I intend to.” The blade presses in and It fights, Sesshoumaru sees, not to lash out. It knows attacking means earning his ire, which is certain death.

In most cases, not yours.

“B-Because I have information!”

“Lower your voice,” he says in low tones. “What information?”

"You, you must swear not to kill me afterwards. I want your word as a samurai!"

"You have my word I wont kill you if its not useless." He gripes. "Now speak or lose your life."

“That, that innkeeper…she's an omega as well.”

“The hag?” He can't even recall the color of her eyes, her head always bowed, let alone if her scent had the telltale sweetness of an omega.

“She’s human, and a widow.”

“Yes, and old, so the scent withers off to nothing. If some desperate alpha re-mated her, it might make a reappearance.”

“Re-mated,” he said. “She was mated by a demon?”

“Well, humans couldn’t mate with each other even if they knew how. Yes. That's why she was driven out her village, and came here.”

“And you made her a widow when you killed her husband.”

“I ate him for power, yes, he was very strong. And delicious."

Hm. She does show all the typical signs of an omega, if he recalls. He just can't imagine her paired with a demon. She should have more a backbone, if so. She seemed a pretty meek thing when he confronted her after the boy had ran from the inn.

The boy drips blood and tears, sobbing pitifully as he staggers from the inn, holding his parts. When Sesshoumaru turns the innkeeper is kneeling in seiza, trembling, head to her hands on the floor.

“M-My Lord–” He tosses her the cut off ear, still warm and dripping.

‘You stand to lose much more if you allow anyone else inside.”

“M-My sons are coming to visit me, tomorrow or the day after, my Lord.” More nuisances.

“I don’t want to see them. I don't want to catch a scent nor sound. Understood?”

“Y-Yes, yes, my Lord. Of course, My Lord.” And so he goes to you.

"And what of her children?"

“Her sons?" The naga's nose wrinkles. "They are hanyo’s, half bloods…disgusting, I know. One of them is a beta, and the other is an alpha.” It casts a knowing look. “So I suggest you keep your little omegas from wandering about too far.”

His blood spikes. Yes, he has the demon of this town at blade point, but it was a weak and a coward, and now there were two others, no matter that they were the innkeepers' sons, heading straight for the lot of you.

So he sheathes his blade. He turns and shows his full back to the demon, a blatant insult.

“The next time I see you will be the last. You have my word.”

“Well, I sincerely hope it wont be,” he can hear the relief in it's voice. “And, were you not stalking the boy…?”

“Take him, his lack of situational awareness is his own undoing.” He thinks. “But leave the rest of the family be. Just the boy. That and your life is the reward for your information."

“The only thing better than a daughter is an oldest son,” the naga laughs. He bows where his waist tapers into scales.

“And it's always good to live one more day. Thank you, my Lord.”

“I intend to know the name of the next demon I kill.”

“Oh, my name?” the naga grins, each tooth pointed sharp and gleaming.

“It’s Shingetsu Numachi.”

________________________________________

Taglist: @tanspostsblog . @xmenteria,

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Poetry links

Ariwara no Yukihira / Ariwara no Yukihira / Fujiwara no Masatada / Ono no Komachi / Ki no Turayuki / Ariwara no Narihira / Ise / Tsurayuki / Tsurayuki / Ono no Komachi

A/N: I used a lot more poetry in this one, but can you believe I cut it down? I wanted to add more but stuck with the ones that lent more to the plot. So I stood with the really romantic 'era accurate' poems (smh Sesshoumaru has to confess via poetry bc our mc really is that dense) lol.

__________________________________________________

#my stuff #my writing #writing collab #spring fever #spring fever 2024 #inuyasha #inuyasha a feudal fairy tale #sesshoumaru #sesshomaru #lord sesshoumaru #sesshoumaru x reader #reader insert #omegaverse #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o #a/b/o verse #tw a/b/o #a/b/o au #tw omegaverse

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emberfrostlovesloki · 11 months

Text

Hit and Run [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (Panic! at the Disco) Center (@hotch-girl) Right (@figdays)

Prompt: The BAU reader gets in a hit-and-run accident on the way to work, and Aaron is forced to confront his growing feelings for her. Those feelings are finally shared as the reader nearly faints on a case and Aaron is there to catch her before she falls.

Pairing: Hotch x fem reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns

Category: Hurt/Comfort/fluff

Word Count: 13.5K

Content Warnings: Car accident (hit and run [reader]) cuts and bruises, second-degree burns on the legs and feet (and healing of those burns), hospitals, canon typical violence (mention of poisoning and strangulation), fainting (reader) language.

A/N: Good evening, loves! I’m so happy that this is finally finished. It turned out much longer than I had planned. But somehow I’m not surprised. There isn’t a ton of action in this story, it’s just a lot of emotional build-up that I hope pays off in the end. I hope you enjoy this, and if you do, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you have a great rest of your week! Love Levi ❤️

P.S. This is not as edited as it can be. I'll do that tomorrow.

List with all stories

_y/f/s_ = your favorite song

_y/h/l_ = your hair length

_y/f/f/w_ = your favorite face wash

_y/f/c_ = your favorite color

_y/f/f_ = your favorite fruit

_y/b/f_ = your best friend

_y/f/s_ = your favorite TV show.

_y/n_ woke to the lack of oxygen. Her vision was black, and she couldn’t breathe. _y/n_ tried to move, and that was her second mistake. As she tried to shift in what was a very uncomfortable, confined space her body protested. It was also hot, uncomfortably hot. The pain and the heat dragged a ragged breath from _y/n_. That also hurt, her ribs aching against the movement of her lungs expanding in her ribcage. _y/n_’s eyes open and the world swam in front of her. There was something white in her lap. That was all she could make out, as she blinked and saw spots. The heat on her lower legs was becoming unbearable. She groaned in pain. Why was everything hurting? What was going on? She had just been driving to work like every other day for the last two years after joining the bureau. _y/n_’s mind moved back to the early morning.

She had woken at 5:00 a.m. as normal to an alarm that she was now regretting horribly. _y/n_ could feel the approaching time change, and she knew that it would be even harder to adjust to the shorter days and possibly leave the office in darkness instead of the warmth of the dripping orange five o'clock sun. _y/n_ had set _y/f/s_ as her new alarm. Now that she had woken to it for over a week, _y/n_ realized that she might be ruining her favorite song for herself. _y/n_ had rolled over in bed and for one second, wished she was back in college when the worst thing about an alarm had been the prospect of a dreadful 8:00 a.m. algebra class. In the darkness of her room, _y/n_ finally hit stop on the alarm and got out from under the warm covers of her bed. Once her feet were on the wood floor of her bedroom, _y/n_’s natural routine kicked in. _y/n_ moved to the bathroom and turned on the light by the sink. She had to blink a few times to adjust to the sudden brightness. _y/n_ pulled her _y/h/l_ hair away from her face with a fluffy grey headband. She turned the tap to warm and waited a moment for it to heat up. After thirty seconds, _y/n_ leaned down and began raising her face with the warm water. After her face was wetted, she pumped a small bit of _y/f/fw_ into her palm and began applying and lathering it over her skin. Once _y/n_ was satisfied with the coverage, she rinsed it off completely. Lastly, she turned the knob on the sink to cold and rinsed her face once more. The cold water always had the wanted effect; finally getting her tired brain to wake up. _y/n_ padded into the kitchen and started a cup of coffee before moving back to the bedroom to change. She needed to do laundry but was avoiding it -- putting it off until the weekend. Because of this, her options were scant. She decided on a pair of loser-fitting black pants with a simple white grid pattern. She had picked them up at a thrift shop two weekends ago and thought they were a good find. _y/n_ then went to her closet and picked out a _y/f/c_ turtleneck shirt. She added a grey scarf and pulled out some thick socks and her well-worn Doc. Martins. Once the outfit and boots were on, _y/n_ moved back to the kitchen. She doctored the coffee to her liking and opened the fridge. She pulled out a yogurt cup and a piece of _y/f/f_ from the fridge. She leaned against the counter as she dipped the spoon into the yogurt. She needed to eat quickly as morning traffic was going to be hell on the way to work. It had rained the night before and the temperatures had dropped below freezing which meant slick, icy roads. After burning her tongue on the hot coffee and finishing breakfast, _y/n_ made it out to her car. She didn’t forget to grab her go bag or sidearm from its gun safe, as she locked the door behind her.

Coming back to herself, the heat on her legs was really starting to hurt and whatever adrenaline had stopped the real pain from kicking in was quickly ebbing away. _y/n_’s eyes cleared, and she came fully to her senses. She let out a cry. The deflated airbag was resting on her lap with fragments of tempered glass from the passenger side door and windshield. _y/n_ could distinctly hear her breathing. _y/n_’s left hand seemed to be pinned between her seat and the plastic padding of the interior of the car. She tried to pull the appendage free but it was struck. _y/n_ could move her fingers at least which was a good sign. _y/n_ was sure there was some sort of fire happening near her feet and legs, and she used her right hand to clumsily push back the airbag. There was black smoke filling the cab now and there was a tongue of flame dancing near her ankles. She tried her best to pull her feet up as she coughed on the noxious fumes. The situation was becoming dire. _y/n_ started to panic as her eyes welled from the smoke. She tried to undo her seatbelt, but it was stuck. Not thinking clearly with all the pain, she tried to open the driver’s side door, but that too seemed jammed. _y/n_ pulled her turtleneck over her lips and nose and tried to undo the seatbelt again. She didn’t even seem to notice as a group of strangers beat on the unbroken glass of her window to get her attention.

Emily saw the whole thing. Or almost the whole thing, as she made her way to work. The roads were crowded and people driving were either very defensive or just plain bad given the weather. Emily pulled on the main drive to work and saw _y/n_’s car in front of her. Em had considered tapping her horn to say hello but decided against it. They would be together in the office in about ten minutes anyway. As they moved down the road toward the intersection that led to the FBI field office, a car merged into the lane in front of Emily, dangerously. At this, she did honk her horn once and thought, ‘Jerk,’ as the sedan slightly blocked her view of _y/n_’s car. The light, which was notoriously fast, turned green and Emily inched forward. The light was turning yellow as Prentiss approached the intersection, and _y/n_ was halfway through the four-lane street with her blinker on to turn left. There was no way that _y/n_ could see the truck coming from the other side of the intersection. The large vehicle was speeding down the slippery road and ran straight passed the red light and into _y/n_’s car. Emily couldn’t tear her eyes away as the metal collided. Prentiss watched as _y/n_’s body was violently pushed to the side. The sound of the metal crunching and glass breaking had Emily’s nerves standing on end. _y/n_’s car and the truck slid a foot to the edge of the highway curb. There was a moment of silence as if Emily were waiting for something else to happen. The truck didn’t seem that damaged apart from a large dent to the hood, and it roared back to life loudly. The tires squealed against the ice as it backed up and then, very quickly sped down the street. Em memorized the plate number and then pulled forward into the intersection. Prentiss sent up a silent prayer that everyone else on the road had stopped and that another car hadn’t been involved in the crash. Em flicked on her hazards and jumped out of her car. Two other vehicles had done the same thing as her and a large man was already at the door of _y/n_’s car trying to open and free the agent trapped inside. Then there was a petite woman with her phone to her ear speaking to 9-1-1. Em overheard the woman say, “No, we’re trying to get her out of the car now. She’s moving around in there. Yes, yes. It’s the intersection of Neville Road and Barnett Avenue. Because Emily was assured the paramedics were on their way, she moved toward the heavily dented call. She called a number one on speed dial as she got to the wreck.

Aaron had gotten to the office early. When didn’t he? He was normally the first one in and the last one out. No matter how he cut it, either as he found his job important, or that he hardly had a life outside of work -- apart from Jack -- at least his extended hours at the bureau kept him from his empty apartment. When he was there, and Hailey had Jack during the week, it felt all too still. All too lifeless for his liking. At least he got to do some of the more bureaucratic brain-rotting mundane paperwork the job entailed from the team. He could often be found late at night in his office filling out the basic forms for his team over and over and over again in his neat blocky handwriting. So far it was only he and Mogan in the office, Derek was moving toward his desk, and Aaron turned to do the same. In half an hour he was going to meet with JJ to see about the next case for the team. Just as he settled into his swivel chair that hurt his back if he sat in it too long, he heard Derek shout his name. There was a distress in its tone. A sharp “Aaron!” that he rarely if ever had heard from Morgan before. He was on his feet and out of his office in an instant. He flew down the stairs. Morgan was already on the move toward the elevators and Hotch jogged to make up the distance and asked as he moved down the hall, “Morgan, what is it?” Derek turned to Aaron and said, “_y/n_ got in a hit and run on Barnett. Emily just called me. She’s already there.” Hearing this made Hotch’s stomach feel like it was suddenly being squeezed by an iron fist. His heart dropped as the worst possible scenarios flicked in front of his mind. Aaron hurriedly asked, “Is she okay? What did Emily say!” The urgency in his voice probably gave away that he was incredibly concerned for his younger agent’s safety. Perhaps more concerned than a boss should be about his employees. Hotch could see that Derek had caught what he was thinking, but he couldn’t fucking care. Not when he was imagining _y/n_ bleeding out, or already dead in front of him. He couldn’t bear it, so he repeated his question. Finally, Morgan snapped back to himself and as the elevator moved to the ground floor, he replied, “Em says she’s awake but trapped in the car and there’s a smoke filling the cab.” Hotch gritted his teeth, as he nodded along. Smoke meant fire, and fire meant possible combustion. Aaron wished the damn elevator moved faster. When they got to the bottom floor, he and Morgan sprinted past Spencer, Rossi, and JJ who were waiting to pass through security. Spencer asked, “What’s going on?” Morgan shouted back, “_y/n_’s hurt.” Derek’s car was the closest to the pair, and they both got in. Derek moved out of the lot as quickly as he could without speeding or getting himself and Hotch in an accident of their own with the roads as they were. When they got closer to the intersection, the cars were backed up down the road. Aaron looked at Morgan and Derek could see the desperation in his colleague's face. Morgan said, “Jump out. I’ll pull over and be there in a minute.” Aaron nodded and moved out into the bitterly cold air. Hotch nearly ate it twice on the slick concrete. He couldn’t care, he’d crawl on his hands and knees to get to _y/n_. Hotch could hear the peal of sirens in the distance. When he got to the scene, there was an assembled crowd. He elbowed his way to the front. He was relieved to see _y/n_ was out of her car. But the crumpled wreck of metal didn’t much calm his mind. _y/n_ had been pulled twenty or so feet away from the damaged vehicle.

Emily saw Hotch ran, and nearly tumbled, as he got a foot away from _y/n_. Prentiss felt better now that he was here. Em knew that _y/n_ and Hotch had something going on, or at least they both wanted to have something going on. The whole team saw it as a matter of fact. The issue was that neither Aaron nor _y/n_ had caught on. Or if they had, both parties weren’t acting on the feelings between the two of them. Hotch fell to his knees next to Emily. Prentiss was holding _y/n_’s hand. Prentiss sort of handed over _y/n_’s hand to him. Aaron didn’t even think as he took it and held it close in both his hands. Subconsciously, he drew _y/n_’s hand close to his chest, his heart. He was leaning over her, trying to ascertain the damage to her body. Her level of pain. When _y/n_ felt a new set of hands, a familiar set of hands resting around hers, she opened her eyes. Everything was bleary, swimming in front of her. But even with her compromised vision, she knew it was Aaron beside her. His broad shoulder and soft touch were all she needed to know that it was him. _y/n_ thought that she’d know him with less information than that. She believed that she could be blinded and deaf and she’d still know it was him if he walked into her room. _y/n_ tried to turn her head to the side to see his face better, but the man that had ended up dragging her body out of the driver’s side window which Emily had shot out with her sidearm, stopped her movement. There was a painfully loud explosion from _y/n_’s car as it finally combusted. The fire had reached the fuel tank and even though they were far enough away from the car to not be burned, the whole group could feel the heat radiate out from the flaming car. At the noise and heat, Hotch protectively moved his body over _y/n_’s. The loud sound had _y/n_ whimper, and Aaron wasn’t sure he could take hearing _y/n_ like this. Aaron didn’t even realize that the fire trucks, police cruisers, and ambulances had arrived. The sound of their siren was not registering to him, as he only had thoughts for _y/n_. Morgan and the firemen telling the assembled crowd to move back finally brought him back to himself.

Aaron shifted up as two EMTs ran over to them. Hotch reluctantly let go of _y/n_’s hand and moved back to make room for the two men who now had taken his and Prentiss’s places. One of the EMTs pulled out a penlight. _y/n_’s eyes didn’t follow the light. They drifted, and her pupils were dilated. Meanwhile, the other, leaner EMT was looking at _y/n_’s legs. The man had pushed up _y/n_’s pants up to her knees. Aaron looked at the angry red skin on her legs. At some point _y/n’s shoes had been taken off and Hotch noticed there was a small hole in her sock near her big toe. All Aaron seemed to be able to do at the moment was notice small details about _y/n_. Like how her watch face was cracked. How _y/n_’s speech was slurred as the paramedic asked her if she remembered what had happened. It seemed that _y/n_ did, just struggled to get the words out as she said, “Hit ‘an run. Big.” She swallowed painfully and continued, “Truck. Grey green… light.” Aaron suddenly became poignant about Emily being near him again as he felt her gaze linger on him. He turned and looked at Prentiss. Aaron asked, “What happened exactly?” Emily swallowed, as she watched _y/n_ squirm under the hand of the leaner paramedic who was pressing down on her blistering legs. Once Em had composed herself a bit, she said, “Well _y/n_ was one car in front of me. The light turned green. She did everything right, obviously. This guy, I’ve got his plate number and everything was driving a Ford F-350. And it was grey. The guy hit her on the driver's side. He was out of control maybe. He just barreled into her. I couldn’t guess the speed he was going. If the dude had been out of control when he crashed into _y/n_, he most certainly intentionally left without getting out and checking on _y/l/n_.” Hotch nodded and said, “Alright. Well, call Pen about the license plate. She’s sure to be in her office right now. I’m sure she’s called all of us at least twenty times by now. She’ll be relieved to hear from any of us.” Prentiss nodded her assent and moved to get her phone from her back pocket.

Aaron watched the paramedics move _y/n_ onto a waiting stretcher. As they lifted her up, Hotch turned to the larger man and said, “Can I ride with you to the hospital? Where are you taking her?” The man looked at Aaron intently and said, “Rockingham Memorial. Are you her husband? Partner.” Hotch cleared his throat for a moment, as his heart stuttered in his chest, and said, “I’m her boss. She’s a federal agent.” Aaron flashed his badge at the man, and the EMT took a second to look at the badge and Hotch over once. The EMT nodded and said “Alright. We’re going to load her in and then you can sit in the bench seat.” Hotch nodded as the seasoned medical professionals easily transported, wheeled, and lifted _y/n_ into the back of the waiting ambulance. Once the more built man was inside and locking the gurney in place, as well as placing one restraining strap around _y/n_’s waist. Hotch sat on the edge of the small seat. The EMT radiated the other man and said. “We can get moving, Stan.” There was a static and Stan replied, “Roger that. Headed to Rockingman, John.” With that, the large vehicle started moving down the road. John started by pulling out the pressure cuff and placing it around _y/n_’s arm. The man checked in, making sure his patient was still with them, even if not fully present. John asked, “How are you feeling? What’s your pain level on a scale from one to five.” John held up his hands, indicating one and five. Aaron focused in on her, as she said, “I don’t feel anything really. I’m just cold. So cold.” John nodded and moved to the front of the space. The man pulled out an emergency blanket and spread it over _y/n_’s form before he started pumping the pressure cuff to see what her blood pressure was. When the man had taken the reading, he jotted down the number, the EMT looked to Aaron, who was clearly upset, and said, “She’s most likely in shock. Both from the cold and what she’s been through in the last hour. Right now it looks like a mild concussion, some; burns to the legs, lacerations from the glass, and bruising to the body. Given the state of her car and how charred it was, I think we can find _y/n_ very lucky to have so fortunate an outcome. She very well might have died in her car as it caught fire.” Again all Aaron could do was nod along because there was nothing else for him to do but wait to hear more, from the hospital, Garcia, or _y/n_ herself. Hotch knew that he was going to have to think long and hard about what this whole incident meant to him. How he had reacted on pure instinct. How he couldn’t stop himself from seeming composed as he learned that _y/n_ had been hurt. How he had pictured her dead, lifeless body in front of him. How that was the worst thing he could possibly imagine at the moment. But for now, he would wait. Try to be present to _y/n_’s needs. There would be time to think later. Quickly the ambulance rushed to the hospital and when it arrived, Hotch jumped out and made way for the EMTs to lift _y/n_ down and out of the truck. As Hotch watched the men wheel her away to a space he didn’t have access to, John said, “You can go to the front of the hospital and check-in. A nurse will be with you when there’s news on _y/n_’s condition.”

Once Aaron had checked in at the front desk, he paced around the waiting room. Hotch pulled out his phone for the first time in an hour and found thirsty missed calls from Gacia, and three texts from Derek, Rossi, and Emily asking where _y/n_ had been taken. Hotch told Morgan the name of the hospital and what John’s preliminary assessment of _y/n_ had been in the ambulance. He was sure Derek would spread the word to everyone else. Once he ended the call with Morgan, who assured him he, Emily, and Rossi were headed over once they had finished speaking with the police. Next, to keep himself busy, Hotch called Garica. Penelope picked up on the first ring, and even though she said, “Office of Supreme Intelligence, to whom am I speaking?” Aaron could hear the strain in her voice. Aaron replied, “It’s Hotch. Got a read on that license plate yet?” There was a squeaky sound as Penelope moved in her swivel chair. Her tone was now determined as she stated, “I do. Plate number 7PN-G542 belongs to Mr. Paul Wilson of South Carolina. The man is squeaky clean. It appears he’s done nothing wrong in his life. I’m pretty sure this isn’t the guy we’re looking for.” Hotch asked, “Why’s that?” Penelope was typing away wildly, as she replied, “Well Mr. Wilson is Cuban American and the man Emily described was white. Also, there’s a report out for that truck's plate reporting it being stolen two days ago from a lot in South Carolina. So…” Hotch breathed a sigh and said, “Alright. Well, the report’s out there, at least there’s that.” There was a moment of silence before Garcia asked, “How is _y/n_? Em said she looked pretty bad. Did the paramedics say anything else in the ride to the hospital?” Aaron was still pacing but stopped for a moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his left hand. Everything felt like it was happening so fast and yet so slow. He looked at his watch, it had only been fifteen minutes since he had gotten here. He had no idea how long it would be until someone came to tell him more information about _y/n_. He exhaled and replied to Garcia’s question saying, “There’s not much more to add from what Morgan told you. The EMT said she was most likely in shock, but she stayed conscious the whole ride over. _y/n_ was a bit loopy though, speaking with slurred speech, and long pauses, but the EMTs seemed to think she would be alright. Of course, only time can tell.” Hotch let the last line slip and realized how strange that sounded coming from someone like him. He repeated the line in his head, ‘Only time can tell.’ How cliche he reflected. Time would tell, time was telling right now as _y/n_ was being examined, prodded, and pocked to see the extent of damage her body had taken. Hotch became aware that he hadn’t been speaking for a minute, as Garcia’s breath on the other end of the line came through clearly. Thankfully Aaron was saved from any awkwardness because Prentiss, Rossi, and Morgan all rushed into the room. Hotch said, “Hey, Garcia, most of the team is here now, so I’m going to catch up with them. You can come a join us if you like.” The technical analyst replied, “I’ll be there in a bit. I’m going to see if I can find more info on the APB for the stolen truck, and then I’ll head right over.” Hotch nodded and said, “Garcia, please don’t break any internet or hacking laws trying to find this guy.” There was a pause and he tacked on, “At least not any that you can get caught for.” Hearing this, Penelope chuckled and said, “You got it, boss man. See you in a few.” The call ended, and Aaron approached the rest of the team.

Thankfully the members of the BAU only had to wait for about another forty minutes before a nurse came out and said, “Party for _y/l/n_?” Just as the middle-aged woman called, Garcia entered the building and all five members moved to the woman. Her nametag had Joan printed on it. Joan smiled and said, “Ms. _y/l/n_ is recovering well. She sustained a second-degree concussion, a hairline fracture to her left wrist, some bruising and lacerations to the face and chest, and second-degree burns to her legs. The whole team seemed to still at the news. Everyone looked around as if silently asking, ‘And how bad is that? What does that mean?’ Joan was helpful enough to answer their unanswered question with, “Miss _y/n_ is recovering well. She’s more fully conscious now. The primary concerns are her concussion and the burns on her feet. She’ll need some aid in getting around for a week or so, and the hospital is going to monitor her for a few more hours to make sure she’s cognitively okay for discharge. The doctor is speaking to her now, but you should all be able to go back and see her in a few minutes. She’ll need someone to stay with for a few days. Everyone nodded along. It was a short wait now that the team knew more, and that _y/n_ wasn’t in any serious danger. This didn’t stop Hotch’s mind from racing. From him wondering what would have happened if it had been worse. If _y/n_ had been seriously hurt. He tried as hard as he could, and yet he couldn’t still those thoughts. This situation reminded him that life was frail. That life, love, could be snuffed out in an instant. Life could be taken and it wouldn’t even have to be on the field, it could happen on a cold Monday morning and it wouldn’t even be his fault. There might not even be anyone to blame. The idea disturbed him deeply. His first were clenched tightly at his sides. He could feel his fingernails digging into the soft skin of his palm. As the nurse indicated it was okay for the team to move and see _y/n_ Hotch thought, ‘This is a problem.

Inside _y/n_ little curtained-off room, the doctor was just finishing up speaking with her and the grey-haired man moved out of the way to make room for the large group. When everyone shuffled in, _y/n_ almost smiled. She was much more coherent than two hours ago when she had been laid out on the frozen ground, Aaron noticed. _y/n_ didn’t look or feel great. Her body ached all over and her vision was still a bit off. The lights were too bright for one thing. She had to stop herself from squinting as the team all herded in around her. She knew she already looked goofy in a hospital gown. The nurse hadn’t let her look in a mirror, and maybe that was for the best. Not that _y/n_ was a very vain person. She tried her best to be content with her body and how she looked, but it felt like crossing some unspoken personal rule to be this disheveled in front of the team. In front of Hotch. For a second, she wanted to hide her face in her hands, or ask Emily, “How do I look?” But it was all pointless, and it would be such a character shift from the normal, no-nonsense attitude she showed in the field and office. So she mustered up a face that hid some of her pain and said, “You don’t have to look so concerned, guys. I feel like garbage, but I’ll live.”

The team did look very worried, and she thought that maybe she really did look as bad as she felt. The team chuckled at her comment, and immediately she felt better. _y/n_’s gaze found Hotch’s, and she noticed the thin line of his mouth. It was set seriously. She wondered if he was mad at her? But why would he be? She’d never really seen him like this before. It was close to the time that Emily had gotten hurt in a case at Waco. But there was something more to this look, and she was too tired to try and decipher it at the moment. Instead, she flashed him the tiniest of smiles. At this, Aaron’s face seemed to settle to its normal stoic look, so _y/n_ looked to the rest of the team so she didn’t start blushing. Penelope moved toward and gave her a little kiss on the cheek and asked, “How are you feeling, baby girl?” _y/n_ normally bristled at Pen’s pet names, but she accepted it once given the circumstances. _y/n_ replied, “Well, they’ve got me on some pretty good pain meds, so all things considered it could be worse. My feet feel funky though, in a not great kind of way. Penelope squeezed _y/n_’s hand and said, “Well we’re all here to help you out with whatever you need.” Derek agreed, saying, “Exactly what Pen said, _y/n_. You need anything and we’re on it.” As Morgan finished, the nurse moved back in and asked, “Miss _y/n_ have you decided who you’re going to stay with for the next few days?” _y/n_ blushed profusely. She hadn’t had time to ask anyone on the team, and she wasn’t even sure they had been informed that she was going to get some help for the next two days. It was embarrassing really. She liked others to think of her as strong and confident. Someone they could turn to, but now the tables had been turned. She looked up at the team, and she could see in all those assembled that they would be happy to have her. Rossi may be less so, but both she and Dave knew that she wasn’t going to ask him. _y/n_ had to pull herself from looking at Aaron. Because if she did, he would readily nod, and then that would mean that they could spend the night together at her place, or his, and potentially the night after that, and _y/n_ wasn’t sure if she could take that right now with how she was feeling. She might say things and do things that betrayed her feelings for him. In fact, she knew she would do something stupid, given all the meds and endorphins rushing through her body. So she looked up at Emily, and Prentiss beamed at her. They didn’t even need to say anything to understand each other. _y/n_ looked over at the nurse and said, “I’ll stay with Emily.” Prentiss raised her hand as her name was spoken, and the nurse moved toward her to get her contact information for the hospital's systems. As Emily moved with the nurse to the information desk, Rossi stepped forward and patted _y/n_ on the shoulder and said, “Keep your head up, kid.” _y/n_ gave him a smile too and said, “I’ll try Rossi.” There was an awkward silence as _y/n_ looked over at Hotch. _y/n_ wondered if he was ever going to say anything, or just keep standing there looking pained and uncomfortable.

Finally, Aaron cleared his throat. Garcia and Dave seemed to slide out of the room before _y/n_ could ask them to stay. She flushed again, and _y/n_ knew that Aaron could see her. _y/n_ wasn’t so silly to assume that Hotch didn’t know about her infatuation with him. It had to be clear. It was just awkward that neither of them had admitted it, even in the slightest. Maybe _y/n_ had read into Hotch’s actions around her, but she was pretty sure he cared about her as much as she liked him. The fact that he was her boss was what was a real punch in the gut. But what could she do? The feelings were there, she just had to stifle them. After a minute of silence, Aaron spoke. He used his reassuring voice, but he wasn’t sure who exactly he was giving comfort to, himself or _y/n. He said, “Would you be honest with me? How do you really feel, and what did the doctor say?” _y/n_ let out a sigh. She couldn’t lie to him even if she wanted to, so she said “My head’s all fuzzy, the lights are too bright, and my feet and legs hurt. Not that they're hot, just painful, like pins and needles all over. The doctor has them bandaged all up.” For some reason, she pulled up the blanket covering her legs to show off the medical gauze covering her feet and lower legs. It went up to her mid-calf and Aaron couldn’t help but cringe a little. It looked painful. He waited to see what _y/n_ was going to report about the doctor’s findings. He said her name, “_y/n_?” The woman in the bed came back to herself and said, “Dr. Jenings said I’d be out of the field for a few weeks, maybe three. The concussion and the fact that I can’t really walk sealed that deal pretty easily.” When _y/n_ finished, she bit the inside of her mouth. Aaron looked her over and saw the disappointment in her gaze. He knew that _y/n_ hated when she was out of the field. It had only happened once before when she got the flu very badly in December last year. She had been out for two cases and as badly she had felt, she still had Gacia fill her in on the case and called Emily or Derek once or twice a day. Aaron wanted to reprimand her, but he knew he would have done the same thing if he had been in her position. He had, however, texted her saying, “_y/n_ please take it easy.” Hotch felt the same way now, as he had then. He stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. That really got _y/n_ to look at him, and he said, “This wasn’t your fault, _y/n_. There was nothing you could have done about this, and no one on the team or in the office is going to fault you for having to take a break.” _y/n_ looked a bit crestfallen but nodded anyway. Sometimes Aaron thought that _y/n_ felt like she had to right every wrong the world threw at her. Hotch knew that _y/n_ had a troubled past like every member of the BAU had a complicated past. He didn’t have all the details of her story, but he could sense that she felt pressure to show up. To be there a hundred percent of the time. Aaron knew how that felt. He knew what it meant to think that it was already too late. Hotch didn’t have a lot of time to think about it further as the nurse and Emily moved back into the space. Joan was holding a pair of crutches and for a moment Aaron thought that she must be joking. There was no way that this medical professional expected _y/n_ to get on her feet this soon after what she had been through Not after he and multiple doctors had seen the state of her feet.

Aaron’s concern was addressed shortly as Joan said, “Miss, _y/n_. This might seem counterintuitive, but we’re going to need you to try and get out and up on your feet as soon as possible. The doctor recommends it so that there isn’t a chance of thrombosis or blood clots. There’s also a chance for tautness of the surrounding skin. It will be incredibly painful, but we need you to try and walk as soon as you can for your well-being.” _y/n_ nodded. Aaron could see that she looked concerned at the request, but was trying to hide it from everyone. Maybe even herself. Joan gave _y/n_ an encouraging smile. The nurse said, “Good, well here are some clothes to change into for your release. Would you like me to stay behind and help you with that?” _y/n_ nodded and Joan asked Aaron and Emily to give them some privacy. As the duo moved outside, the rest of the team was waiting for them. Now Spencer and JJ were there as well and everyone asked Emily and Aaron what had happened. The pair did their best to explain what the nurse had said. It took a bit longer than expected. However, Hotch assumed a lot went into getting someone ready for that much pain. Aaron didn’t even want to think about it. He didn’t have to as a half-strangled sound could be heard coming from _y/n_’s room. The sound took the breath out of Hotch and he could see the rest of the team cringe. Garcia was so upset that she hugged Derek. Morgan took the analyst in his arms and covered her ears for her. There was a shuffling from inside the room and more pained noises. Hotch was biting down so hard on his tongue that he was sure it would bleed soon. The door was opened by Joan, and Aaron’s eyes snapped to _y/n_. She wasn’t even trying to look at any of them. Her brows were pulled so tight in pain that they were nearly touching. _y/n_ was leaning heavily on the crutches, gripping the handles with white knuckles. _y/n_ was taking labored breaths, as she moved unsteadily on her feet. She was looking at the ground only. Just at where her feet were meeting the floor. She had on some special shoes, thick black sandal-type things that accommodated the thick bandaging on her feet. The rest of the team moved to give her space and not have to see how pained she looked. But Aaron moved to her other side. It may hurt him to see _y/n_ this way, but it was clearly nothing to how she was feeling. And if his presence could provide even a modicum of comfort, then he would be there for her. Hotch stood on her right as she moved toward the door toward the check-out desk and the charge nurse. Aaron moved his hand behind _y/n_’s lower back. He didn’t make contact with her skin; his hand simply hovered over _y/n_’s shirt. It was a metaphorical helping hand. For one second, _y/n_ moved her eyes to his, and he could see that all the pain was still there, but there was a small bit of gratitude as well. _y/n_ wouldn’t be able to find the words to thank him. She wasn’t sure if she could for two reasons. First was the fact that even breathing seemed like an impossibility at the moment. The second reason was that the team was still around, even if they weren’t looking at her and Aaron. But _y/n_ had a feeling that if she opened her mouth more than a thank you would tumble out.

It took what felt like a very long time, though it was just around four minutes, for _y/n_, Joan, and Aaron to make it to the door. The nurse moved and held open the swinging doors for _y/n_ to get out of. Hotch’s train of thought was similar to _y/n_’s as she moved out into the lobby. He wondered if the team was scrutinizing his actions with _y/n_. If they were, and someone brought it up later, he would address it. For now, his attention was solely on _y/n_. Hotch was grateful that the staff at least let _y/n_ sit while she signed a few forms for her discharge. Emily also took on some papers and Joan also gave Prentiss a few file folders for the needed care steps for _y/n_’s recovery. Rossi moved forward and took the papers from Emily. When the paperwork was finished, Aaron looked over to Em and said, “I’ll drive you both to your apartment.” Prentiss nodded and Derek moved forward to get Prentiss's keys to drive her car to the front of the hospital. Aaron bent down and asked, can I give you a hand up?” _y/n_ looked up at him for the first real-time that day. She looked so tired but nodded her head yes. _y/n_ got her crutches ready to support her weight once she was on her feet again. Aaron bent down, placed his hands under her arms, and lifted her up. Once _y/n_’s weight was on her feet again, she made another pained sound, but this one was much smaller, just a little “mhm,” with an exhalation of breath. Hotch, _y/n_ and Em all moved to the sliding doors and out into the cold air. Hotch watched with a keen eye for any slick or ice spots on the sidewalk. Thankfully it was just a few feet from the hospital entrance to the waiting car. Derek got out of the driver's seat and along with Aaron, helped _y/n_ into the back seat. Hotch noticed the goosebumps from the chilly air on _y/n_’s skin, and he removed his jacket and handed it over as she gave him the crutches that didn’t quite fit in the backseat. Aaron watched with a tiny bit of warmth in him as _y/n_ slipped his oversized jacket over her frame. Em and Derek were talking quietly near the front of the car. Aaron moved to the trunk and placed the crutches there then moved to the front. Morgan stepped forward and asked, “Are you going back to the office after this?” Hotch nodded and said, “Yes. I’ll need to file some paperwork for _y/n_ and reach out to medical and see what timeline they have for time off in the field. However, if you or anyone else on the team needs the rest of the day off, I’d understand. Can you tell anyone else on the BAU team that?” Derek nodded and said, “Will do Hotch.” Morgan gave his arm a sturdy pat and as the built man turned to move back inside, Aaron called out saying, “Please drive safely, Morgan.” Derek looked back and caught his eye before he nodded and then moved back into the hospital.

Emily moved to sit in the back of the car with _y/n_. Em and took the injured woman’s hand in hers. Prentiss rubbed circles over _y/n_ thumb softly, providing a soft touch to distract and remind _y/n_ that she wasn’t alone. Aaron pulled out out of the crowded parking lot. He looked into the rearview mirror and saw _y/n_ leaning against Emily’s shoulder. Hotch asked, “_y/n_ how’s the temperature? Do you need it warmer?” _y/n_ just barely opened her eyes and said, “I’m good, thanks.” Aaron nodded, feeling bad that there wasn’t more he could do for her. It took about a half hour with traffic to get to Em’s townhouse in the center of the city. Emily got all of the files, and Aaron helped _y/n_ into the elevator, down the hallway, and finally to a seat on Emily’s couch. Emily turned on a single lamp and grabbed a glass of water for _y/n_. Prentiss took a bit longer in the kitchen than she needed, giving Hotch and her guest a few minutes of privacy. Hotch knelt and placed a hand on her left shoulder. He wanted to do so much more, to rub his hands over her arms, or stroke the profile of her face with the pad of this thumb. He wanted to dote on her, pick her up, put her to bed, and make sure there wasn’t any pain. But _y/n_ probably wouldn’t like that. She acted so strong on and off the field that he wasn’t sure that this kind of corporal affection would be appreciated. He also wasn’t sure his romantic feelings would be reciprocated either. It was one of the many reasons that he hadn’t said anything about his feelings for her. He couldn’t deny that he sensed a connection between them. Something physical and beyond. But perhaps he was reading into things. His brain going into hyperdrive in terms of profiler mood. His brain seemed to short-circuit sometimes when he was near _y/n_, but he was composed enough to hide it. Or at least he hoped he hid it. Aaron realized that he wasn’t saying anything, that his hand was lingering on _y/n_’s body. He looked at her, and she was staring at him. Her gaze seemed a bit distant, but _y/n_ was trying to focus on him. She opened her mouth and tried to say, “Hotch. I’m…” but Aaron stopped her saying, “Please don’t say you're fine, _y/n_. You were, are, in real pain, and you also went through something very traumatic. You don’t have to be brave right now. It’s okay.” That was all Aaorn could bring himself to say without it getting out of hand. A noise from the doorway had Hotch standing in an instant. Emily entered the room and placed the glass of water on the table next to the couch. Hotch softly said to _y/n_ alone, “Rest if you can, alright?” _y/n_ nodded and moved to take off his black blazer. Without really thinking about anything, or that Emily was standing right by him, he said, “You keep it for now. You can bring it back when you’re back in the office.” Aaron moved and unclipped his FBI badge that was still attached to his exterior breast pocket. He slipped the plastic into the back pocket of his trousers and moved away from _y/n_ reluctantly. He turned and Prenitss had a look on her face that spoke volumes without having to say a word. Aaron let out a little sigh, and he motioned for Emily to follow him a bit farther away from _y/n_. Hotch wasn’t ready to address whatever Em was thinking. Instead, he said in a steady voice, “Feel free to call me or text if you need me, or _y/n_ needs something. Anything. I’m just a few minutes away.” Prentiss nodded and said, “I’ll let you know. She’s going to be okay, Aaron. _y/n_’s a strong person.” Hotch nodded, not willing to address the look Emily was sending him. He moved out the door before anything else could happen.

The next morning, _y/n_ who had just changed her bandages and taken her antimicrobial and pain meds got a call from Aaron. _y/n_ picked up and tried not to give a groan of pain, as she raised her legs onto the bed. She answered, “Hey Hotch? What’s up?” There was a brief pause before Aaron said, “Just checking in. I have some news, but I want to hear how you’re feeling first. How was last night?” _y/n_ could hear that Hotch was using his office voice again. The tenderness that he had spoken to her with yesterday was still there, just veiled behind professionalism like normal. _y/n_ could picture him sitting behind his desk. His knees brushed the inside of his desk as it was just a bit too small for his lanky limbs. He wasn’t on his office phone, given he had called her on her cell. The image of him sitting, bathed in the soft lighting of his lamps was one she played out in her head often. He wasn’t exactly stationary in these thoughts, he was doing things other than paperwork or calling her to see if she wasn’t so battered and bruised. _y/n_ had to push those thoughts back. Now was not the time or the place. Even if her wildest fantasies were fulfilled, given the pain in her body was still feeling, none of those blissful ideas would be able to be completed. _y/n_ stifled a sigh, and instead replied, “It was okay given the circumstances. Things are still pretty painful and I understand what the doctor was saying about the long-lasting effects of a concussion now. My head and brain still haven’t seemed to reset to normal yet, but other than that, I feel as good as I can. Now tell me about your news. What did medical say?” _y/n_ was so familiar with the BAU procedures to not know why Hotch had been calling her. The medical board had gotten back to him to let Aaron know how long she medically needed to be out of the field. Hotch let out a big sigh and replied, “Well the med board looked over your files from yesterday and they’ve grounded you for three weeks, minimum. Given the concussion and the physical nature of being on the field, it’s not wise to have you back with us until then. When you get back after the three weeks, you’ll have to see medical to get cleared back to the field. _y/n_ couldn’t stop the long sigh that they let out while hearing the news. _y/n_ understood the need for her physical well-being, but being off gave her time to think. And if she thought too hard, her mind went to bad places, from the past and present. Working for the BAU mercifully kept her mind on other places and horrible scenarios. But now she was grounded and it sucked. There was a small silence before _y/n_ replied, “I understand.” She could hear Hotch click his pen, a habit of his that she noticed when Aaron was in the office. He would click his pen either on his wooden desk or with his thumb. Aaron took in a breath and said, “Try and rest while you can, _y/n_. You can call me or text me if you have any questions about your return to the field. And if you think you need more time, just let me know.” Hotch said the last sentence as a formality. He knew _y/n_ would be going stir-crazy after three days of not being at work. There was another silence, and _y/n_ asked, “Can I come into the office at least? Like after a week?” Aaron sat back and swallowed his emotion of concern for _y/n_. What more could he say than, “I can’t stop you from coming in the building, _y/n_.” They wrapped up the call shortly after that. _y/n_ closed her eyes for a minute and just tried to relax. In a few minutes, she was going to do her exercises to help with her recovery. It would be a long three weeks.

The team got called away on a case the next day. Thankfully _y/b/f_ was able to help _y/n_ who moved back to her apartment after Emily left for the new case in Vegas. Even though the lights twinkled and shone on the Vegas strip, and there was a highly unique case afoot - an unsub apparently leading people to poison themselves due to bankruptcy and gambling addictions - Hotch found it hard to keep his mind on the case. At the hotel the second night, he tried to find a lead, any lead that would help the team pinpoint more about this unsub. His brain drifted to _y/n_. He wondered what she was doing right now. It was 11:45 p.m. Any sensible person would be asleep given the chance. Maybe she was in her bed. Aaron had to stop himself there. He didn’t have sexual thoughts about _y/n_, at least not yet, but he was so tired that if he kept thinking about her, his brain might idle down that path. This, he would not allow. It was bad enough that he felt that he couldn’t even talk to _y/n_ he would feel infinitely worse if he started getting off to her too. He reflected on these feelings for a moment, how they had come to metastasize in him. From early on during their employment, Aaron could tell that _y/n_ was someone who couldn’t be easily pushed or waived. When _y/n_ had committed to something, they stuck to it. Not that she was one to hang onto an idea or train of thought during a case like Rossi's. _y/n_ tried to be open-minded in that regard. But she had committed fully to the team since the day she signed on. That was the standard, the expectation for him, but _y/n_ sometimes felt over-committed. She would stay up all hours of the night trying to figure a piece of a case out. She relied heavily on his, Rossi's, and Emily’s experience in the field to catch up on facts or training that she might have missed in her previous placement. Aaron sensed that she was running from something given how hard she worked both in the field and the office. He hadn’t asked what that was, but Aaron could sense it. He had hoped that maybe one day she would tell him. But then their feelings toward each other had become more complex. It had happened during a brutal and long case in October last year. It involved kids which was always the worst to deal with for him. The team had been working non-stop until Aaron had essentially ordered them to get some rest. Everyone had moved into their rooms to pretend to sleep and an hour later Aaron was moving down the hall to run a theory by Rossi. He had passed _y/n_’s room and heard crying inside. It wasn’t loud, but he could hear it distinctly. The sobs coming from inside ripped at his heart like a knife. He had knocked and the crying stopped momentarily. _y/n_ had moved to the door, unlocked both bolts, and removed the security chain. Aaron could hear the metal rubbing against each other. When _y/n_ had opened the door, she moved back to let him in. She turned her face as if to hide the pain there from him. Aaron gently took hold of her hand, and she finally looked at him. Softly he asked, “What’s the matter _y/n_? Is it the case? Has something personal happened?” _y/n_ bit the side of her mouth trying to stop the tears from coming again. But she couldn’t, and as she started shaking and crying again Aaron moved forward and took her in his strong arms. She leaned into him; really leaned into him for the first time. He had never seen her so vulnerable before and as he asked, “Please tell me what’s bothering you,” and her enigmatic reply of, “I just can’t Aaron. I can’t;” had changed everything. Because at that moment Hotch would have done just about anything to make _y/n_ feel better. To free her of whatever pain she was feeling. Whatever emotions were plaguing her? And when _y/n_ had stopped crying, and Aaron pulled away, she could see it in his eyes, and she wanted that from him just as badly as he wanted to give it; thus their fates were sealed, because this relationship, or hope at one couldn’t happen, and yet Hotch yearned for it. Thought about it nearly every time he looked at her.

Thankfully Aaron’s brain did manage to think of something besides _y/n_, and that was Rossi. Whenever he got stuck, he’d go and see Dave to see what the pro had noticed that he might have missed. It was helpful having someone older than him on the team for Hotch to turn to. Aaron pushed himself out of the bed and slipped on his tennis shoes. He padded down the hall and as he moved forward, Emily stepped out of her room in front of him. Prentiss was on the phone and said, “Yeah the team’s okay. I’d love to be spending a week in Vegas just for fun. How’d you feel coming here during Spring Break some year? You, me, Morgan, and Penelope…” There was a pause and Em continued, “You got it, Baby. Sin to Win.” Hearing this, Aaron actually laughed. He tried to disguise it as a cough but didn’t succeed. Prentiss turned on her heel and relaxed when she realized it was just him. She gave him a bit of a joking disapproving glare at him eavesdropping. Hotch could never not laugh when Emily said, “Sin to Win.” He was still unaware of the connotation or story associated with the phrase, but it never failed to make him laugh. It just sounded so strange coming from someone as polite and proper as Em. He pointed at the phone pressed to her ear and whispered, “Who is it?” He already knew, but Emily indulged him and mouthed, “_y/n_.” Aaron nodded and mouthed back, “Tell her to go to bed.” Prentiss rolled her eyes and said into the phone, “Someone has someone has something to say to you, _y/n_.” Without further ado, Em removed the phone from her ear and pressed it into Hotch’s hands. Aaron flushed red and looked at Emily like a deer in headlights, but Em crossed her arms and just looked at him as if saying, “Do it yourself.” After what felt like a bit too long, Aaron pulled the cell to his ear and said in an embarrassed tone, “Hey, _y/n_. Ummm… maybe you should be getting some rest?” The was a beat of silence, and _y/n_ let out a soft breath at hearing Aaron suddenly on the other end of the line. She replied, “I am resting, I’m in bed right now watching _y/f/s_. I feel so rested that I’m even planning my next vacation. Emily is promising me ‘Sin to Win’ in Vegas in the Spring.” Hotch had to stifle some sort of sound from coming out of his mouth at the rather wild and lurid image his brain came up with in association with _y/n_ and Em’s new favorite phrase. He coughed once and said, “Well good, just don’t get ahead of yourself. Rest well _y/n_.” With that, he quickly handed the phone back to Emily and moved down the hallway, well aware that his agent could see how flustered he was. As Aaron made his retreat, Em pulled the phone back to her ear and said, “It’s me again.” As Prentiss slipped into her room, she smiled. It was fortuitous that she had stepped out of her room when she had. Prentiss, JJ, Rossi, and even Morgan had started waiting for bated breath for something to happen between _y/n_ and Aaron. At this point, Emily was willing to push things in that direction if she had to, and tonight had been a clear, successful first step.

The case in Nevada wrapped up. Hotch was always glad to be headed home, but in this case, he was especially glad. It meant that he could check up on _y/n_ The team decompressed, and a few days into the next week, _y/n_ stopped by the office. _y/n_ sat next to Spencer and Derek talking about the latest case and what she had missed. Hotch clocked her grabbing at one of Morgan’s files, but he swooped in and took it from her hands, turned it over, and set it firmly back on Derek’s desk. _y/n_ pouted at him slightly, and both Spencer and Derek looked away. Hotch and _y/n_ were acting differently than they had before. Aaron had realized after the accident that life was too short and fickle for him to be playing around. The thought of _y/n_ being in a worse situation than being dragged from her car just in time was something that was going to stay with him for a long time. So even if he couldn’t say anything, he was going to at least act a bit more involved. Hotch viewed this like a soft launch, though to the rest of the team, it looked like ten massive steps forward. No one on the team was going to say anything about it though. They were just grateful that something was happening between them. Hotch also started acting like this to see if _y/n_ wanted this like he assumed she did. If she wasn’t interested in his advances then he would stop instantly. This was only his first day seeing her, and he was trying to still act natural, but he couldn’t deny the rush he felt when she looked at him like this. She feigned disappointment at him taking the file she had, but a genuine happiness to see him again. Aaron’s thoughts were shattered as Penelope's voice cut through his mental fog. Hotch turned to look at the small landing that connected the bullpen to the upper level of the floor the BAU was housed on. Garcia said, “The fam is home, _y/n_ is here, and everything is right with the world.” No one on the team acknowledged that their very jobs meant that the world was a horrible, awful, depraved place. But it was the thought that counted. Aaron moved aside to make room for Garcia in the little huddle of agents. He moved to the edge of the staircase, hesitant to move away. He listened in on the conversation the group was having. He pretended to look over one of his own files, even though he wouldn’t normally do that down in the bullpen. He at least pretended like he was missing a paper as he rifled through his full folder. He listened in on Garcia and asked, “So what’s with you and your friend getting into a fight? What happened there?” _y/n_ gave a small sigh at the question, but replied, “It’s this damn concussion. Some things, like the lights or certain sounds, just seem to set me off. I apologized, profusely, and we made up, but it’s just annoying that such little things are bothering me. It makes me feel like I’m not in control. I hate that.” Aaron actually started moving up the stairs as Spencer started going on a tangent about concussion symptoms and car crashes, while Pen leaned down and kissed the top of _y/n_’s head.

A full week elapsed and _y/n_ met with medical and took a physical to clear her for the field. _y/n_ was still walking awkwardly, but they were out of the heavy bandaging and her feet and legs had healed well given the care she took with her body and recovery. Aaron was forwarded the medical report from Dr. Sujedia recommending _y/n_ take off a few more days. Aaron had called _y/n_ to his office to discuss the results. _y/n_ sat down and did her best to look tough and undisturbed. Unbothered by the results of the test. Aaron looked over the papers and said, “As you know, Dr. Ramirez recommends another three to four days of rest. I’m prepping a new case with JJ this afternoon and I want your opinions on your condition. How are you feeling?” _y/n_ was honest with Hotch, knowing that was the best guarantee that they would be allowed onto the next case. She said, “My head’s still bothering me, and I don’t think my legs are down for a chase on foot right now, but I can just sit in the background. I can listen to and organize files in the precinct. I can work with JJ and do a geographical profile, or…” Aaron cut her off with a small raise of his hand from his desk. He knew she was trying to prove that she could still be an asset to the team, even if she couldn’t do all of the physically demanding aspects of the job. Hotch thought it over for a moment. He knew that _y/n_ would be upset if he said no. He saw the determined look on her face. Reluctantly he gave a nod. At least if she was with the team he could look over her. Not that she wanted that exactly, but it would make him feel better. He dismissed _y/n_ shortly after he reminded her that she was to take it easy on the case, doing work that would let her rest her body. He watched as she gave him a big smile and walked out the door. She was so happy that she didn’t even try to hide the little limp she had while walking on her tender feet. Once _y/n_ was back in the bullpen talking animatedly to Emily, he moved over to Garcia’s office. He knocked on the door once before he entered the dim space. Penelope looked up from her three monitors and asked, “What’s up Hotch?” Aaron leaned against the door and replied, “How many times did she visit you while we were away?” The ‘she’ in question didn’t need to be named before Pen said, “Just twice, but I didn’t ask her to Hotchy. I swear she came of her own accord.” Hotch’s set into a firm line for a second before he said, “Alright, well don’t encourage it, at least until she’s a bit better.” He added very softly, “She looks worn out.” Pen smiled gently and could see the concern on her supervisor's face. Garcia replied, “Pinky promise. We’ll take care of her.” Aaron nodded ever so slightly and then moved out of the technical den and toward JJ’s office.

The next case was in North Carolina at the private post-secondary school, High Point University. So far four male students that were all athletes had been found strangled on the school grounds. A panic had set in from the students, faculty, and most annoyingly the donors to the small campus. There was an obvious tie with all of the students being men and athletes. Though different sports had been targeted, not just a single athletic pursuit. There was also the option that scholarships could take a part in the murders as two of the three men killed had been on athletic scholarships that semester. As the team bounced ideas off of each other on the plane ride, _y/n_ said, “There are some wealthy alumni from Highpoint. Maybe this is some wild Operation Varsity Blues type of situation?” As always Spencer took off with this idea and how nepotism could be as real a motivator for murder as rage or shame might be. Aaron looked over his team from his spot near the front of the jet. It felt good to have _y/n_ back, even if in the pit of his stomach he felt concerned about throwing her back in the field like he was. Granted she had asked, but even so, he was still concerned. When they got to the university, JJ immediately started working with the campus media team to get a consistent message out. Hotch moved to speak with the University Police Department and Rossi went to the local station. Hotch took Morgan and _y/n_ with him, while Rossi had Spencer and Emily moved to the downtown police station. Things continued to move quickly as they always did on a case. The team made a basic profile. By the end of the day, due to the unsub clearly being young, or at least mentally young, they had made plenty of mistakes that were easy to pick up on. Unfortunately, the campus's UPD wasn’t used to murder’s happening on their territory and was overwhelmed by the student and parent response. The day unfolded with the team creating a profile and trying to stay as low-key as possible. Because the BAU was the BAU it was clear to the students that something was happening. This meant that the unsub was also likely aware of the presence of the FBI, pulled back, and might stop their killing spree. This would be a good thing except that once the BAU was gone, they could simply start killing again. Therefore, the team started canvassing the campus. Sitting in on big lecture classes and speaking to faculty. The team assumed that the unsub was a student first. Secondly, they assumed that the student was not an athlete, and potentially a student who had to retake a year or even more of coursework at the university.

_y/n_ was trying to listen to her body and abide by Hotch’s request that she take it easy. She had sat in a large mirco-economics class with Spencer and watched as the genius took so many notes. Covering over twenty pages as Dr. Reid wrote furiously about economic theory, where the Professor was wrong, where the textbook, which Spencer quickly read before class was incorrect. All _y/n_ could think of was that she was glad she was not that professor, or that she would ever have a class with Spencer as the instructor -- she knew she would fail the course on entry. After that, _y/n_ moved to the UPD’s department and went through piles and piles of non-sexual assault claims. If the unsub was a supersenior, there could be over six years' worth of reports to look through. She spent most of the day looking over these reports. The next day, _y/n_ spent a good deal of the morning with JJ, fielding concerns from students, bursars, and faculty members who asked questions. The pair also held some interviews with a few students that had caught the team's interest the day before. Although the interviews didn’t reveal much, but they gave _y/n_ an idea about something she read yesterday in a report. _y/n_ didn’t mind doing this kind of clerical work, but it was harming her current condition. Being under such harsh fluorescent lights was making her head swim. It was also putting their temper on edge. The last interview where a young sophomore had scratched his head incessantly and said, “Um,” “Like,” or “And” every other word had put _y/n_ pushed something in her like an itch that desperately needed to be scratched, but there was no actual, physical place to relieve the annoyance. _y/n_ was desperately looking forward to being cooped up alone in the files room looking for that one folder that she was thinking of. It would be killing two birds with one stone. It could be potentially helpful to the team, and it would give her a moment to decompress and let out her annoyed feelings. Just as _y/n_ was getting ready to leave, Hotch showed up and asked JJ and her about their progress. Mercifully JJ answered for both of them. When Aaron turned his gaze to her, she said, “JJ’s right. We haven’t found much with what we’ve looked at this morning. However, there’s a file I remember standing out at the UPD. I was going to head there now actually.” Aaron nodded. He turned to JJ quickly and said, “Keep up the good work here. Call me if you find anything useful. The smallest scrap of information could be helpful now.” JJ smiled at Hotch and said, “You got it, Hotch.” Next, Aaron turned to _y/n_ and said, “I’ll walk you there.” _y/n_ nodded and followed after him as he opened the door for her. Aaron could tell that something was happening with _y/n_. He couldn’t pin it down yet, but he wanted to make sure she was okay. The day was unimaginably hot given that it was November. The campus was also sprawling and had lots of external stairs. The UPD and the file storage center were almost a mile apart. As the pair moved down yet another set of stairs. _y/n_ felt that she was so hot. The sun felt like it was beating down on her relentlessly. As _y/n_ took another step down, she felt her ankle buckle and her mind went blank as her body swooned toward the concrete steps.

Aaron could feel that something was wrong as he and _y/n_ moved down yet another set of steps. Halfway down those steps, he looked over to _y/n_. Her breathing was shallowed and despite being in the direct sun, her skin looked shallow. He watched as her eyes fluttered closed and _y/n_’s body crumpled dangerously quickly toward the hard, sharp steps. For a millisecond, Aaron felt like he was back at the scene of the wreck, but this time he could do something in the moment. He wasn’t powerless. So, Aaron moved his left leg down two steps and positioned his body and arms to catch _y/n_’s limp body. When he caught her, she let out an exhalation at the harsh contact of her body colliding with his. Aaron bent down slightly and used his other arm to pull up under _y/n_’s legs. He gave a soft grunt as he took _y/n_’s full weight in his arms. Hotch moved carefully down the steps and glared at any students who threw him an intrigued or concerned look as he held _y/n_ close to his chest. Aaron moved to a flat portion of the path that was covered. He spotted a bench that was shaded by a large tree. Hotch quickly moved in that direction, and _y/n_ started to stir in his arms; her eyes slowly opening. Aaron got to the bench and sat down with _y/n_ nestled in his lap. He brushed a hand over her cheek, as she fully came to her faculties. _y/n_ gave a small groan and asked, “Wha’ happened?” _y/n_’s slurred speech worried him. Hotch replied, “You fainted, _y/n_. You really could have been hurt if you were walking alone.” Aaron couldn’t veil his concern. Not now. He added, “I’m worried about you, _y/n_.” _y/n_ looked up at him, not fully aware that Hotch’s hand was in her hair, and his heart rate was beating out of his chest with concern. _y/n_ tried to get her vision to clear. The pain in her head from the lights and the heat was still causing her pain and she replied in a tone that she wanted to sound exasperated, but it really just came out like a snap, saying, “Why do you even care?” And once the words were out and the tone became apparent, her vision cleared and she saw Aaron fully, and the look of love and care for her overwhelmed her. In a breathy voice, one that was starting to be overcome with tears, she said, “I didn’t mean that, Aa…” Her voice was strangled by tears and Hotch pulled her close to his body. His head rested on top of hers as he said, “I know. I know you didn’t mean it that way. I know.” And as Aaron held her, she did know he knew. That he knew it all. At that moment she wouldn’t fight him. All she wanted was for him to hold her and help with the pain. He had at the hospital. Even being near him made her feel better. They stayed there for a few moments and Aaron said, “I’m taking you back to the hotel. You need rest and don’t even try to fight me on this. You mean too much to me to be having on the field right now.” _y/n_ nodded and shifted to stand, but Aaron stopped her with a large hand, saying, “You’re not walking right now in this heat. I’ll carry you to the SUV.” _y/n_’s mouth fell open slightly and said, “Aaron I can do it.” Hotch nodded his head no, replying, “I’m not having you move down all those stairs again. The car is only two lots, over. Now if I hold you like I did before, will it hurt your legs at all?” _y/n_ swallowed and softly said, “No. It won’t hurt me.” Aaron nodded and readjusted his hands again. Carefully picked her up again. He moved quickly to the SUV. He set _y/n_ down and got pulled out his keys and unlocked the doors. Once _y/n_ was seated and buckled, he turned on the AC. The ride to the motel was short with Aaron just shooting Rossi and Em a text saying that he’d be back in a half hour or so.

_y/n_ was grateful that Aaron let her walk to her own room. As much as she liked Hotch’s touch and gentle care he had when he had carried her, she had her dignity and desire to still be able to care for herself. In her room, Aaron looked over at her bed. _y/n_ didn’t even care as she pulled off her blazer, slipped off her shoes, and laid back on the bed. While she was doing this, Aaron turned off the overhead light and turned on a lamp instead. He puttered with the air conditioning so that it wasn’t freezing, but not too hot either. He then moved to the window messing with the curtains even though the blackout curtain and decorative curtain were clearly closed. Hotch did this because he didn’t know what to say. Finally, _y/n_ called him. It was a voice she had rarely used with him. It was vulnerable, needy, scared even? When Aaron looked at _y/n_ he saw the desire in her face, a look that must have been the one he had on his own face as he covered her body on the freezing road, and as he carried her to the bench just a few minutes earlier. Aaron was drawn to her and sat on the edge of the bed as _y/n_ said, “Aaron. I like you. I have for a long time. I’m sorry if this fucks everything up between us, and I’m sorry that it took me so long to say anything. But I have to say something.” At this, she stopped and looked at him concerned that she might have ruined everything. Aaron leaned forward, ran his left hand through her hair again, and rested his forehead against hers. He felt such a reprieve at her words. He closed his eyes and said, “I like you too, _y/n_. I’ve been a coward about my feelings and your still here being brave after everything that’s happened to you this month. For a few minutes, I thought I’d lost you and I’m never going to let that happen again. At least where I can. I want to be with you.” _y/n_ gave a little hum and placed a hand on his chest. Knowing that she wasn’t delusional for desiring Aaron suddenly made all her pain seem to fade into the background. His breath on her face was comforting, and she opened her eyes a bit. She shifted up a bit and gave his mouth a peck. At this, Hotch opened his eyes. He gave her a soft smile and moved his mouth more needily over hers. As they shared that kiss, they were both grateful for the other. For the comfort that was to be had now and in the future. There was a lot to be said later, but for now, their love and lips said everything that needed to be at the moment. _y/n_ closed her eyes and let the moment linger. _y/n_’s hand found its way to his chest, placed it over his heart, and felt its steady beat under her palm. _y/n_ closed her eyes and as they continued to kiss, she was certain that she would know anywhere. No matter how they were challenged and pulled, she would always know and love him, and this was just the start of that journey.

______________________________________________________________

Tag list: @criminalskies @tgskitten @geminitapestry

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theodorecanaryhood · 8 months

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Enemies and love eternal

One shot DC fanfic

Jason Todd x Male reader

Warnings: language, threats, mentions of DV and assault

Life has a habit of throwing unexpected surprises at you, some great. So great that you don’t ever want to leave that moment in time.

Some bad, some so bad it feels like eternity and you can’t do anything but wait for the perfect time, that moment you get to breath in relief.

Bruises, black eye, cracked ribs. There wasn’t anything you hadn’t been put through.

Flashing lights and sirens, a courtroom, a new apartment.

1 year had been the worst year that turned to a year that was perfect all of a sudden.

Then even more perfect as you met Jason, Jason Todd. A man who literally swept you away and gave you everything he could at the drop of a hat.

A man so obsessed with you that he gave his all to make sure you were safe.

A year into the relationship, the two of you moved in together. You both were inseparable. Two years, Jason was planning your future together.

Now, six years all of a sudden and the two of you had brought a house, living in a nicer part of Gotham.

Your home was wherever Jason was, as was his. The change had brought on a new experience for the both of you.

‘I’ll be back soon baby’ Jason said as he kissed you, his giant form compared to yours engulfed you.

His big hands on your smaller form buried you, Jason’s lips pressed against yours for a few seconds.

Jason’s black muscle Tee and white joggers remained perfectly on his body, complimenting well as he walked away.

Steam from your tea filled the air as the light dimly lit up the page on your book, the fireplace created a lovely atmosphere as the warmth filled the room.

A light knock at the front door brought your attention away from the book, you walked as the cold floor in the hall hit your feet.

‘Hello?’ You asked as you opened the door, a tall man standing at the door.

‘Hey’

It took you a few seconds to adjust to the dark night, then realising you were face to face with your ex boyfriend.

Reluctantly agreeing to let him in, you knew Jason would hit the roof if he knew. However, your ex, Chris, seemed calm and just wanted to talk.

‘This is a nice place, you rent?’ Chris asked, you shook your head.

‘I own it, me and Jay brought it a few years back’ you replied.

Chris stood and watched you as you nervously stood in the living room.

‘So, how’ve you been?’ You asked, Chris shrugged.

‘Just wanted to say, I was thinking about you’ Chris said as he walked toward you.

‘Ok’

Chris held your hand as he looked in your eyes, pleading there but also, a hint of darkness behind his stare.

‘Y/n, I still love you, I want us to have another chance’ Chris admitted as he watched as you cringed a little, pulling your hand away.

‘I’m flattered, I understand that you have changed. But, you have just been released from prison, and I have a boyfriend’ you replied, Chris’ face changed.

‘We’ve been together for six years, you and me were together for one. In at this point that I have always dreamed of. We could’ve had that, but you missed your shot’ you continued.

‘Please, give me another chance’ Chris pleaded, his best effort to give puppy eyes.

‘I gave you tons, but I can’t anymore’ you replied very bluntly.

A firm grip on your wrist caught your attention, Chris’ face changed quickly as he looked dark suddenly.

‘Let go of my arm’ you sighed, Chris tightened his grip.

‘Sit down, listen to me and realise. You are mine’ Chris growled as he twisted your arm.

You winced a little in pain as you saw Chris twisting your arm, your ex boyfriend was present in the moment with the darkness he had those years ago.

‘Let go’ you winced as Chris continued gripping tightly.

‘You fucking cunt, you dare to leave me’ he growled again.

‘Hey, take your fucking hands off of him’ Jason shouted, suddenly appearing as Chris let go.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ Chris asked, smug as he saw your red mark on your arm.

‘I’m his boyfriend, who the fuck are you?’ Jason barked.

‘Jason, Chris’ you pointed, Jason had a look of realisation on his face.

‘You’re the shithead ex boyfriend who couldn’t keep his hands to himself’

Chris chuckled coldly as he looked you up and down, Jason being taken over by anger. His witnessing of you being taken hold of in a way Jason would never do to you.

‘That little twink was more than just a fuck toy, he was also a punching bag. And he deserved it with that attitude that came out of his mouth’ Chris coldly remarked, Jason took a step forward.

‘The fuck you just say? If you wanna keep your kneecaps I suggest you stop talking’ Jason barked, Chris laughed.

‘Like you could’

‘Don’t test me bruh, look at the size of you compared to me. I deal with assholes like you all the time and they never come out in one piece’ Jason said, puffing his chest out and towering over Chris.

Your ex boyfriend actually looked scared a little, you smiled a little as Jason made Chris nearly cower away.

‘Last I checked you’re a pussy boy who is unemployed and had to move back in with mommy and daddy after being released from prison’ Jason continued as you saw a little bit of a sore point hit as Chris looked hurt.

‘I think I’m gonna go’ you said, about to turn as Jason wrapped an arm around your waist and held you in place.

‘Stay right there baby’ Jason ordered, you held yourself still as Jason slipped his arm away.

‘Ok’ you obeyed, Chris looked at you with venom in his eyes.

Witnessing you being respected, protected and treated well made Chris annoyed, seeing as Jason was actually good to you.

‘Get out of my house, before I throw you out’ Jason growled at your ex boyfriend as Chris nodded a little.

As Chris walked toward the front door, Jason turned around and called out to Chris. A final threat that he meant every word of.

‘You ever touch y/n again, you ever even so much as breathe in his direction. I will rip your fucking nutsack off’ Jason called, Chris walked out the door as there was a silence that filled the air.

You turned your head with a small smile toward Jason as he still had anger on his face. Jason looked at you and instantly, within a second, his stance and voice calmed.

‘What?’ Jason said softly to you, you smiled even more as you grabbed Jason’s arm.

‘You’re hot when you’re angry’ you laughed as Jason pulled you in for a kiss.

This moment was when you had even more reassurance, you deserve better after all the hard times and pain you suffered with Chris. And here, right in front of you, he stood.

#red hood #gotham #red hood fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd #red hood x male reader #jason todd x male reader

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manonamora-if · 1 year

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The Roads I Maybe Should Have Taken

The TRNT Post Mortem

Oye oye! As was promised, so it is! The Post Mortem for The Roads Not Taken (which hopefully won't be as long as the actual game...)

Follow me into my journey of once again speed-running my way through a competition, and coming out scratched and bruised and still not learning my lessons!

First, some links:

if you haven't played the game yet, I recommend you do before reading this!

you can find its IFDB page here (if you want to leave a review?)

and the STF version source code here for the code curious!

shortened version of the PostMortem on IntFic

Then, a little Table of Content:

The Idea

The Story

The Implementation

The Reception

The Do-Over?

And finally, we start! (under the break because it will be long - LoL at me writing 1/5th of TRNT as a Post Mortem)

I should preface this Post Mortem with I entered the SpringThing on a whim. I had just come out of a conga line of competitions and game jams since last Summer (log of release/update), and had plans on finishing working on other projects instead of this one (which I probably should have... sorry The Rye in the Dark City for abandoning you...). But I obviously didn't do that because here was another new fresh game! And then another two of those just after... whooops...

The idea for TRNT just popped into my brain one day and would not leave me until I implemented it, no matter what (yes, I am still weak willed, I have not learned my lesson from The Thick Table Tavern, the one about not rushing a project and publishing it at a later date when it is truly ready). I did have that thought in the back of my mind that if I do do this, it would be very likely I would end up with a repeat of TTTT, as in: half-full drink with too much ice, and expired garnish falling from the very pretty fancy glass.

Also I did not start working on the entry until the SeedComp was in its voting round (so around the 4-5th of March?). I really wasn't kidding about the speed-running thing....

Another thing: I had never created a parser game before this point AND suck real time at playing them! This was also indicated in my Author's comment.

Nothing obviously stopped me anyway, because here we are...

1- The Idea

A few weeks before the opening of the SpringThing intent, the French IF community was streaming some older parser entries, including Aisle* and Pick-Up the Phone Booth and Die, two games where the player can only do one action before the game ends. I'd never really experienced this kind of game before (the closest being having a sudden death/continue the story choice). It packed a punch, it was funny, and also so very weird. It left me dissatisfied and super intrigued. I wanted to try and do that too someday. *Funnily, someone on the French IF discord thought DOL-OS had been inspired by Sam Barlow's work (it wasn't, but TRNT def was).

Not, I am not going to be hella pretentious and full of myself by putting TRNT on the same level as those games (because I don't think I did a good enough job to merit a comparison), but the one-action-only gameplay and multiple endings drew me in (I love abrupt endings, cf P-Rix). I've mainly written longer form of IF rather than short bites, and I thought it would be fun to try to constrict myself as much as possible, by having just one thing, one action, one outcome.

And also: parsers. I had only dabbled with the Choice-Based/Hyperlink format, so I thought it was time to try the last unexplored part of my IF journey: parsers. Since the SpringThing Festival is a nice place to experiment, I thought why not try to make one then! I could not have survived the anxiety of the IFComp reviews for that one...

Still, it was not going to be without a challenge. I had very little experience with parsers, and I honestly didn't think I could learn how to use a parser program in such short amount of time*, when I had a lot of other stuff at the same time. So I thought, why not make it in Twine**, at least I know this program inside-and-out(almost). There would not be a steep learning curve there... What could go wrong? *lol at me, having made an Adventuron game in a non supported language in about 2 weeks after that, without ever having tried the program beforehand. I could totes have managed!! **Also, when I got set with Twine, I realised how fun it would be to maybe put people's expectations upside down by doing something you're not supposed to with Twine... or parsers!

Well, it was going right at first...

2- The Story

I really wanted to recreate the same gameplay of Aisle with its only-one-action-and-it's-over, so I started listing possible actions and put them into a context where this choice of action would mean everything for the PC - because it is the only action you have. Which might not have been a good take? Aisle works because the setting is incredible mundane, and there are no stakes.

The context pretty quickly drew itself as the player will chose a profession/career path, and if they do/choose something wrong, then...😬too bad for them, they made their choice, deal with the consequences. While, in reality, we are not stuck in a life because of one choice, but with a myriad of them (and still we can change this trajectory), it's still a big pressure you get as a youth, having to choose where to go and what to do when you are done with highschool, and what path to take. It's a lot of responsibility that sometimes feels like it will affect/haunt the rest of your life. Do I still have some of that school/parental pressure from when I had to make that choice ingrained somewhere inside? probably...

But the more foolish idea was to let my brain continue to think more about that context and create a world and story further than the choice. Instead of going forward with the consequences and the hints of what could have happened or just let the choice being the centre piece, the brain just went backwards and created a society (some sort of futuristic one) and vaguely described beings (that are not humans), and the ritualistic culture of this society, etc... While it was fun to think about all of those, and maybe provided a fun setting and enticing story for the player to go through the game, there might have been a bit too much of it. I think, in hindsight, this may have devalued the choice itself (which became even more watered down when I continued on writing the first screens).

And so, the job choice soon became the player is going through some sort of ritual (v trope-y) to determine their place in society. If it has a vibe of The Giver, it shouldn't be too surprising, the book is on my shelf.

So we still have the one-choice-to-rule-them-all, but now there is a also backstory and setting... and I have to include it somewhoeeven if it means cramming it somewhere, anywhere.

Oh wait, I thought, I'll just make it like a prologue to build anticipation for the choice!

And so the brain went on zooming again to create the waiting room, and the agonising walk in the corridor, and the finding your way to the altar, before you cant finally make your choice..... only to end up with two(-ish) paragraphs for each endings. wow - what a good balanced game this is becoming...

Speaking of endings, I had originally listed over 50 actions, each planned to have a different ending.... only to end up with about 11, 7 of those were actually related to the final countdown choice. It made me sadder than when I cut onions :(

It wasn't just the player that needed to make...

At this point, we were two weeks away from the deadline. I had the backbone of the code (-ish), a good third of the writing wasn't complete (and this was mainly those 11 endings), and no one had tested the game yet. There was no way I could have included all 50 original options if I wanted to make the deadline. might have been good in hindsight to remove those choices, especially with the current command system.

So choices had to be made and a buttload of planned things had to be cut. I narrowly managed to finish the needed endings in time (which required re-writing some of those into a fake choice), at least.

At the end, I strayed quite a bit from the Aisle concept of a mini intro - one action - an ending puzzle-y feel (and making the player piece the story together from the endings), to arrive at... well... this anxiously geolian walk to one's doom (or dream). Making the story quite... well... linear.

And from going somewhat wrong, it went a little wrong-er...

3- The Implementation

Wanting to avoid the headache of learning a new program, I had settled on Twine pretty much from the start (SugarCube, because that's how I've been rolling for the past almost 2 years!).

The big problématiques of this project were:

Twine is not a parser program (duh)

SugarCube has its limitations still (and macros that don't always work the way you want to)

I had never written a parser game before and suck at playing them (thank you, French IF streams that helps me enjoy them without experiencing the frustration of not finding the right combo!)

I still suck at JavaScript/jQuery to do weird things with the page (and probably fix all those issues)

and well did I already say Twine is not a parser program?

So I tried to get to the basic of parsers (an input box and text revealing itself onto the page when a command is entered) and prayed for the best. Easy, right?

WRONG!

SugarCube has an input box, but can only autofocus* inside one specific place (so you can't lock it somewhere else but the passage itself, which means you need to add it to every screen...) and when the passage is first loaded (doesn't work if the input box is added later on). *I have also hurt some kitten by overusing autofocus, which was only compensated by offering the the SugarCube God some bug reports about it so those issues could be fixed for the next update (TBA). But you really are not supposed to use autofocus as much as I did... 😬

SugarCube has an input box, but you can only move to another passage after you press Enter. So you can't have some fancy input checks, and you stay on the same page... without some custom listener macro* that is (Bless you Maliface and your Listen Macro) - or I guess some JavaScript code, but who has time for that... I had included a button as an alternative to confirm the commands (which was how I had coded it for DOL-OS), but it would have made the parser experience much worse if using Enter would not have loaded a response (this was a criticism from DOL-OS, which now that I know how to fix, I really should do so...). *at least until the next Sugarcube update which will include a listener.

SugarCube has an input box, but doesn't have a bank of commands, or set object indicator (like with the parsers). While you can technically separate the inputed words with some JavaScript**, whether you do so or not will end with the same amount of spaghetti code at the end, with the different conditional statements for each actions on each screen to show the correct text bits (mine amounted to almost 600 lines of code for 7 screens... without included the printed text! -> see the source code). Now that I've messed around with Adventuron, I can see how easy it is to make a parser game (set up commands and rooms and interactive object), when you have a bank of built-in commands and not have to worry about how to add the new text on the screen. Twine really added a new layer of complexity to this.... Was there a better way of doing this? probably, but don't look at me to find it. *this was how the name chosenname command came to be, and how it only printed the chosen name on the following screens. That and the autofocus being messy...

SugarCube can add text bits to a page, but unlike parser programs, it won't automatically scroll down to the bottom of the page, or at least to the added element. Adding a scroll down to the bottom or scroll up to the page was not too hard (I had some leftover js code), but it was not the solution: the UI is mobile/tablet accessible (smaller screens), which means scrolling to the bottom would make those players having to manually scroll back up (and I am usually quite verbose in my writing). So very much EH.... NOT GREAT! After quite a lot of testing, broken pieces of code, way too much swearing, and re-doing the base of the UI, I did manage to find a solution.... a month into the review/voting period.

But even with those limitations, I pushed through. I knew it was possible to make it work, so I either tried to find work arounds (and gave up the scrolling, at least until the deadline), and pushed through, banging my head against my desk because of what was achievable...

LIKE BUILDING A WHOLE COMMANDS SYSTEM...

Wanting to make things easy for myself (and the players), I thought maybe removing all verbs would make it easier to go through the game, even when having to interact with objects or people around. Enter the bolded word* from the text as the input, press enter, and read the new text! *It was important for me to have some sort of "easy" mode where the interactive things were obvious to the player, coming from a scene where parsers are not the norm/favoured.

Simple right?

This idea... stopped working as soon as I introduced physical actions (sit, stand, jump, etc...), directional actions (the story might be linear but it still has multiple rooms), but most importantly as soon as I wrote flavour texts for one same object. Even if I could get away with removing X/LOOK/EXAMINE*, adding verbs at the end was a necessity (I didn't want to see all the already written variation go to waste...). *I did include look in the code, but mistakenly didn't think about its synonym <- shows the no-knowledge of parser, and not having a bank of commands built-in.

So verbs were added, and then some of its synonyms (but evidently not the most important ones 😬), and then some prepositions just in case, and noun synonyms with adjectives because of how it is described in the text, and then.... so on and so forth. And because of how SugarCube is set, I ended up with lines like this at the end:

<<if ["initiate", "look initiate", "look at initiate", "remember initiate", "initiates", "look initiates", "look at initiates", "remember initiates", "recall initiate", "recall initiates"].contains(_cmd)>>

(and this is not even a correct or complete command list, since it is missing EXAMINE and X)

Et rebelotte for all the interactive words on the page, as well as the added variations requiring another set other verbs. There's not really a verb/noun aliases list to help...

BUT WAIT

Because I always like to make it difficult for myself and not think of the amount of work my ideas/plan will require, I had to make some bits of text appear only once (even if some commands could be used more than once on that page) OR removing the player's ability to make a different action when they do a specific one AND have some bits of text only appear after a command has been used on that page. Pushing the player through extra invisible gates on top of the different rooms. I could have made it easier on myself to break scenes further than I had already done, but nooooooo

And I did this not just once. BUT THREE TIME! When the player is called to get in line, in the corridor, and just before the big doors.

I could have fed myself for a whole week with the spaghetti that came out of my code.

But Manon, I can hear the little devil on my shoulder say, Why all the whining and excuses? You could have stopped if it turned out to be a bad idea, especially if you couldn't implement it properly. Why not have made the story in something else than a parser?

Well...

because Time (wa)s running out and I wasn't going to let all this hard work go to waste by changing everything up at the last minute (it could have worked/been easier, that's true)

because it was still a fun puzzle to solve, even if frustrating most of the time,

because you learn more when you fail than when you win

I'm not a quitter :P (hiding my too many WIPs waiting for me....)

Even if I doubted myself with finishing the game on time, I still pushed myself to cross the finish line, since I knew I would not have finished the project otherwise. Thought it could have been fun to get the 12 angry men passing judgement on my Twine monstrosity making a mockery of parsers had I submitted it to the very serious ParserComp instead. /jk lovingly

So after some "extensive" testing (rushed in the last week, because I am a nightmare to people, sorry @groggydog and @lapinlunairegames for making you go through this, but also thank you for your help!!), I made it to the end!

Well... barely. Ended up with a few bug fixes update along the way.

4- The Reception

(it was like that in my heart)

Like TTTT, this was not explosion of praise and accolades. And I fully expected it. You can't make experiments omelettes without cracking a few programs/rules eggs. At least my omelette didn't have too many eggshells :P

Looking at the numbers, at the time of writing this posts, TRNT is currently sitting at 5 stars (4 ratings) on itch, and 3-1/2 stars on IFDB (2 ratings)*, with 4 reviews on the Forum (bellow the median/average this festival). None of the ratings game with reviews/comments. *When some of the reviews will be moved to the IFDB, I do expect this average to get lower. The itch one is nice (really happy 4 peeps loved it!), but most people only rate when they didn't like it or when they loved it.

As for the feedbacks gotten, they came from a few sources: the people who playtested TRNT, dms on Tumblr and the Forum, the Twine server, and the awaited reviews on the Forum.

Overall, the people who liked the game really enjoyed themselves, from the writing and the worldbuilding being intriguing, or how pretty the UI was. Even with the issues raised during the festival, quite a lot of people (who sent me comments) thought the experiment was either a success, something really cool, or impressive considering the limitations (of the festival and/or of the program). Even in the more critical comments, this experiment was seen as an interesting one to be commended (with a bit of a why did you bother... sprinkled in there). Someone told me TRNT reminded them of the Divergent series (and fair comparison, considering the whole ritual to put you in one job for the rest of your life).

The most surprising thing was that people who never played parser before (or didn't really liked them) found the game entertaining and fun to go through, managing to get to the end without too many issues; while the reviewers with more experience in the genre had a bit more restraints due to the command system I put in place.

Whether my giddiness about verbose writing was to the liking of the player or not, I was honestly happy comments about my grammar didn't make much of an appearance this time around (yay, progress!), and that I would get kudos for the vague story behind the experiment itself, and the structure of the story itself.

But this doesn't mean that it was all sunshine and rainbow here. TRNT had some obvious issues, which should have been squashed during the testing phase had this one been longer (yet again, me speed-running through comps when I should take my time... when will I learn...). There were two main ones: the commands and the UI.

The biggest issue came from the commands, being either unclear or confusing, especially when it came to the cardinal direction, the choice of synonym for the actions, or special actions like the name input. Even if you could go along the story with just a noun or press C until you reached the end, missing important verb commands did not help the game feel complete (EXAMINE/GET/the shortcuts). This is where having some Parser knowledge/experience would have come handy, he.... As for the cardinal directions, it was probably most confusing because I used them as synonyms for forward/back/left/right instead of N/S/W/E (that and it wasn't clear where you were able to go in the text either). Quite a few players were also getting stuck in the corridor (after you come to a stop, you hear some thing up front and your choices are to move to the side/jump or stand still). Special actions like the name input or the final choice were felt a bit off/broke immersion. Party due to the way SugarCube is, partly due to how I organised the game. Having a simple input where the player is asked for their name before the game start and have a say name command, might have worked better there. That and a better hinting system. Fix for those TBD.

Closely followed was the UI being annoying (which ;-; bc I pride myself on creating good UI, but it was fair critique), from the scrolling being an absolute ass, to the confusing bolding of the start of passages being the same as the interactive words (if you didn't change the colour in the settings), to the back/replay last choice command on the END screen not going to the right spot, or the responses of computing an inputted command not appearing/being confusing (in relation to the scrolling), some quirks with the UI being wonky for some screen sizes, etc... Thankfully, all those have been fixed.... but too late for the reviews already published. A quick revamp of the UI base + solving the scrolling issue + slight reformatting of the printed new text bits solved if not all of those issues. Still... too little too late... That's what you get for making a UI in a large screen and only checking different width but not different heights....

A SIDENOTE ON WHY PARSER AND NOT HYPERTEXT

Or me going a bit on a rant. Scroll down to pt 5- The Do-Over to resume coherent levelled conversation.

Still, making a parser a Twine was a CHOICETM, which didn't work for everybody. I don't know if it was because the game was put forth as a Twine game before being a parser, or because the story was maybe a bit too linear/not very interactive compared to other parsers, or because I set out to make a parser before thinking of a story and it showed for some, (or probably because the parser system was not very well implemented) but I did have a few commenters wondering if my choice of making it a parser was the correct one, as in why would you use parser when hyperlinks would have probably worked better?

Maybe a cop-out answer would be Why not. Why not try to break the rules and the codes of what is a Twine game or what is a parser? Why not push Twine to where it is probably not supposed to go (sorry, TME)? Why not blur the lines of the divides between the subgenres of IF? I wrote some part while having a bit of a fever, and my notes had Why not make parsers less puzzle-y/more linear choice-based like? and oh boi is it good to re-read yourself... Cause yiekes what a load of BS.

The other part of the answer is Because experimenting and doing weird thing is fun! Doing weird thing, writing bad code that should probably not work but it does, putting the program on a lifeline, making up stories that are nonsensical, etc... and breaking people's mind in the process with what could be done. Also it was just fun to find out whether it was just possible to do it at all. The rush of happiness when you the puzzle is solved is so incredibly gratifying. It was really fun to try something different (for me but also for what Twine can generally do), to solve a puzzle of mashing two things that don't/shouldn't go together, to find what makes them tick and make it all work, and to challenge myself to do something new (did I mention before it was my fist time making a parser?). AND, having fun creating! And the SpringThing has always been a beacon to promote experimentation with the genre and more out there stuff. So it's was kind of like the stars aligned or something :P

Also Because it was possible!That one is pretty self-explanatory...

Maybe a bit more presumptuous of me: Because experimenting keeps Interactive Fiction fresh and exciting! I'm not trying to set a trend or anything here (honestly, it's not too strange, TRNT's weirdness kind of follows my previous work with TTTT and its mixology element, or DOL-OS with it computer interphase), but isn't fun to see what else can be done in IF, or what new area can be explored now that funky stuff has been tried, or what else should probably not be done (hopefully this doesn't apply to TRNT lol, I think it should be fun to have more parser in Twine). Even if my entry was not really a novel idea even in the gameplay (exhibit A, exhibit B, exhibit C), I still think there should be more weird stuff out there, so I contribute to that where/when I can! It'd be sad if IF became same-y and stale... It'd be fun if someone did something like this because they played TRNT and thought it was neat :P

And Because it didn't fit with my original vision of the game. Even if the game changed quite a lot along the way, the parser element was something I would not compromise with, no matter how good or bad the final product was. Sorry TME for the kittens lost in the autofocus of the textboxes...

I did wonder for a while how many people opened the settings at all 🤔

5- The Do-Over?

Ha.

Haha.

Hahaha.

No.

Honestly... If I was going back to the start, I don't think I would change anything. Even if the length of the testing was more than minimal (still haven't learned my lesson), even if I rushed into the competition (again, not learned my lesson), even if I made errors along the way (well, maybe fixing the UI earlier instead) or let the story stray that much away from the original idea (honestly it was probably for the best that it ended not being too close to Aisle at the end, I might have gotten eviscerated in the reviews). It did what it was supposed to do, and checked all the boxes from what I wanted to try. At the end, to me, it was a complete (and stressful success).

Will there be some changes in the future?

Just a bit, at some point, TBD and TBA. Just to fix the commands a bit, maybe rearrange some passages, add a bit more variation/hidden codex entries, maybe even a new ending or two! But it wouldn't go further than that. TRNT was an experiment through and throuh.

==================== THE END ====================

Anyway, my weird hybrid beast of a parser in Twine and I are done rambling about my awesome show of tricks that may or may not have landed badly and with a broken skateboard. We will go collect our ribbons, now!

Make IF weird, Do word crimes, Have fun

I do wonder if me submitting the game in the Main Garden rather than at the Back Garden played into the expectations of the reviewers, since the BG is meant for more experimental IF. But in the same vein, there was the Kuolema running on a Google Form and people flocked to it so 🤷 It's probably the quality that made things the way it is whooooops :P

#postmortem #trnt #the roads not taken #I have once written too much #and wrote a lot of this under the influence of insomnia #I did win a special accolade: McGruber Honorarium #interactive fiction

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headingalaxys-spicy · 2 years

Note

Can i req scenario yandere russia and canada finding out their darling is a hitman and what they do next? (they are human and already in relationship with their darling)

This one is Gender Neutral

The both of them as Yanderes have vowed to protect you, even if it means you’ve done something wrong they’ve taken the silent vow to clean said mess up and deal with you somewhat gently later. Depends on the severity, intention, and the outcome of what you did will determine how and if they’ll punish you. Since you’re a human they acknowledge and know they can’t use full force on you if they want to keep you alive. So the way they handle you is still very much with kid-gloves. If you were a country their reactions would be way more harsh but since the darling in this case is a hitman you’re also a force to be reckoned with.

Anyways on to the fun stuff.

🍁🇨🇦Canada 🇨🇦🍁

Matthew drummed his fingers on his maplewood desk. He shunned the light from his office for at the moment it irritated him. Conflicted, he wanted to cry. He wanted to shout at the heavens

‘How could you?’

He still wanted to embrace that sweet face of yours and kiss your forehead gently.

But for now all he wanted to do was interrogate you.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Are you planning to hurt me?’ Thoughts of betrayal flooded his mind. ‘It’s definitely their fault that my poor maple has gone astray. There had to have been some warning signs that they were in trouble.’

He searched for a plausible explanation in his mind. The memories of you whenever your eyes lit up wherever you told a lie, you were holding back a secret, or nothing but pure honesty flowed from you. Dark glints danced in your eyes when you lied, gray gleams meant that there was something you were holding from him, and when your eye color brimmed over with translucent stars then he knew there was no more interrogation he needed to do.

He hoped only for your honesty. If you answered in ways that hurt his heart there are decisions that he’d rather not make. As a major drug kingpin he would have to make an example out of you. You may hate him for a while then you won’t since he’ll have to modify your brain in order to keep you around.

He bites his lower lip grimacing at the damning evidence that you were indeed involved with the rival gang. You had derailed several different operations by getting rid of some of his key men.

‘How in the hell did this slip under my nose!’ He proceeded to light a cigar to ease his nerves. The ignited ash flew onto some of his desk and stained the report that was given to him by one of his special investigative men.

A sudden commotion came bursting through the front doors. Your struggling and voice cursing out your captors brought Matthew back down to earth. He takes a prolonged drag of his cigar and snuffs it out in his ashtray. He grabs his hockey stick and his grouchy polar bear follows along as he leaves the room and down to the foyer from there he could see his lover's face coated in sweat and had a few bruises. The sight of you being injured at all angered him. A match had touched the TNT stick that was buried deep within his being. He’d punish the men who’d caught you later.

“Tie them to a chair. Also a lot of you are in deep shit for bringing them back like this.” Gesturing to the numerous bruises and scratches you had on you. No one dared talk back. They all simply nodded.

Your heart sank into quicksand as the only thing you could do was look at his military style boots that covered his calves.

“Y/N….” You heard his husky voice call out to you like a blizzard ready to freeze your soul and drag you to the icy depths of the afterlife.

Your ears perked up at the sound of his voice and yet you still did not dare to raise your eyes to meet his commanding gaze. It was like seeing a whole new side to your Canadian lover.

You weren’t aware of how deep his involvement was with the mafia. You thought maybe it was something he did on the side just to be rebellious against his wealthy family. But to find out it was far more serious than that…..

“Y/N. I’m going to need you to be honest with me. I’m going to give you only two chances. Tell me the truth about your involvement with the Montreal Marauders. How long have you been planning to take me down?” Not wanting to give you a chance to spin a web right in front of him.

He really just wanted to see those translucent stars.

“Think carefully about what you’re going to say, because you may die today.” Not the entire truth but close to it. His hockey stick is poised to strike you. The flow of time seemed to flow differently. The clock's loud ticking made you aware of the leisurely passing seconds. It began its countdown to your probable end.

Shaken but not scared, you summon your strength to speak the blunt words he was looking for. You desired to not meet the end of a hockey stick or the tip of a bullet.

“I didn’t know you were in charge of the Red Raiders, Mathew. My gang has been trying to take over the West side of Ontario for a little while now. We recently got a new line of deals. And yes, before you ask I’m one of their top 10 hitmen they contact whenever there is a job that they need to be done….” You pause to let your eyes trail up to the blank expression of Matthew. His lavender eyes conveyed nothing. That was the first you’d ever seen him in this state. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up at full attention. There was a super charged tension in the room that made everyone bite their lower lip, grip their gun, or stare at the two lovers intertwined in an intense quarrel.

“Go on Y/N. I’m listening.” Sounding far more agitated than he intended. It prompted you to continue with the worst of your offenses.

“I’m also responsible for taking out one of your underbosses, a few advisors, and associates since we’ve been dating. Those are the worst of my crimes against your gang.” You confess immediately. A few of his men were itching to pull the trigger at your blatant confession.

“I have no need for you right now, gunman please leave. I have private matters to attend to right now.”

“But, Sir the-” One of his men tries to angrily protest.

Canada’s instant snap of his head towards his objecting henchman with a frigid glare.

“Last I checked you’re a henchman unless you want to be a deadman. You’d leave now.”

No one else spoke after that they all hurried to exit the room to let the Canadian mob boss do as he will. He lets out a long sigh and wanders closer over to you and his gloved hand reaches for your chin. His breathing was labored. His lilac eyes burned into your (eye color) irises. He was going to perform the ultimate litmus test.

“Do you love me Y/N?” He hovers over your lips. He just wants you to tell him that what you’ve been doing was nothing more than some horrible mistake.

An awful nightmare.

Your eyes glittered over with a snowlike stardust that he admired whenever he saw it. It meant that whatever you were about to speak into existence, was going to be genuine and pure like fresh mountain water.

“Of course I do Matthew Williams.” The words hit his parched soul like it’s been trapped in the desert for decades. He closes the distance between your lips. The relief sets in like an ice pack for a hefty bruise. After a few moments he breaks the kiss to release you from your restraints.

“Well we do have to fake your death and create you a new identity now. I don’t want the Montreal Marauders to be after you. Also I’m banning you from ever working in a gang. Even mine. It’s too dangerous and I’m not going to allow it.” He grabs your waist and brings his lips close to your ears.

“Let’s not keep secrets . We’ve got a lot of talking to do. And even though I’d never let you be in my gang I’m definitely down to see your skills in action eh? Let’s go to a gun range.”

You have to fake your own death. Which in turn made it easier for Matthew to gain control of the West side of Ontario and quelled any current rebellion between the gangs. Your supposed “death” was shocking enough to a lot of gangs to keep trouble away for a few years because of how brutally your murder was depicted. The Red Raiders would rule for a while and you while no longer being able to work in any mafia anymore Matthew at least took you shooting once a week. He didn’t mind his partner being able to hold their own.

👻🇷🇺 Russia 🇷🇺 👻

He poured himself another round of vodka. He let out a prolonged sigh that was accompanied with a string of curses in Russian. All involving why was he fated this way? Who in hell could have poisoned your mind to be in Tobolsk Terrors? At the same time he was impressed that he’s been sleeping with the enemy for almost a year, without him being aware.

Ivan was aware of your involvement with taking out one of his underbosses and a prominent line of consigliere. The evidence was now beginning to add up as to why the one of the white gloves he got you for Christmas was found at one of the scenes.

‘Maybe someone has commissioned the same designer for similar ones. No way can it be Y/N’s’ Not really wanting to believe that you could be capable of such things. Not his sunflower.

‘I keep Y/N safe. No way are they involved with a gang!’ Especially not that of one that has been meddling in his affairs. He greedily gulps down another round of the clear liquid and he begins to pace his study with the 850 ml bottle and glass in hand. He was trying to convince himself that this wasn’t really happening and that his lover wasn’t a trader. They couldn’t be.

His mind was able to wander the better possibilities of things actually turning out alright. That the report on his desk was falsified in some way and that maybe one of his own men was plotting in some way to get you away from him. After all you were one of the only humans in history to make his heart hum in harmony with his and that felt nice… it felt amazing in fact. He couldn’t lose that.

‘Ivan, you know it’s okay right? That you can actually be honest and talk to me. After all we are ‘one’ right?’ You had reached out to grab his hand that was lonely on the kitchen table. You knew he’d had a long day of listening to useless prattling from other nations about nonsense. There was a development deal in the works for him but got derailed by three of the other superpowers. This was a hefty blow for his people but that’s the other reason why he had to maintain his power in the Moscow Monarch’s. This mafia was known worldwide and one of the most mystifying gangs there were. They spread fear throughout the world.

Ivan bit his lower lip. He had to contemplate on whether or not it was a good idea for you to be clued into the real lifestyles that he was involved in. He was great at being a puppet master and orchestrating battle plans but not so much when it came to keeping his interpersonal life from turmoil.

‘Ivan?’ You try to nudge him more. You really wanted to know the more raw and unfiltered version of your lover that he was extremely keen on keeping away from you.

A few more moments of antsy silence passed before Ivan finally caved. He opened up about his insecurities about not being able to protect you from the bad people of this world.

‘Y/N as you know that I have an important role in the government, da? And that sometimes what I get involved in is dangerous. I….’ He pauses for a few moments to curse in his native tongue. Normally it was a lot easier to tell people the truth. To give it to them straight. But not when that person set their heart ablaze and a swarm of butterflies filled their gut.

A smile graces your face as you let go of Ivan’s hand and grab his pale flustered face.

The moment your hands warmed his face his heart was sent to the airport runway again. Ready for flight.

‘You know I love you, da?’ You say bringing your face close to his as you gently place your lips on his.

Ivan continues to swirl the transparent liquid in his glass as his thoughts are flooded with nothing but you. Just before he was about to pound the double shot of vodka back he began to hear commotion outside. He went out of his villa to investigate. He was somewhat stunned to see that a shootout had broken out.

“What the hell?” His violet eyes went wide when he saw you holding your own against his own men. He had to bite down on his knuckle to consider the type of interesting mess that he’s gotten himself in. You continue to fire your rounds and dodge the returning fire. You had wounded two more men since Ivan had begun watching the chaotic scene unfold before him. A bullet had made its way to the head of one of the associates. He wondered how someone so small and cute could ever have such precision with a gun. Ivan had to be careful not to trip over some of his own men you’d taken out.

‘Such raw power. I could make use of that.’

Ivan grabs the pistol that he always keeps strapped to his right leg and fires three rounds into the air. His men and Y/N ceased fire to see where the extra rounds had been fired from and in awe they all looked at the head mafia boss of the Moscow Matriarch’s. Ivan held up his large bear-like hands signaling for his men to put their guns away. While his lover stared at him wide-eyed with shocked surprise.

“I take situation from here, men. I’ll deal with my unruly lover.” He signals for them to all take their leave.

He approached you in all your blood soaked glory. Your face had a few splatters of blood on it from one of your earlier killings. You really were perfect for him. He liked the fact that you had crazy wild secrets that he can likely exploit so he can keep you close to him. He wanted to interrogate you all night. He did need to know your true intentions of being with him.

Can he persuade you? After all, you did have useful enemy info.

‘Do they actually love me? Do they actually love me? Do they actually love me?’ Echoed throughout his troubled mind. He would never admit outward that the thought of you not being with him makes his heart ache. ‘Will I have to torture Y/N? How bad will it have to be in order for me to get to the truth? Maybe start with gentle torture and then move to harsher if the lighter punishments fail? But what if they die in the process? Is it possible to-’

“Ivan, are you okay?” This statement brought him back from the ocean of turbulence that engulfed all of his thoughts. Speaking felt thousands of times more difficult. You felt like you were finally meeting who lived in the eye of the snowstorm. It was Ivan with a fragile glass heart that was guarded by impenetrable iron. Your nose caught onto a deep whiff of vodka and knew he was downing it by the glass.

“Upset, yes. But, I’m wildly impressed. We do have a lot of information we have to disclose to each other. And depending on how you answer… will determine what I’ll do next but if you refuse to be one with me entirely and end your involvement with the Tobolsk Terrors. I assure you you’re not going to like what’s going to happen next.” His lavender eyes trail down to meet your (eye color) orbs. He is caught off guard when he sees they have a glint of mischief within them.

Your hands still have some blood and sweat from the shoot out on them. They reach out to his cold face that has been enveloped by the chilly nighttime air. They take away the chill. The warmth of your clammy hands ignited the flames in his fluttering heart. You reach onto your tiptoes and place your lips gently on the side of his neck.

“Yes, I’ll be one with you….”

Ivan’s eyes are wide and his face is flushed.

“But don’t you have to give me an initiation night first?”

You end up joining the Moscow Monarch’s and help Ivan in securing other big trade deals with other prominent drug lords internationally. You end up being a power couple that no one (unless they’re just as powerful or more so) would want to fuck with. Unless they’re A. Stupid B. Suicidal as all hell C. Overly Cocky D. All of the previously stated reasons. You’re Ivan’s sole confidant that he trusts completely and he treasures that. He loves that you’re insanely great at being a hitman and knowing how to cover your tracks. As for the Tobolsk Terrors …lets just say you and Ivan both had a field day taking that specific gang down to the ground and left plenty of warning messages to the other gangs who think they might want to start trouble with you later.

#hetalia #hetalia fandom #hws canada #hws russia #yandere hetalia #yandere hetalia x reader #yandere #yandere russia #yandere canada #hws #headingalaxys writes stuff #headingalaxys spicy #hetalia mafia au #answered #matthew williams #ivan braginski

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blankdblank · 2 years

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Battle Ravens

@devilishminx328, @lilith15000, @jesevans, @theincaprincess, @gothams-gotchya, @i-will-bite-you

added the couple people who asked to be tagged, and as always if you want to be added or removed from a tag list let me know. :) Now here’s some grumpy pining Dwarf King for you.

…

“Oh for Mahal’s sake how did I choose the most stubborn rock on this entire damn continent.” The muttered words through grit teeth had Balin, who was pretending to not be awakened by the noise of rock being scraped once again as you sat up on watch, in a fight to not laugh.

For three weeks now since Thorin mid skirmish with some goblins had lost a hidden pouch with beads apparently very special to him on the end of a braid severed by a gnarled and blackened blade you stole time on this task. Hours he and his kin spent searching for it as he chose to make camp there for that task and to rest you and his cousin Dwalin who had taken injuries to your left side at the sudden attack that knocked you both off your ponies that also needed time to be calmed.

But the nephews of said mournfully grumpy King who couldn’t seem to look your way since, unless to issue an order of watch times or ensure you had your helping of food each meal to go with the dry spots if any that could be found in this rainy leg of the Journey, had shared a secret with you. Or at least a fact he was not boastful of.

Not three days later a small stumble had led to five of the Company rolling down a rocky hill sending the King to help secure them after. A task that had broken another relic from his old home, a blade forged by his grandmother now without a hilt. A lost relic you couldn’t recall the design of so you were free styling and intended to fashion a new hilt to the blade he had tossed into a heap of rocks out of frustration at the fact of yet another loss.

“Ha!” You were heard saying by the now also awakened Bofur, who buried his face in his arms to not be heard chuckling at the back end of the battle when the Valar Mahal apparently had heard your battle himself and found it honorably intended and let the rock give way to your effort. Now you just had to secure the two decorative flower pins you had managed to make while on a helpfully lengthy market stop a few weeks back in the Smith stall after some very effective begging and puppy dog eyes to go with a silver coin that most likely would have done the trick anyways sans the amusement for the Smith.

“My watch,” Bifur said with a grin as he saw you tie up the spare blanket you had bought at that stall to wrap around the hidden blade he had a guess what you might be up to with the old thing. “You know your bearings, even in the dark?” Another few silver coins had gained another leg of this plan and with a nod and swap of funds he saw you ease off the rocky ledge you had been sitting on to creep out of camp to achieve your main goal.

Two taps on the nose when pokes to the armored chest plate and arm braces didn’t do the trick later and the grumpy King opened his eyes to land upon you. Behind you however were the smiling Company grouped up making him ask, “No one is missing I am assuming it is a stranger then who has died.”

“It’s your birthday grumpykins. Come on, got a special breakfast for you.”

As he sat up he sighed and groaned out at the move of a bruised arm and side still left from the rescue on that rock slide, “Oh yes, boiled oats and a slice of dried salted ham, mighty meal to be woken early for. Now, who is dead?”

“Ugh,” you said and turned to show off a wooden crate Fili and Kili had uncovered for you with wide grins of their own. “We got eggs, sausage and I managed to haggle some flour and other fixings to make pancakes, not very much so very small pancakes so everyone gets some. And bacon, again, not much bacon, so just a cube each, but bacon.”

“How did you afford this?” He asked at a loss for how else to take such a bold gesture for him out of the bunch.

“Traded one of my ruby mirrors,” you said and he let out a puff of air in shock as you had shared those were very special to you as a first big price item you’d bought after your first job. “I have two left, biggest one also landed some sugar cubes for the ponies, so they get to party too. Now, gifts!”

You stood and his eyes followed you in Bombur’s move to ready the food out of eagerness with Oin right at his side to not waste any of it. “Our kin do not celebrate birthdays.”

“Well you’re celebrating this one.” You said and he had to let out a chuckle. Resituating his legs to accept the first of the hand carved tokens from each of his proud kin who wished to help make this day special. Not just for the King but for the one who wanted him to have a great day even if there was a deluge outside the spacious onion shaped tent you had brought with you complete with stove, chimney and outer tarp large enough for the ponies to stay dry as well.

You were at the end of the line and he could only grin in accepting the rolled blanket he had clearly seen you not use since bartering quite admirably down the outrageous price to something more tolerable. He had loaned his out several nights since leaving the Shire, but he had to wonder as to why you waited for now to gift it to him if he was the intended user. “A blanket, very useful.”

“To hide the real gift, yes.” You said and his brows opened as you unrolled it to make his jaw drop at seeing the blade he had angrily thrown then tried to return and find now with a new hilt in a material he couldn’t quite place. “Now that is the most stubborn rock on the continent, should not ever so much as dare to break.” Weakly in disbelief he let out a chuckle and took hold of the rocky grip that was a bit big in his palm. “Sized it to Balin’s hand, might be a bit big, but the acorn pommel came out just right to counterbalance the look. Couldn’t remember how it looked before, so just went square with some little angry battle ravens.”

He chuckled again whispering as he turned it over to see the lines of birds carved into each side around the touching flower pins he knew must have taken care and patience to wedge through to such perfection even if it wasn’t exactly fit to his palm. But some shaving of the corners and it would do nicely to not harm the birds. “Battle ravens.”

“See that ones got an axe.” You said with a grin and a point to one in particular.

“Thank you, I was quite heartbroken to see it was gone when I returned for it. I do not recognize this rock though, where did you find it?”

“It was in the wagon the goblins had. Everyone was going to leave the rocks behind, but they stole them so have to be useful for something. Might make a dagger or two for myself if I am up for a good month of nightly battle again.

“A month?” He asked in disbelief.

“Hardest rock ever, took three weeks to drill the hole to fit to the end of your blade.”

“Hmm.” He said in a pondering hum and then had to chuckle as a lit candle was produced over breakfast for him to make a wish.

All he could wish for was a chance to be yours though. Dwarves held sacred beads they carve upon adulthood for their Ones, beads he lost in that Goblin attack. Thoughtful as this was and a great burst of wind to his sails to cross this stormy pass still not even to the first of Elven lands that lay between him and his homeland it was not a blatant offer of courtship beyond question. A kindness in a rough patch, he kept repeating to himself.

All the same it was the best breakfast he could ask for, though nine miles outside of the rough rainy stretch of land when they reached the next town a removal of your wet hat and hood had smiles and waves mingled with calls of familiarity and excitement you had brought friends with you. Nine miles both ways through rough weather and back again before sunrise to gladly and tirelessly wish him entrance to a new year only muddled things more for what the intentions might be.

...

“Rivendell, let’s go to Rivendell,” you muttered helping to hoist the two wheeled wagon your pony had been pulling you commandeered from the long dead goblins holding not just your rocks but also the bags of the others. The ponies had been led off by Gandalf’s horse supposedly in the night, and now terribly lost on the way to the Misty Mountain hidden Elven refuge every Durin held immense displeasure at being inside the orc infested halls of Moria.

“I had no intention of drawing us here, Young Miss.” the Wizard said lowly as his staff lit the path ahead faintly to hopefully not warn any dark foe of your place here on the treacherous crossing ahead of the kingdom that will take weeks to get to the other side of it.

“Oh you don’t have a lot of intentions about a lot of things.” You muttered again driving your shoulder a bit more into the wagon as Bifur’s foot slipped and it neared sliding backwards at you.

“And just what might that mean?”

Fili chimed up in the start of a few hijinks this week alone that Bilbo carried on sharply only driving the Wizard to huff and furrow his brows in shared irritation of the bad luck of this week. Not two halls later you froze inside a long pillared stretch at the sudden drop of a helmet at your side that turned everyone around as you muttered, “Soon as I look up it’s gonna pounce, maybe if we ignore it, pretend it’s a turtle dropped by a bird.” Internal means to be amused at the notion died in the sudden sea of screeches that had the Company in full sprint.

Durin’s Bane however cut off that sprint and over a helmet your foot moved only to drop into a hole that had you collapse and cause the wagon to tilt and spill across your back and onto the ground around you to let bags and stolen rocks alike spill out. Bloodying your nose and cheek really well in the process on a broken shield left in the dust stained again with the product of the blow.

Another roar and bodies turning had hands clench around weapons in hand as only Bilbo, who was helping you to pull the wagon fumbled a grip to get you up in Fili and Kili’s leap over it to get around and hasten the task to keep fleeing. Just two steps and as belongings were thrown back in the hoisted up wagon the Balrog was within distance for his flaming whip to be useful. Reflex alone was the excuse when the hefty rock in your palms was shouldered and hurled up at the beast’s head. Not to hit it but well earning a gaps to be chomped whole between his jaws before damage could be done.

“He ate my rock!” You squeaked as Kili tossed the final rock back into the wagon to Bilbo’s whole body slam into your side to get you moving again so the brothers could pull the wagon to at least get to the armed rest of the Company and Wizard amongst them who had yet to do much but anger the beast to follow you here.

Low and pained a grunt came from the Balrog causing Gandalf to pause in his attack before he slammed his staff to form a bubble of light to protect the Company as the Balrog exploded into a sea of living flames that raced throughout the kingdom. Lost to a roar of the ocean of flames was your scream in being folded into a tight hug by the brothers that dropped the wagon to try and at least shield you and Bilbo from the flames if possible by their natural Dwarfly ways that had them hardy to many forms of heat, including the odd accidental explosion under the right conditions, like several layers to burn off, as they both had.

Quiet and cold soon washed over the cowering huddled Company all around Gandalf who held the barrier of light still. Though you were the first upon release to speak up and ask even if to yourself, “They explode?! The rocks explode?!”

Thorin however just outside the barrier rose up, releasing Ori from the huddle he formed with Dwalin to save the youngest of the Company at the sight of the brilliant shimmer on the hilt of his reforged blade he dropped to do so. “Gandalf, let loose the bubble.”

“Pardon?” The Wizard asked and moved with Thorin to watch and allow the King to lift his blade by the sharp end so he could see the remnants of the war ravens and acorn pommel exposing pure Mithril underneath the crude dark layer.

“Mithril.” He whispered now recalling tales of crude Mithril chunks his elders had shared of their commonplace appearance used to transport it long distances from this long lost kingdom to other Dwarf lands. Then said louder and to you, “The rocks are pure Mithril.”

“Does Mithril explode?” You asked back shrilly still in shock at the massive blast.

“Only the shell around it. Extreme caution is taken to chisel it free, far from heat of forges or it can cause blasts enough to empty an entire kingdom.”

“Okay, so if we find another of those we just hurl another rock at it. Add that to the battle plan booklet Ori.” You said and he nodded and turned a little bit to find his bag still strapped to his side to bring out his log of the Journey do far.

“For now Lass, let’s fix this gash of yours,” Oin spoke up hurrying to your side with his healing kit he found with haste at the tricking blood still flowing from it.

Now perfectly shaped to his grip Thorin could only grin to himself at the new weight to his gift now worth far more than he’d earned in the decades since being ousted by that dastardly dragon. On top of that you were the one to decide to bring the rocks as well, now a hefty haul atop any goods procured from this venture if this were to succeed.

Rivendell eventually was found and in the month of recuperating two taps to your shoulder had woken you on your birthday, out of the post Balrog shimmering Mithril clump a blade was made just for you by means of the Elven forge, wrapped in a new blanket as well. And through the pain of your bruised and swollen face you smiled in saying, “Battle Ravens,” with the amused King who adored that you were so pleased with his craftsmanship. “This one has a little bow and helmet.”

And he could only beam brighter as now with matching hilts to your unique blades the surplus of Mithril was forged with gems he kept on his person for cases of emergencies in bartering for matching courtship beads. Braided into both of your hair to be displayed both inside and out of this kingdom when you were mended and able to travel again without his concern for any lingering side effects or risk of infection of the facial wound to heal scar free by Lord Elrond’s assurance after he had helped to tend to it upon arrival.

...

“We have the perfect battle plan,” you said lifting up one of the rocks after jolting yourself out of Tauriel’s grip to be between the glaring Kings.

“A rock?” Tauriel asked and Thranduil straightened up recognizing it at once due to his age and kin’s former trade agreement for Mithril from Durin’s kin when Moria was still thriving.

“I am listening.” He said stunning the 700 year old Elleth her adopted older brother Legolas would explain fuller to her later at his own vague remembrance of what it might be.

One break into the floating city by means of a borrowed barge left on the shore for a brief moment and a theft of a giant horn the Elves lacked possession of to be loud enough later and Smaug was on the chase off to the East over growth free hills. Down into the valley below by means of a giant slingshot and his jaws clamped around the rock launched at him off a crude trebuchet decimated in the body to follow.

Silence broke for the town post frenzy of the beast and their own populace could only hear the faint squeak of your loud shout to the Dwarves covering you fully behind a Mithril shelter of shields banded together for cover, “No less terrifying the second time around!” Gaining loud laughter from not just them but the Elves who dared to come and help transport the supplies for the battle plan.

Celebration died as you asked, “Laketown’s closer to Erebor isn’t it?” A collective curse sounded and you all started the sprint off towards the mountain.

Even natural born sprinters the Dwarves soon lost sight of you and the Elves that came close to catching your speedy self. Over the hills and open plane they only could walk right up to the lost peak to find a collection of groaning Men on the frigid ground in varied manners of injury a short distance from the closed front door meaning only one hopeful thing, you had beaten the Men here and sealed them.

“Lass?” Dwalin asked using his axe to tap on the smaller hidden door inside the massive larger set for travelers on foot without wagon, steed, cattle or carriage.

The sliding small door opened to show you with another bloody nose freeing relieved exhales from the tired Company to hear you say, “You’re gonna have to push the door, think I dislocated my shoulder getting the bigger ones shut.”

“There is a crank system on the far wall, Lass,” Gloin said.

“One, never lived here, two, do you know how dark it is in here even with our glowing buddies here?” You said making them chuckle and have them grip the door to get it open with the help of the Elves inside. Except for one who was trying to stem a rather deep gash on the non-dislocated shoulder you spoke of on your stained self they could only chuckle at the mention of not knowing if the various blood stains on you were all yours or not.

Shouts from the Men outside when the gates were sealed again were only answered by their being the ones to bloody the future Queen of Erebor and to flee before justice would be sought for the injury. Even if you were the one to slam them into the ground with very little assistance from the Elves who simply reached you in time to help with the doors. Gloin with hold of the shimmering chunk of Mithril let it down to help his cousins get to lighting the lanterns on the walls.

“Now that’s just terribly managed and inefficient.” Was what you said to break the awe striking group stare at the hoard after the break of time to feed the Company and let you be cleaned and patched up by the convoy of Elves with Thranduil and his son at the helm. They looked to you as you looked up at Gandalf, “What’s the extent of your magic?”

“Pardon me?”

“Could you magic up a few thousand buckets, for example?”

“Yes, I can manifest buckets.”

“Good!” You said and looked at Thorin, “Offered plan b, you said the forge needs to be warmed up, we need to search this monster sea of gold and we can get two Balrogs with one exploding rock.” Instantly he was smiling as you explained what he imagined you might be grasping at, “Gandalf Magic’s us up a sea of buckets and lights the forges with his staff and you all configure a pulley system to the forge. Melt the gold into whatever and you can always melt it back down to coin again later, and we find the arkenstone when the gold is gone and it’ll be so much more efficient.”

Practically vibrating with excitement the Dwarves were up for a new building project in their old home and leapt at the chance to Thorin’s, “Brilliant plan. Gandalf, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“And what of my people! You steal from us then bar is from entrance to this mountain!” The Master of Laketown shouted up at Thorin on the overlook with the Dwarves.

One of the other older Men shouted, “And you stole my Grandfather’s horn!”

Out of the smaller door you hurried to that man with horn in hand he grabbed with one hand then looked at the second hand your speedy self collected to leave a handful of coins in his palm, “And we thank you for your donation to the cause. Your ancestor would be proud of your confidence in us!” The second sentence you said mid race to get back into the door that was slammed and locked again causing the befuddled men around the horse mounted Master and the man now smiling at the payment calming at least his frustration.

“What of the rest of us?! Our people starve while you live in splendorous gold filled halls?!”

He continued to argue as Bard strolled to the smaller door and knocked on it causing you to open the slot a crack he hunched to see through, “What if my barge you tied me up to borrow?” Out of the slot a fat golden raven with a sword tucked underneath its wing all of five pounds had him look at the odd offering. “What is that?”

“Battle raven. We‘ve had some trouble finding the arkenstone in the hoard, had to melt the gold, you can trade this for coin later when we melt it back after the stone is found.” Lowly he chuckled and accepted the bird enabling your arm to draw back in so you could snap the slot shut again and he could turn to head back to the others. He did pause as you slid it open another crack to add, “Sorry about tying you up as well. Barge looked empty. Make a very convincing mast.”

“Apology accepted,” he replied mainly to himself pocketing the statuette in his best pocket so he would be sure not to lose it.

#Thorin x Reader #Thorin #The Company #Durins #Gandalf #The Hobbit #lotr #Pining King #Grumpy King #Happy Birthday #Mithril

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ariwilder · 2 years

Text

It’s not over until the Fat Lady sings | Part VII

Pairing: Penny Haywood x Jacob’s Sibling

Summary: It’s over. It’s your final day at Hogwarts. It’s time to say farewell to your friends and soon enough the start of new adventures.

AN: Yes, the hiatus is over after SO LONG. If only you are curious as to what could have taken me so long, just go ahead and read. All I can say for now, however, is this gif.

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Not today.

You land clumsily on the floor and fall face first. You heave a deep breath and feel the cool breeze over your bruised forehead. The floor is wooden you take notice.

“We live.” You sound more excited than relieved.

The tall man of very dark skin gives you a disapproving look as he offers you his big, callous hand, “you may not believe us, but we are not kidnapping you.” He says dimly.

“You are not doing a very believable job at it,” you mutter under your breath as you stand up and divert your eyes in search of your friend.

If Nicolau heard you or not, you do not care.

Feeling a tap behind your shoulder, you turn to find Penny unscratched for the exception of a few stray golden hairs out of place. It kind of takes your breath away, you are not sure if it’s the intense sense of relief or not.

“You okay?" You feel her cradle your face with one of her hands,“I think I heard you hit yourself when we landed.”

You open your mouth to answer, while you feel a hot liquid make its way down your nose. Now that she mentions it a throbbing headache is starting to thunder your scalp.

“Episkey.”

A hot-cold sensation goes over your forehead in that instant, interrupting the nearing headache altogether. You blink at Penny, and smile at her in gratefulness, only to realise the voice you heard had been a baritone.

*Wait….that couldn’t have been Penny.

A sudden cough makes Penny shriek away from you.

“I hopee you are doing goodje , crianças , Nico,” it is Maria's soft voice smiling over you. From the corner of your eye you witness Nicolau withdraw a rather stout wand into his pocket.

If Maria took notice of your awkward situation, she does not verbalize it. You go over your face with your hand quickly, confirming that all of your features remain unscratched in their right place. On your hand, a smear of red blood. Marvelous.

"Where are we?" It is Penny who asks. You both have been asking this question a lot more than you'd like.

From the looks of it, after a brief inspection of the place since your landing, you notice you are inside an old library. Or at least that's what it looks like to you. Row over row of tall, dusty dark bookshelves cover every wall of the two story tall ceiling room. All filled by equally old and dusty books of all sizes, colors and lengths. In the middle is a rectangle reading table, also made of dark wood, six chairs with red tattered cushions and on the roof, suspended on mid-air, an old wooden enchanted chandelier, which oddly enough, didn't offer much for illumination.

"This is my família biblioteca , heirloom of the familia Oliveira for centuries. We are stayim in minha casa for now, is probably more safe." She says this in a grave tone. It does not suit you well.

“What is going on here and where is Rakepick?” you see Nicolau to your left roll his eyes.

Once again, much to your distress, despite being the creator of the portkey, Patricia Rakepick is nowhere to be found in the near vicinity.

Maria grimaces, "Paty is probably getting o’ Ministério off our backs, they almost got us down there , talvez," she adds the last as after thought before avoiding your eyes with a sigh. Yet, you are not ready to let things go.

“What does that even mean? Are we some sort of fugitives? Why were we in the Amazonas? What is this ministerio and why are we running from them?”

You try your best not to holler at them in anger, but being left out of the loop is making you really anxious. You are clenching your fists so tight they are starting to pale. Nicolau steps between you and Patricia instinctively, Penny puts a hand on your arm.

The more time passes the harder it is becoming for you to trust the whole expedition, and the more you think this is a bad idea. You just can't help but to know.

“ Relaxa Nico , it is time dei know.” Maria pats Nicolaus broad shoulders softly, motherly. He untenses instantly.

“Sit, por favor , it is long,” she signals to the chairs over the table. They look as if they haven’t been dusted for centuries, and perhaps they haven’t.

You make your way to a chair, with Penny behind you, begrudgingly. Over the table, you notice, several pictures both magical and inanimate reside in piles, a map of Brazil and another one of the city (you read the words Rio de Janeiro) with different floating signals. One of the maps even had several floating names over it making their way around the city. You try to gulp but you fail, finding your mouth unusually dry.

In front of you, you watch a clearly shaken Maria Aparecida put two bony hands over the research table, her expression distraught, “Eu nem sei por onde começar, how to explain.” She opens her mouth and closes it again, a visible quiver on her bottom lip.

You wish you could feel sympathetic with her, but you don’t. Not when you have been kept in the dark for so long.

“Let me,” it is Nicolau this time, his face as stoic as every moment you have spent with him, “what you see over here is a map of Brazil and the city of Rio de Janeiro ."

You raise one of your eyebrows at him with a sober stare. Your cheeky ‘don’t you say’ remains hot on your lips because Penny nudges your ribs with the point of her elbow. You owww at her, she purses her lips at you. You hiss a ‘ fine ’ under your breath while Nico pretends not to notice your banter.

"We have been following the trail of a number of unusual disappearances, all of which have been escalating in the recent months since their start more than a year ago." Nico pauses as you see a trace of struggle surface through his impassive face.

You dart your attention between Nico and Maria intrigued. The brief info dump had felt like a joke with a punchline that never quite arrived. You can understand why it would be important to follow the trace of several disappearances but you fail to understand how this could be related to curse breaking or why Rakepick had decided to involve herself in it.

"Do the authorities know any of this? Don't you have a Ministry that attends to these matters?" Penny asks matter-of-factly, she probably feels as bewildered as you.

What would a trio of British wizards be doing in Brazil to help solve an arbitrary disappearing mystery? Sounds pretty random, if they asked you. What could you do that the Brazilian ministry couldn't?

Maria Aparecida interrupts your train of thought with a banshee-like chuckle. You would've laughed after her had you not been feeling as annoyed as you currently feel.

"Ja! O’ministério?” she points one bony finger at Penny while she looks at Nicolau, "O’ministério, menina! Ja-ja-ja-jaaaaaaa!" She hollers in fake laughter only to stop suddenly.

"Dei have known for months, dei were the first notify of the disappearances of dise…of dise…" she heaves for a second breath, perhaps to gather herself, "....crianças!" She motions wildly in the air with her hands, “...childs!”

She had spoken so fast it was hard for you to understand.

"Dei are corrupt! The worst, porcaria ! Dei do not care. Not about childs, not about safety, not about Macumba!" She hits the wooden table with both her hands in feverish anger before muttering unintelligible words under her breath, that might have been portoguese with a swear word or two by the sound of it.

Wait.

"Wait, did you say they are disappearing children?"

A powerful feeling between nausea and bemusement punches your stomach. As a persecuted child yourself, you can't help but feel sympathy–anger. It hadn't occurred to you before, not really, that outside of Britain all other kinds of terrors persecuted other children daily.

"They are disappearing sem-magica children from poor regions of Rio de Janeiro-No maj?” He adds as an afterthought after seeing our confused stares.

“You mean muggleborn? Magical children born from no magical parents?” It is Penny who interjects, you hadn’t heard of the term No-maj before.

“Yes, muggleborn. We have tracked seven so far." Nico’s face is in a deep frown, an expression you hadn’t seen in his face before, and emanated a menacing aura around him.

"But that would be hard to hide, right? How can school age magical children disappear out of thin air and have no one notice? Or–"

You can hear a clear distraught in Penny’s voice, heartbreak even. She is probably having a harder time believing something like that could happen just like that, even on the other side of the world. The thought that something like this could happen to her still school-aged sister probably bothers her more than she would be willing to admit.

“Who say dei were school agee?” Maria’s words impale us into an ominous silence.

The implications give you immediate goosebumps, while bile hits the back of your throat.

"Dei are disappearing childs yet to be register in Castelobruxo . O’ministério does not care because dei are not registered ainda the Brazilian magical census,” You see Maria change her palms into firsts over the table.

“Brazilian muggles do not care because the disappearing children are poor and this is ‘normal’ in Brazilian favelas.” Nico quotes in the air with his fingers.

“We also believe there is enough evidence to suggest this might not only be happening in Rio de Janeiro, but all over Brazil.”

Nico’s words are so grave, neither you or Penny dare to utter a word. Not of disbelief, nor support. The matter at hand is far more horrifying than any worst case scenarios you would’ve come up with.

Maria Aparecida hits the wooden table with fury, “And all O’ministério care about is plan the next International Warlock Convention !” She fumes.

“No cause troubawl Maria,” she hits the table with each of her sentences,” No conspiracy theorie Maria,” pum! , “ noting is wrong , noting is happening in Brazil.” pum! , “ Stop or we fire you! Pffft!” pum! , “Macumba no exist anymore!” Her hair turns wilder with every new pummeling of the table, her eyes set up in a flaring glare. Almond eyes so tight and slant you could barely recognize her irises.

Penny reaches for your robe instinctively. You didn’t know Maria Aparecida, if at all, and she looked ready to cast an unforgivable curse at the minor provocation.

“What is Macumba?” The question slips through your lips unconsciously. The word had shimmered at you since its first mention, for some reason resonated in your recent memory.

“Macumba is a very old kind of ritualistic magic that developed in the early magical communities of the 16th century,” Nico pauses and moistens his lips, “you are foreigners, so you do not know but around that time a massive wave of immigration populated Brazil and sem magica, muggleborn, children were not trained in Castelobruxo. That is no longer the case, but Brazil has a long history of misuse and practice of illegal magic, so we think the disappearances could be related.”

Maria stands up suddenly at this, “No, Nico, we no ‘tink’,” she quotes in the aire, “dei are related, we know.”

The loud pop of an apparition interrupts your conversation, before the heavy front doors of the library open with a screech. The bloodied figure of a woman collapses before you, the first to run to her side being Maria in a rush.

“Paty, querida, what happen?” she puts Rakepick’s head over her lap and uncovers her face from a veil, revealing Patricia Rakepick’s signature red head, blood pouring grotesquely down her eyes.

“They have him, Maria, they have him.” She anguishes, if you didn’t know better you could swear you could hear her sob.

Maria remains silent, her face unusually petrous. Beside her Nico kneels.

“Who do they have?” He grabs her robes quite forcefully with intention to shake her. Such a strong reaction takes you aback. Beside you, you notice Penny rummaging through her bag.

“Who do they have, woman?!” He shakes her for real this time, breaking Maria from the quiet reverie she had immersed into.

“She is hurt, stop it,” you grab Nicolau’s forearm menacingly. He glares at you with a snarl, you make a quiet dash to your wand. You might not be fond of Rakepick right now, but you would not allow a stranger to hurt her.

Rakepick brushes Nicolau’s hands from her robes taciturn but placating before speaking to Maria again, “Santos, I think they have Santos, he… he saved me, we have to go back, you have to go back, check your watch.” she orders Maria.

“Help.” Patricia adds as an afterthought before closing her bloodshot eyes. You grip your wand beside you tightly. These last words, however, are meant for you, that much you know.

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

ah: I have no excuses, or way too many for the reason why I had been on hiatus for so long. But I have decided, I will finally give it a try and finish something for a change. The outline is done. I delayed a bit because of the world cup, but I hope to keep going forward. Looking forward for the ride, and you'd like, your company!

xoxo, everyone,

Lycopene.

You can find me in ao3 too.

#penny haywood #penny haywood x mc #penny haywood x jacob's sibling #hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #jacob's sibling x penny haywood #jacob's sibling #hphm mc #harrypotter

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this-doesnt-endd · 2 years

Text

Not passing the vibe check at the moment

#i cant fall asleep even tho im tired and got sad like outta nowhere #i was just vibing chilling and then i was like #i will never recover from being like a teenage girl and my brain was like so fucking true bestie #lets get horrifically sad and start over analyzing everything about urself from birth to now #so im just having a time #also like this is a completly unrelated topic #but i got coffee 2day and they used oatmilk and i didnt know cause like i didnt ask for it but it had like a weird cinnamon taste #and i had my friend taste it who figured it out and it was whatever cause like i was trying figure out why it had a cereal oatmeal quality #before i figured it out #and like it was fine i drank it had my coffee but it worried me for just a second later cause like it was prolly an accident #but like i have food allergies and it was like damn what would have happened if like hazelnut syrup accidentally got used #and this is a flaw of mine but i go out virtually unprepared if i was to accidentally get something im allergic to #cause theyre easy things for me to avoid and im good abt being like nah if im not sure abt something or like asking #but i realized out of most places coffee is prolly an easier one for that to happen at and it was like oh damn #anyways sorry 2 be dramatic but i am #i just want like 2-3 days rot alone in bed but its summer break which means my mom is home and thats not happening #i also have a few new sudden bruises one that is very dark and like im a simple man somwthing happens and i google why #and fucking google is like lukemia and i know its not but like dont make me anxious but then its like vitamin defeciences #and i have like a few other lik things that ate annoying me that could also be from vitamin defiences and if they are like????#i just got a b12 shot not long ago and they usually make me feel pretty better for a few weeks and this one felt like it did nothing #am i that defiecent? how do i get to not be like is this a problem? can it become one?#and ive been waking up feeling overheated 2 a bloody nose which is odd cause the temp never changes im usually always a lil cold #and the blanket i use is super thin and its only been recently despite me changing nothing #my feet also hurt bad and i still havrnt gotten that referal for a physical therapist which like im not excited to go to at all but also #like damn my feet hurt and my ankle hurts and i swear im on the verge of rolling my ankle at an given moment like almost all the time #and ive broken both of them can they get some slack #and ive ruined my sleep schedual #and i want to scream cause im feeling all mixed up

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peachycoreroo · 3 years

Note

i was thinking, what about boys from haikyuu losing game and taking their anger on their s/o in bed to the point s/o is saying safe word, crying? if that's too much, just make them really angry, hurting s/o with words.

i was thinking about Suna, Kita and maybe Shirabu?

characters: suna rintarou, kita shinsuke, shirabu kenjirou

genre: smut, slight angst, fluff at the end

word count: 1.8k

warnings: fem!reader, angry boys, established relationships, spanking, one (1) face slap, choking, vaginal penetration, oral m!receiving, usage of ‘whore’, ‘bitch’ and ‘slut’, heavy degradation, semi-public sex, pretty harsh words are said, safe word is used

authors note: uuu this is my first darker piece for hq, but it does end in fluff!! i tweaked it so it fits the timeskip, but just a friendly reminder that this is pure fiction, your favs love you and would never hurt you<3 here's a link to my masterlist

pt.2: kuroo tetsurou, oikawa tooru, tsukishima kei

suna rintarou:

it wasn’t often that your boyfriend resorted to pounding the living shit out of you immediately when you had sex, usually opting for teasing you till you couldn’t take it anymore and begged him to fuck you or took the reins in your own hands and rode him till you were both shaking from overstimulation.

this time, was bad though.

the japanese national volleyball team just lost the finale of the olympics, resulting in them only getting the silver medal. no matter how amazing the second-place sounded, it still hit hard to miss the big gold by a hair.

just like how hard suna was currently hitting your ass, as he fucked into you in the empty changing room of the team. you only wanted to check on him when you saw how dejected he looked as he left the field with the team, when the tall brunet just ripped down your clothes and bent you over, fury dancing in his greenish eyes.

you knew how hard rintarou and his teammates worked for this. it was only natural they couldn’t celebrate. losing is still losing, no matter if you’re getting a medal.

“f-fuck, rin, it hurts”, you wailed, tears already streaming down your face from the full-force slaps that were delivered to your sore ass cheeks. being bent over with only the locker in front of you and sunas’ hands on your hips as a leverage to not fall face first on the floor, slowly took a troll on your tired body. it also didn’t help that your legs were barely able to keep you up with how powerful his thrusts were.

“shut the fuck up and take it, worthless whore”, he growled furiously, thrusts only increasing in speed, and a hand sneaking to your front, wrapping itself around your neck. the cruel comments that usually caused your cunt to flutter and eyes roll back, suddenly made your heart sink.

you knew he was angry at being defeated by the opposing team and not at you, but you couldn’t stop the heavy feeling in your chest, or the tears that seemed to multiply at his cold remark.

when the adjustment of his hips caused him to hammer his fat tip painfully against your cervix and his hand tightened harshly around your throat, your knees gave out and you tried to scream only for nothing to come out of your mouth.

“useless, fucking bitch, can’t even stand upright. why do i even keep you around?” he aggressively huffed, not paying any attention to your comfort. you couldn’t take this anymore.

your body went completely limp, as you whispered a small, choked ‘silk’, not even being sure if he heard, when his mind was so clouded by rage.

but he did. and his heart painfully clenched when he recognized the hurt tone in your voice, instantly letting go of your bruised throat and ceasing his thrusts.

guilt filled him as he pulled out and finally looked at you to see you sobbing uncontrollably, arms wrapping protectively around your form as if you were afraid of him hurting you.

“hey… hey, y/n, sweetie, look at me.” suna’s gentle tone had you looking up at him, your vision blurry as your pained expression met his tender one.

“’m s-sorry i couldn’t help you, r-rin’. ‘m sorry y-you lost”, you stuttered out helplessly.

here you were, crying and in pain, but still thinking about him. the brunet was sure he didn’t deserve you.

“no, i’m sorry, pretty. i got carried away”, the tall volleyball player whispered softly, his large palms cupping your cheeks, “i love you and i never want to hurt you. please, forgive me.”

the guilt etched into his handsome face showed you just how bad he really felt, your lips lifting in a small smile. “’s ok, rin’. i love you too.”

the tall male breathed out a sigh of relief as he embraced you tightly and kissed your forehead. suna rintarou would never get carried away like this again. that, he promised himself.

kita shinsuke:

when kita got home, all dejected and upset because some assholes decided to trash grandma yumie’s precious crops in the darkness of the night, you opened your arms with love and understanding. what you didn’t expect however, as you asked how you could help, was to end up on your knees with your boyfriend abusing your throat for what felt like hours.

your knees were aching from the uncomfortable position on the hardwood floor, throat painfully contracting around his thick length as he pounded your mouth as if it were your cunt, jaw hurting from holding it open for so long.

you felt like you would pass out any minute, and while normally kita would immediately sense any of your slightest mood shifts when you were being intimate, he didn’t this time.

where there was usually a caring boyfriend who wouldn’t take his gaze of your face and always asked if you’re doing okay, was a guy who had a far away look on his frowning face, only using you as an outlet for his anger.

the white-black haired male was almost scarily quiet, only occasional grunts and growls escaping his lips. your gurgling and gagging sounds as he hit the back of your throat with every forceful thrust were painful to listen to, and you couldn’t wrap your head around your boyfriend not realizing what he was doing to you.

as tears streamed down your numb face, you weren’t able to stop your teeth from grazing his fat cock, your throbbing jaw not cooperating with your brain anymore.

kita let out an animalistic growl as he pulled out of your wet mouth at once, a sudden slap to your tender cheek startling you.

“you asked how to help and you’re doing exactly that, but can’t even do that for me, huh?”, he spat almost hostilely.

the hurtful words, the harsh slap and the rage painted on his usually calm and kind face made your heart ache, as you sobbed out a ‘peach! shin’, please! peach!’

kita suddenly felt as if he awoke from a hypnosis, when he heard you cry out your safe word. as his -now clear- gaze fell on you, he couldn’t help his chest from painfully tightening. you only offered to help, and he’s gone and hurt you like never before.

falling on his knees in front of you, he pulled you into his strong arms, rocking you both side to side as he apologetically murmured ‘i’m so sorry, angel’ and ‘i love you’ over and over again into your messy hair.

“m’ okay, shinsuke. just wanted to help", you sniffled against his chest, making kita close his eyes out of pure shame that he did that to you.

“let’s get you into the bathtub and i’ll cook your favorite, how does that sound love?”, he whispered softly, as if afraid that any of his next movements would make you break.

the next few weeks you barely got to do anything, kita shinsuke always glued to your side and immediately taking over any task that was thrown at you.

shirabu kenjirou:

being a med student was fucking exhausting. shirabu had spent months writing a very important thesis about certain brain tumors on newborns, only for his professor to give him a c. something about it not being detailed enough.

“fuck you”, shirabu spat as he was sitting in front of the fire place in your shared apartment, throwing all 80 pages of the “not detailed” dissertation into the fire.

“ken’? what are you doing?”

“burning this fucking nightmare. ’m gonna drop out, fuck this shit”, he almost growled furiously. coming up behind him, you wrapped your arms around his neck from behind, leaning down to ask lowly: “you want a better way to deal with your anger?”

that’s how you found yourself bent over his lap with your panties dangling at your ankles. the spanking wasn’t new, your boyfriend being super pissed while doing so, was.

the first few slaps went as usual with you clenching around nothing and enjoying the rubs to the tender flesh shirabu hit a few seconds prior. after, it suddenly went downhill.

all at once, the soft caresses ceased to a stop, his calloused palm from years of playing volleyball coming down on your ass with full force and the copper-haired man spewing some of the most degrading stuff you’ve ever heard.

“fucking slut, getting off to this. you like it when i use you to let out my anger? i’m having a hard time while you’re just being a horny, selfish fucktoy”.

at the last sentence, you froze. did he really think you were using him? you only wanted to help, but his cold words continued. “gonna beat your ass till it’s sore and aching, you won’t be able to sit without remembering what a useless fucking girlfriend you were while i needed support.”

the logical part of your brain knew, that your boyfriend didn’t mean it. the anger got the best of him, and he just threw around accusations like he wished he could do at his asshole of a prof.

but the bigger, sensitive part of your brain convinced you that he meant every single hurtful word. you weren’t even hearing what derogatory stuff was spilling from his lips anymore, vision blurry and ears ringing from the pain you felt in your chest as well as your ass cheeks.

was this your fault? was it wrong to try and help? maybe you should’ve given him some space.

a particularly hard spank brought you back to reality, suddenly tasting the salty wetness of your tears seeping into your mouth as you cried out a loud ‘pumpkin!”, trying to push yourself out of his lap and landing on the floor with a loud ‘thud’ as his hands instantly let you go.

shirabu could only look at you wide-eyed when he saw how you were choking on your sobs and crawling backwards, just to get away from him.

“please don’t hit me anymore!”, were the words, that would haunt kenjirou for the rest of his life. he could feel himself tear up when it hit him what he did to you, his precious girlfriend, just because he was angry at a prof.

“baby, i- please i would never hit you like that on purpose, i- “, the male felt his throat tighten up and with a quiet sniffle he embraced you tightly, craving the warmth of your body. “forgive me, i love you so much, please don’t go.”

as you started to calm down, your arms wrapped themselves around him, wanting to be close to him as well, because no matter what, he was your biggest comfort and you still loved him.

“’m not going anywhere, kenji’. just… please don’t do that ever again”, you murmured against his temple.

“never.”

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father-time-and-baby-new-year · 3 years

Text

OFF WITH YOUR HEAD

PART 2 OF HEADS WILL ROLL

SYNOPSIS: Whenever school is in session, Eren will just keep finding new places to corner you.

PAIRING: BULLY! EREN x FEM! READER

DEDICATED TO: you guys, always you guys.

WARNINGS: unedited, slight dubcon, groping, degradation, bullying,

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

Gooooood Morning Paradis Birds! Remember to give a big round of applause to the football team for clutching the victory against reigning champion Marley High! We stay undefeated thanks to our excellent and hardworking team. Special shoutout to Captain Eren Yeager for guiding the team to another flawless victory-

You're half-heartedly paying attention to class, sleepily listening to the school announcements over the speaker until the mention of his name douses you like a shock of ice-cold water.

You can't catch the rest of the announcement because your class erupts into cheer, enthusiastically clapping their hands for the boy of the hour.

The only one not joining is you.

Eren's smile is brighter than 100 kilowatts. In the back of your mind, you wonder where he learned to smile like that. When his emotions became so practiced.

Mr.Berner tries to calm the kids down, especially Sasha who bangs on her desks and howls, creating even more hype and ruckus. The class, now in a chattier mode, excitedly breaks into little conversations.

"Man, thank god. That school is so pretentious, I'm glad we finally have something over them."

"Jeez, I know our team was good, but it's this good-?"

"-Bro, year of XXXX is stacked as fuck. It's literally never been this stacked before. We have a whole team of prodigies, it's insane-especially Eren. "

"Yepp. My dad went to Paradis too and he said shit like this never happened during his time. The academic comps were one thing, but these footballs wins? We're being put on the fucking map."

The announcements are still going on, but it's hard to hear over the noise. You're only able to catch the tail end, a useless tidbit about the word of the day.

pre·mo·ni·tion a strong feeling that something is about to happen, especially something unpleasant. Here is an example: "She had a premonition of imminent disaster" Have a good day folks, hope it's free of any premonitions!

Overhearing the unceasing praise of the boy who pinched your thighs until they bruise blue and purple was a little painful-but you were used to it. After all, he's putting Paradis on the map. Whatever the fuck that means.

While you didn't love sharing this class with him, he was seated far across the room and surrounded by a gaggle of friends. You might as well have been invisible, the way he did not acknowledge you. Maybe you should treat it as a small mercy.

Unwittingly, your eyelids grow heavy. You're sitting in the back of the class, no one would notice if you took a little nap right? Assured by the fact no one will notice, you lower your head into your folded arms and let your thoughts float.

You dream of vaguely nothing but shadows of smiles, tufts of dark hair, and the smell of the wind at sea until a noise confined to the shape of your name breaks the harmony.

"[y/n?]"

You startle awake with pairs of eyes piercing their gazes at you. Swallowing thickly, you apologize to Mr.Berner who looks worried. He's a good teacher, and one of your favorites.

"I'm sorry Mr.Berner. I had a migraine so I laid my head down." You lie smoothly, with more grace than you knew you were capable of. Course, you could have just said you were taking an unprompted nap, but that would disappoint your lovely teacher.

He sighs, "Guess that can't be helped then. Go to the nurse ok?"

Bingo. The nurse was an understanding lady, she'd let you sleep the rest of the period off. You nod, and start to gather your materials, relieved the class' attention on you was beginning to dwindle.

"Wait, Mr.Berner, let me take her. What if she gets disoriented and falls in the hall?"

Fuuuuck. You should have known. You should have expected this because attached to the request dripping with faux concern was none other than the precious jewel of the kingdom. Eren's intrusion makes your peers perk up again at the scene unfolding in front of them.

You smile, lips tightly pressed, "I'll be fine. I don't want to distract anyone from the lesson and it's a short walk-

"It's still potentially dangerous.", Your teacher interrupts, pinching the bridge of the nose, "And while I'm completely surprised by Eren's sudden streak of altruism, he's right. Something could happen. He'll take you there safely."

A very convenient streak of altruism, all right. You think it over in your head, yeah the nurses' office is right down the hall, and once you're there, he'll leave. Sure, he'll taunt you but you can handle a few minutes worth of cruelty.

It's awkward getting up, and walking in front of the class while Eren props the door open like a gentleman. You know what a sharp contrast it must look like, you and him, you cowering into yourself, not meeting any eyes while he stands tall and confident.

"Do you have everything?" His tone is one of reassurance, and for the barest of the moments, feels too familiar. You know he's not being genuine right now, and for the first time, you question if he was genuine back then.

"You can hold onto my arm if you're too dizzy to walk." He says as you guys slip out of the classroom, purposefully a little too loudly. You hear coos from girls and a stray "She's so lucky!"

He must have heard it too, because he lowers his head to whisper into your ear, "Yeah, very lucky, aren't you?" Wisps of dark hair tickle your cheeks. You see the glint of tiny silver hoops and wonder when he had gotten his ears pierced. The illusion breaks and the performative charming prince's reassuring smile is replaced by a sneer.

"Didn't know you could lie like that, by the way. Some good girl you are if you're trying to ditch class like this." Fingers dig deep into your waist as he drags you along the empty hallway that seems to stretch on for miles.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, "How did you know I was lying?"

Viridian eyes narrow, "I've seen you get migraines before." There's a knock on your heart. As if realizing he was talking about something far away ago, a vindictive edge laces into words pouring out of his mouth, "I bet you wanted this to happen, didn't you? Wanted to get us all alone."

He's trying to get a rise out of you, that much is obvious. So you ignore him to the best of your ability.

...which quickly proved to be futile, as you suddenly find your arm pinned to your back, and your front facing the nearest walls.

"I asked you a fucking question bitch." He's practically growling, "Fucking answer me."

If there was a world record for the shortest temper, best believe Eren Yeager will have collected that accolade too. He's getting too worked up, and you could definitely feel his harness poking the back on your ass, as he grinds into you.

You manage to crane your neck, wanting to have your face shoved into the wall, and then venomously spit out, "You're not looking for answers. You just want me to repeat whatever you think is true."

This position brings back flashbacks to the library when he caged you in against the bookshelves, and like then, he spins you around to face him quite abruptly.

His smile is full of sharp teeth, "No. I know I'm right."

You don't respond. He moves in closer, his breath fanning on your earlobes. Your body can't help but let an involuntary shudder, and you close your eyes, not wanting to see his pleased grin or the way the fluorescent light makes his hoops gleam like silver bullets.

One calloused finger flicks your nipple, "Do you want to know why I'm right?"

At your lack of response, the dark-haired boy rolls your nipple in between his fingers before pinching it painfully, eliciting a small whimper out of your fuckable lips. "N-no", you answer finally. You're wearing your thinnest bra because of the seasonal heat, and you can't help but regret that decision right now. The fact he's only paying attention to one of your nipples is driving you insane. Not that you want it, but you're so fucking sensitive right now. You struggle in his hold, causing him to hold you tighter, and by now his nails were probably embedded into your skin.

He chuckles at your honesty, rewarding you with a thick stripe of his tongue over the collared shirt of your uniform making you gasp. Did he just-, over your shirt too-, you look down and see a very visible wet spot.

Taking advantage of your distracted state, a eager hand snakes under your skirt until it settles in the middle of your panties. He licks your earlobe before speaking, his voice like ice under your heels.

"You were so fucking wet that day in the library while saying you hated me the entire time," he pauses as his fingers scissor you through your panties, as if to drive the message home, "About as wet as you are right now."

There's a wet spot there too, also caused by him. You crush your eyes shut, "Eren...please just take me to the nurse." You're not even struggling anymore, holding onto him out of your own accord, worried that if you don't hold onto anything-you'd fall on your knees.

The very headache you lied about having seemed not so non-existent after all.

Eren hooks his arms under the plush of your thighs, "Yeah. Of course, that's what I came to do, right?"

You had hoped you'd be granted a reprieve in the nurses' office but you'd forgotten that luck was never really in your favor. Because while you guys had entered the squeaky-clean office, the nurse was nowhere in sight.

Instead, a note sat on her desk in unassuming frilly cursive that Eren read with glee.

Sorry students! Minor emergency to take care of, and I'll be back by the middle of the next period. If you're badly hurt, see Mr.Ackerman in room 203. If not, just sit tight! Feel free to take up the beds.

Thank you,

Ms.Ral

Eren had turned to you with shining green eyes, "Since no one's here, I guess I'll have to keep you company. Don't want you to hurt yourself."

There was something claustrophobic about how Eren stood in front of the door as if to signify to get out of here, you had to get through him.

"Maybe I can get Mr.Ackerman..."

Eren's sudden bout of laughter makes you wince and retreat inside of yourself, "For what? A fake headache? You really wanna inconvenience him like that? Mr.Ackerman?"

You take slow steps backward until the back of your knees hit the school bed, making you stumble as you clumsily take a seat. Eren's been marching forward with every retreating step you took, and it's no surprise when he pushes you down the bed, strong hands on the side of your head, while his muscular legs force your thighs apart so he can settle himself in between.

"We have some time to kill, you know." Strands of dark hair fall into his eyes, and without thinking, you reach upwards to brush them aside.

He grips your wrist before you make it that far, nearly gritting out a "What are you doing?"

You just stare, not really knowing why that was your impulse either. Finally, you mouth out, "I want you to leave Eren."

The grip on your wrist is tighter than ever, and you very well know that you're going to have new finger-shaped bruises before the old ones even finish healing.

"And I want to stay." He punctuates each word slowly, and all you can think is how being pinned to a bed is much less painful than having the hard surface of wood digging onto your back.

You're fully aware of the heat in your core, and having Eren on top of you doesn't make this it any easier because fuck, he is attractive. Maddeningly so. And maybe you want him to go away so bad because you're afraid that if his fingers are caught inside of you, you'll thank him for it.

As if reading your mind, he lets go of your wrist (making a mental note of your sluggish movements and slipping resistance) and massages your warm hole from your panties.

"Eren please" You grit out. He merely chuckles, "What are you asking for, whore?"

You could feel tears threatening to fall. This was so embarrassing. Did you want this? Yes, yes. yes, yes. You were so wet right now and had enough of the teasing.

He alternated his kneading from slow and soft to fast and rough, and you couldn't help but let out the prettiest little moans Eren's ever heard. Since you lose all pretenses of resistance, his other hand roughly brushes against your hardened nipples, straining against the fabric of your shirt.

Okay, he decided. He's going to make you beg.

"Beg." It's announced like a command, and while you hear it, you don't really register it because your hips are busy chasing the heat, and it's all too much of an utter disappointment when his long thin fingers leave.

"I said beg slut."

"Eren, please, please. I need you so bad." You're blubbering and you don't care. You just want his pretty fingers to shove aside your panties and rub against your folds. You think back to the library, how wet you were, how the stupid fucking phone call from his coach interrupted him pumping his fingers inside of you. And you didn't know if you were happy or mad he left. But now, all you crave is the blissful wave of pleasure- the very pleasure he's been denying you.

Eren looks down at you, green eyes scrutinizing. After a long while of what it seems to be him just staring, he wipes his fingers on your skirt, brushes back his hair with a wayward hand.

"Looks like I should head back to class. See you later."

Too numb to say anything, you watch him leave with a smirk on his face. When you're sure he's walked away, you curl into yourself and cry.

#attack on titan fanfiction #eren x y/n #tw dubcon #bully eren yeager #bullying #toxic eren #yandere eren x reader #eren x reader

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

5 times Merlin noticed Arthur’s odd reactions to things,

+1 time he could start on the road to helping.

TW: Graphic descriptions of child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks/flashbacks/disassociating.

Merlin notices things. He always has done, ever since he was a child. Maybe it was the magic, maybe it was the ingrained fear of being snuck up on (as a Bastard child, as a citizen of Essetir, and as someone with magic) or maybe it was just some odd, innate skill. It doesn’t really matter: Merlin is observant, he has keen eyes, which is why he notices Arthur’s sudden change in disposition.

It was a normal afternoon, Arthur and Merlin had just gotten back from the first hunt of the spring and were filling The King in on how it had gone. Well... Arthur was, Merlin was just sort of stood there.

The servant was annoyed that Arthur had dragged him along, both to the hunt and to the meeting, but The Prince had been so excited (not that he showed it too much) at the prospect of telling his father how well everything went, he conceded easily. It was rare that Arthur got his father’s approval; Merlin had only been serving him for a few months, so maybe it was stupid of him to want to see Arthur happy, but oh well. He may be a prat, but he meant well and he loved his people, he deserved a little happiness occasionally.

Uther was in fact proud, and Merlin had better luck than Arthur at holding his grin in, though that changed quickly.

Arthur was looking out of the window and making casual comments on when he planned on going out next, and Uther, stepping quietly without even realising it, manages to move to the space just behind him without Arthur noticing. He claps a firm, but proud hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and if Merlin hadn’t known that Arthur would deny it later, he would accuse him of jumping a foot in the air. He turns around quickly, eyes wide and barely focusing as Uther gives his son another congratulations, as well as a terse “Make sure you keep it up.”

The sudden tightness in Arthur’s shoulders and his clear discomfort at having Uther so close do not go unnoticed by Merlin and he frowns, making a split second decision that could very well get him put in the stocks:

“Sorry to interrupt, My Lords, but The Prince mentioned wanting to join the evening patrol. Sir Leon and his partner will be leaving shortly.”

Uther whips his head around disapprovingly, and his anger at Merlin for interrupting whatever it was he was about to say translates to a tightened grip on Arthur’s shoulder. The Prince flinches slightly, but carefully steps away from The King, speaking before he can order the servant punished:

“Right you are, Merlin. If you’re happy for me to take my leave, father?”

Uther looks back to his son, confused, but approving of Arthur’s sudden eagerness to join extra patrols:

“Very well. I expect you to keep up the hard work, Arthur, I shall be disappointed if you start slacking again.”

Arthur nods and bows, but doesn’t say anything, his jittery demeanour getting worse with The King’s vaguely threatening tone. He walks stiffly from the room, and Merlin follows with a confused frown, making sure to keep his distance and step loudly on the stone floor; apparently Arthur was feeling jumpy today.

Arthur, still in his armour, leads them down to the courtyard where Sir Leon and another knight were indeed preparing to leave. The Prince doesn’t say anything to Merlin, simply nods in his direction before joining the others, and Merlin thinks he must have done the right thing if Arthur wasn’t shouting at him for giving him extra work that he hadn’t intended to do.

He stores this new, odd information in his mind for future reference, reminding himself to stay away from The Prince’s back and warn him of anyone approaching.

The next thing Merlin notices doesn’t come from a specific incident, more from a series of odd happenings over time.

When Arthur had been released from the dungeons after Merlin’s miraculous survival from being poisoned, he was a mess. At the time, Merlin had smugly suggested that it was because Arthur was worried about him; his hair was similar to a bird’s nest, as if The Prince had been running his hands through it and pulling it on a near constant basis, and the shirt he was wearing frankly stunk of sweat.

Arthur had rolled his eyes at that and slunk off to sulk in his chambers—once Gaius had assured him Merlin would be fine—and the young servant had taken that as confirmation.

The first time Merlin actually witnesses Arthur’s quick, shallow breath and wide panicked eyes, they’re rushing through the narrow servant corridors. The Prince’s grip on his sword looks uncomfortably tight and the sweat on his brow seems a little odd: they weren’t running that fast. Merlin figures that Arthur is just stressed out from trying to catch the sneaky arsehole assassin who was trying to do in as many councilmen as he could before getting away.

Which is an understandable thing to be stressed about.

Merlin only takes actual note of it when, after the assassin had gotten away, The King had demanded Arthur retrace his footsteps back through the castle to see if the criminal had dropped anything or hidden anywhere. Arthur practically freezes up at that, his wide eyes and pale skin making Merlin frown in confusion, only for his frown to deepen when Arthur stutters through his suggestion of having another knight lead the internal search whilst Arthur heads out into the city.

The relief on Arthur’s face when Uther agrees is, though brief and immediately hidden, immense.

Merlin thinks back on the state Arthur had been in after he’d quested for Merlin’s cure. Perhaps... perhaps Arthur had been such a mess because he had spent a night in the dungeons, and not because he had been worried about Merlin.

As much as Arthur might like to think Merlin’s an idiot, the servant makes quick connections, pieces things together easily, like a children’s puzzle. At least when it comes to Arthur.

The servant is also reminded of the way Arthur insists that Merlin leave a few candles lit in the evening. At first, Merlin thought it was because Arthur was sneaking out of bed to get more paperwork done (Uther may rarely see it, but Arthur works ridiculously hard), but he checked the paperwork one morning and nothing had been added or altered. Then he though that it was maybe so Arthur could see any attackers coming in the night, because he was paranoid like that, but the candles always burnt out after a couple hours anyway, so it wasn’t like they were lasting through the night.

Merlin figures he was probably just reading into things too much (plus, he knows that accusing Arthur of being afraid of the dark or tight spaces would get him nothing but a slap up the head and, depending on The Prince’s mood, a visit to the stocks), though Arthur refusing to stay in Merlin’s tiny bedroom for any longer than necessary, and insisting on multiple torches being lit whenever they ventured into caves, forces Merlin to reconsider.

It was after one such adventure in one such cave that Merlin took advantage of the castle’s funds being available to him, and heads down to the market to buy some larger candles (and if he cast a spell to make them last longer... well... no one needed to know). Arthur gives him an odd look when he walks into The Prince’s chambers that evening and begins setting up and lighting them without acknowledgement; Merlin answers his questioning hum without looking at him:

“I know you like to be able to see just in case attackers make it into your chambers: these ones should last all the way until the morning. I set up a standing order with a merchant in the lower town.”

Arthur frowns confusedly, knowing that no one had managed to sneak into his chambers in months; it was definitely odd that Merlin had suddenly decided that this was a good idea. Still, Merlin doesn’t look back at him as he casually moves around the room, lighting the new candles and hoping that Arthur wouldn’t notice him leaving the curtains open by about an inch. He notices, though he doesn’t mention it in his response:

“Hmm. It seems you’re finally putting that brain of yours to use, Merlin.”

Merlin finally turns to look at him, glaring half-heartedly as he sarcastically laughs. Arthur just grins at him, glancing at the strip of moonlight on the floor for only a moment before climbing into his bed, muttering for Merlin to go ahead and get an early night.

From then on, Merlin packs extra torches in his pack when they go adventuring, and if he has room, a candle, in case they end up in an inn. If Arthur notices any of that, or the fact that Merlin always opens the window whenever they’re in the tiny Physician’s chambers for more than five minutes and always keeps him company on the now-rare nights Uther is angry enough to lock Arthur in the dungeons... well... neither of them point it out.

The next odd reaction doesn’t happen until years later.

Of course Merlin keeps noticing Arthur’s aversion to surprise touch (especially from knights and his father) and general dislike of the dark/closed spaces, but dealing with it and adjusting to make things easier just sort of becomes part of their routine, without either of them really realising.

Arthur has been King for a few weeks when it happens. It's warm, too warm for armour, so the roundtable knights are practicing their hand to hand instead of using swords and shields. Arthur usually sits out for these lessons, teaching and observing from the side-lines as opposed to taking part in spars. Merlin had always thought it was odd, but the one and only time he had brought it up, years ago, Arthur had forced him to join in on the lessons. He had a lot of bruises that day.

But today was not a usual day apparently; Arthur joined in. He seemed reluctant at first, like he was unsure if he actually wanted to, but his first weeks as King had been going well and he’d had a successful meeting with some of his Lords the previous day, so he’s in a good mood. He finally caves when Lancelot offers to spar with him; there was something about the gentle man that just makes everyone in his vicinity feel a little more at ease.

The sun was shining, but heavy rain the previous week means the grass was bright and soft; all in all, it was a lovely day, but Merlin’s focus was still on Arthur and the way he and Lance dance around each other. All the knights were holding their strength back a little, the purpose of sparring is rarely to go all out, but practicing form and technique and footwork is always a good idea.

Arthur falls into the rhythm of the spar, dodging and side-stepping and blocking with ease, neither he nor Lance were eager to speed things up in the heat. He was moving automatically, running on instincts and just a little bit of adrenaline, which is probably why he freezes up when confronted with something so terrifyingly familiar.

A glint of sunlight off something metallic caches his eye, and his gaze moves away from the fight for barely a split-second, but when he looks back all he can see is shortly cropped brown hair, a bright red tunic, and a fist swinging for his face.

Lancelot yelps when Arthur doesn’t block like he had expected him to, and Merlin is sprinting over before The King’s head has even finished rocking to the side. The other knights go to crowd closer, worried for their leader, but Merlin waves them off harshly and they keep their distance, trusting him. Lancelot looks horrified, but dutifully steps back as Merlin puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and uses the other to tilt his chin from side to side.

Merlin’s frown deepens when Arthur just lets himself be manhandled. Even in his worst injuries he was reluctant to let people check him over; Merlin quickly notices his wide eyes staring vacantly and the breathing that was far deeper than it really should be. He tries to get The King to look at him as he speaks lowly, so the others can’t hear him:

“Arthur? You with me?”

Arthur gulps, blinking rapidly and meeting his gaze, though Merlin can tell that he still isn’t really seeing:

“I... I’m sorry, I... I didn’t mean... I wasn’t...”

Merlin can only just hear Arthur’s whispers, and he’s grateful for the fact that the others definitely can’t hear them. He moves the hand on Arthur’s shoulder down to grip the other man’s hand and squeezes, and uses the other to shield his eyes from the sun as he mutters:

“Arthur, it’s Merlin, you’re out on the training field with members of the Roundtable, it’s late Spring, and you were crowned King three weeks ago. Arthur?”

It’s only then that Arthur’s eyes come into focus.

Merlin has never been grateful to have the bones in his hands almost break, and he doubts he’ll ever be grateful for it again. Merlin’s squeezes back, digging his nails in just a little as a subtle “please don’t break my hand”. Arthur loosens his grip and Merlin raises his eyebrow slightly in question; the blonde groans slightly and lifts a shaking hand to rub his eyes:

“What happened?”

Merlin glances at the huddle of knights behind him and gives them a reassuring smile before he looks back to Arthur, speaking so everyone can hear:

“You took quite the well placed hit from Lance, got a mild concussion and lost yourself for a minute. You’ll probably be fine by this evening, but I want to get you in the shade just in case, ok?”

Arthur seems surprised at the explanation, but nods wordlessly, letting Merlin guide him up towards the castle without a fuss. That just worries Merlin more, and he speeds up slightly as he yells over his shoulder:

“Leon’s in charge!”

Leon just chuckles, knowing that Merlin wouldn’t be paying them the slightest bit of attention if Arthur was even close to being seriously injured, but Gwaine just tilts his head and frowns:

“I love the guy but since when does Merlin decide who’s in charge? If he had said Elyan was in charge would we have just... gone with it?”

Leon shoves him playfully and tells him to get back to work, giving Lancelot a comforting pat on the shoulder as they all look away from the servant-King duo.

Merlin doesn’t take Arthur to the physician’s chambers, but goes to The King’s bedchamber instead; Arthur wasn’t actually concussed, but his mind had been elsewhere for a moment, so much so that he hadn’t recognised Merlin and spoke to him as if he were someone else. He sits The King down on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of him, hands on his knees as he frowns:

“Arthur? Still with me, or gone again?”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath, making eye contact with Merlin again as he straightens his back and answers confidently, his voice wavering only slightly:

“Yeah, yes, I’m with you. Sorry, lost in thought. I don’t feel concussed, are you sure?”

Merlin nods and stands up, leaving Arthur on the bed as he moves to open the window and get him a goblet of water:

“Hmm, I lied, I don’t think you are either, you weren’t hit that hard to be honest, but you weren’t really... with it, thought it best to get you away from the others.-”

He turns around the see Arthur tense and angry-looking, though Merlin gets the distinct impression that it’s not aimed at him:

“-You probably just got dazed by the hit, that and you’re overtired, you’ve been staying up late the last few nights. Drink this, maybe have a nap, or at least stay out of the sunlight for a few hours, you’ll definitely be getting a headache at some point soon and I don’t want you to make it worse.”

He hands over the goblet of water, holding it slightly out of Arthur’s reach so the other man has to stand for it. He manages to stand on his own two feet with no issue, and the shaking in his hands is lesser than it was before, though not gone entirely, so Merlin makes a mental list of all the chores that he could finish here, in Arthur’s presence. The King drinks the water absent-mindedly, leaving the goblet on the side table as he mutters:

“Overtired... yeah, probably.”

He wanders towards his desk, collapsing in the seat and staring half-heartedly at the paperwork spread all over the place. Merlin relaxes slightly, deciding that maybe there was a reason Arthur never joined in on hand-to-hand.

Merlin wasn’t fond of Arthur’s current visitor, Lord Algere, but he was pleased to note that Arthur didn’t seem all that fond of him either. He was an old supporter of Uther’s, which meant the occasional snide remark about how Uther would’ve handled certain situations differently, followed by deferential admissions of being “a close friend and advisor to the former King.”.

He was just friendly and kiss-ass enough that he couldn’t be kicked from court, that Arthur still had to be polite to him, but he rubbed pretty much everyone up the wrong way and Merlin couldn’t wait until he left to go back to his estate, thankfully situated on the furthest edge of the Kingdom.

It's the day before he’s due to leave when he says it:

“You remind me of your father a great deal, you know, you’re very similar.”

Arthur freezes up at the so-called compliment, but recovers quickly, giving the Lord a tight smile before excusing himself so he wouldn’t be late for the city border patrol he was undertaking. Normally Merlin didn’t go with him on these patrols, he’d only be gone for a couple hours at most and he was joined by a partner; it gave Merlin time to finish up some chores, but the servant felt the need to be there today.

The King is silent the entire time, which is unusual considering he's riding alongside Sir Leon today, and those two always have something official to talk about. He doesn’t even spare Merlin an annoyed glance when the servant drops his bag and has to dismount to pick it up, only halts and waits for him to catch up again. Though he's sure The King had relaxed slightly at the beginning of the patrol, when Merlin mentioned that he fancied tagging along, and if Merlin weren’t so worried he’d be immensely proud at his apparent ability to put Arthur at ease.

Leon gives Merlin a worried grimace as they ride back into the citadel, but Merlin shakes his head and smiles, his meaning of “I’ll deal with it, I’m sure he’s fine” obvious in the action. The two of them have gotten quite good at silently communicating over the years, God forbid Arthur find out that they were trying to look after him.

They made the journey up to Arthur’s chambers in continued silence, though Merlin really starts to really worry when Arthur just wanders over to the window and stares down into the courtyard. He only does that when he’s feeling particularly pensive. Merlin lays out the work he knows Arthur had wanted to get done this afternoon and perches on the edge of the desk, facing Arthur’s back with his arms crossed:

“Arthur, you alright? You’ve been quiet.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t turn away from the window, staying silent. Merlin purses his lips, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out what he thinks might be wrong. He moves across the room and sits himself down at the dining table, casually starting on the polishing he had left there earlier as he speaks, trying to keep his tone as neutral and absent-minded as possible:

“I’ve no clue what Algere was talking about earlier, he either knows nothing about you, or didn’t know your father nearly as much as he says he did.”

Arthur finally turns from the window, fixing a curious frown on Merlin, who forces himself to keep his gaze down:

“What makes you say that?”

Merlin still doesn’t look up, but knows that he’s on the right track. Arthur has been able to admit, especially recently with his changing opinions on magic, that his father was not a good man, though he still struggles to admit that he wasn’t a good father:

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you look way more like your mother than you do Uther, and you don’t act like him at all, you haven’t picked up on any of his mannerisms or anything.-”

The servant finally looks up at Arthur, his words true but his nonchalance false as he continues with a confused frown:

“-To be honest, I’ve always thought you act more like an odd mix of Leon and Morgana. You’ve definitely got Leon’s sense of chivalry and respect and his knightly traits, but your... how do I say... fiery attitude when it comes to your sense of right and wrong, that’s definitely Morgana. Uther was quick to anger, you’ve got fairly good control of your anger nowadays. Uther was set in his ways and refused to change no matter the consequences, you bend traditions all the time, improve things in ways that Uther would never have dreamed of doing.-”

The servant shrugs and looks back down to his polishing:

“-I just don’t see the similarities, and I certainly know you better than Algere. I’ve a feeling I knew Uther better than Algere as well.”

Arthur hums non-committedly, but sits down at his desk instead of turning back to the window. Merlin feels the tension leave his shoulders, but doesn’t relax fully when he notices Arthur staring at his folded hands instead of working. Apparently it had only partially worked:

“Arthur?”

He doesn’t look up, just shuffles slightly in his eat as he lowly answers:

“Do you think I might... turn out like him? In the end? People say he was kind and gentle when he was young. If... if I ever have children...”

The question goes unasked, but the fear in his voice is palpable, and Merlin has to stop himself from sprinting from the room to burn every painting of Uther he can find. Instead, he puts the armour down on the table softly and stands, making sure to step loudly and clear his throat as he leans against the edge of Arthur’s desk again:

“Arthur, you’re a wonderful King, a wonderful knight, a wonderful man, and I guarantee that one day you’ll be a wonderful father. Don’t stress, you’ve out done your father in every other aspect of your life, I’m sure you’ll continue to do so.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin with a slight frown on his face, though it’s more thoughtful than anything. Merlin holds his gaze with a soft smile for a few moments, content to wait for Arthur to give him some sort of cue; Arthur just rolls his eyes and shoves him from the table, picking up a quill and finally beginning to actually work:

“Try not to insult the former King too much in one sitting, Merlin. And that armour won’t polish itself.”

Merlin just laughs quietly and moves back to the table, understanding and accepting that that was probably the best he was going to get. He makes a mental note to mention Arthur’s similarities to Leon next time the three of them are together; Arthur will be relieved, though he won’t show it, and Leon will be flattered beyond words.

He dares not do it with Morgana. Both of them would be secretly be pleased, though they’d kick up one hell of a fuss trying to deny it.

Thankfully, the two of them are in Arthur’s chambers when it happens.

Merlin’s not entirely sure he could use the “concussion” excuse like he did last time, not with the length of time it lasted.

It’s late, the curtains are drawn—with the traditional inch wide gap allowing a strip of moonlight to fall across the floor and over Arthur’s bed—and Arthur’s special candles have been lit. He’d been made aware of the spell Merlin had cast on them a few months ago, and though he was annoyed that Merlin had put himself at such risk, he hadn’t asked him to remove the spell, which the servant took as a good sign (both that Arthur wasn’t too mad about the magic, and that it had been a good idea).

The King sits at his desk, doing his normal pile of evening paperwork and trying to fit in as much as he can before Merlin snatches it away and manhandles him into bed, Merlin who is generally pottering around the room tidying. Arthur thinks of it more as just... moving the mess around, but he let’s him be; Merlin’s quiet company is much appreciated, especially with all the difficulties Arthur is having with repealing the ban on magic.

The King lets out a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair and tiredly rubbing his eyes. Merlin notices, because of course he does, and wanders over, a concerned frown on his face as he sits in the chair opposite him:

“You alright? Hit a snag?”

Arthur hums but shakes his head, opening his eyes but staying slumped in his seat; Merlin makes plans to get him to bed at some point in the next half candle mark at least:

“Hmm. No, just tired. This whole thing is draining, I wish I could just force them to see sense.”

Merlin knew that the them Arthur speaks of is the council. Currently, The King has about half of them on side, not including Leon, Morgana, and Gaius, but they need a majority by a significant margin before they can move forward, and Arthur refuses to act in any way that isn’t democratic.

Merlin nods, smiling softly at his lap as Arthur closes his eyes again:

“This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-”

At first, Merlin doesn’t notice the way Arthur’s eyes fly open, nor the way he slowly sits up straight, nor the way his shoulders tighten and his skin grows pale and his eyes go vacant.

“-but I think you’re doing great, don’t be too hard on... Arthur? Are you alright?”

Merlin frowns when he finally looks up to see The King sitting ramrod straight and staring into the middle distance, his breathing ragged and his blue eyes glassy and unseeing. He stands slowly, moving around to Arthur’s side to crouch there and wave a hand in front of his face.

He doesn’t react.

Merlin shakes his shoulder slightly, hesitating only momentarily before touching him, but even then, Arthur doesn’t respond. The servant gulps, glancing over his shoulder at the door to make sure it was locked before touching a hand to Arthur’s forehead and muttering a spell; he normally uses this spell to wake up unconscious people, but it has no effect on The King other than sending a slight shiver through his body.

Merlin calls his name a few times, but it expectedly has no effect. He tries to test Arthur’s pain awareness by pinching the underside of his arm, and whilst he flinches away slightly, he doesn’t come to, still stares blankly at the opposite wall. Merlin thinks of calling for the guards and asking for Gaius, but somehow he doesn’t think the elderly physician will be able to help; there was no magic at play here, and he certainly hadn’t been poisoned. In all honestly he just looked a little zoned out, like the time Merlin had lied about the concussion, except it was clearly lasting longer this time.

Merlin frowns but tries his best to keep the panic at bay, it had only been a few minutes now, but other than breathing Arthur hadn’t moved an inch.

The servant takes a deep, relaxing breath, or at least what he hoped would be a relaxing breath. It’s not. He uses magic to slide Arthur’s chair away from the desk slightly, and moves into the space it leaves, shuffling all of the paperwork away and leaning on the edge. Once again, he puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and takes his hand with the other, squeezing slightly.

He waits.

After another ten minutes or so, Arthur’s breathing gets slightly more frantic, and he begins squeezing Merlin’s hand back. Merlin moves closer, crouching in between Arthur’s legs and shaking his shoulder again, but he stops when Arthur begins muttering:

“Didn’t... I... I’m sorry. Not my.... didn’t... didn’t mean to... sorry... disappointment...”

Merlin’s frown deepens at the barely audible whispers, especially when he notices the tears gathering in Arthur’s eyes. He shakes his shoulder again and forces himself to speak, just about managing to keep the waiver from his voice:

“Arthur, there’s no one else here, it’s just you and me, it’s just us, just Arthur and Merlin. It’s the evening in late Autumn, it’s almost time for bed, you sparred with Percival this morning and had a long, annoying council meeting this afternoon. You’re sat at your desk in your chambers with me, no one else.”

Arthur’s eyes come into focus, slowly at first and then all at once. He blinks and stands suddenly, almost tipping his chair backwards in his haste as he reaches a hand to his sword-less hip. Merlin moves back quickly, grimacing as he bumps harshly into the desk. Arthur’s gaze whips around the room desperately, as if searching for a danger that he was certain was there, before his eyes finally land on Merlin. The servant holds his hands out placatingly, not relaxing even as Arthur takes a deep breath and seems to calm down.

The King slumps back in his seat, rubbing the tears from his eyes with shaking hands; Merlin crouches down again, but doesn’t dare touch him, not quite yet:

“Arthur?”

His head whips up, but he relaxes again when he sees Merlin sat in front of him:

“Yes, sorry, I... must of dozed off or something.”

Merlin frowns, but nods one, speaking slowly, his tone low and even:

“Hmm. Must’ve, you looked like you were having a nightmare or something so I woke you. Time for bed, I think.”

For once, Arthur actually agrees with him, not bothering to argue like normal as he stands on shaking legs and heads to where Merlin has neatly laid his sleeping clothes on the bed. Merlin’s concerned gaze follows him, but he doesn’t move too far from the desk, deciding that he and Gaius definitely need to have a chat about... whatever the hell that was.

Half a candle mark later, Arthur is quietly wishing his manservant a good night and dismissing him. He was obviously distracted, Merlin normally can’t be frowning for more than thirty seconds before The King is hounding him about what’s wrong, but thirty minutes pass with not a question from Arthur, and Merlin makes his way to the Physician’s Chambers hoping that Gaius is still awake.

Thankfully, the elderly physician is still pottering around, tidying away various bits and pieces and generally preparing the room for a new day tomorrow. He immediately notices Merlin’s peculiar mood and gestures for the younger man to sit opposite him at the table:

“What’s bothering you, my boy?”

Merlin sits slowly, biting his lip and trying to decide just how honest to be:

“What does it mean if someone... zones out, completely, for extended periods of time?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow:

“I’m going to need a little more than that, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs but nods, shuffling in his seat slightly but responding:

“I was with someone earlier today. We were just chatting whilst we worked and suddenly they just... weren’t there anymore. Stiff, eyes glazed over, ragged breathing. They responded slightly to pain but it didn’t snap them out of it and they just... sat there, utterly blankly, for about twenty minutes. Eventually they started muttering to themselves, but it didn’t make any sense, then they... woke up, I guess, and thought they had fallen asleep. They definitely weren’t asleep, but they weren’t... I don’t know, conscious?”

Gaius frowns but nods, clutching his hands tightly on the table as he explains, his voice grave:

“Hmm. Sounds like an extended disassociation episode. I gather that I’m not to be told who this was?-”

Merlin shakes his head slightly, and though he looks slightly annoyed, Gaius nods and continues:

“-This happens mostly to people who experience something extremely traumatic, though it also happens in victims of extended abuse, especially if the abuse was in childhood, the younger the victim, the worse the reaction. Occasionally it can happen randomly, though it’s mostly triggered by something in their surrounding environment.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and Gaius would easily hazard a guess at saying he looks angry. He doesn’t point it out though, just waits for his ward to continue:

“What can trigger it? And what other symptoms will child abuse victims display?”

Gaius takes another deep breath, but slowly responds:

“Anything can be a trigger really, something they see or smell or hear, something someone else does or says.-”

(”This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-” pops into Merlin’s head.)

“-As for other symptoms, aversion to touch, occasionally fear of being alone, OR fear of being in another’s presence. Some experience trouble with regulating strong emotions, difficulty in regulating long term relationships, platonic or otherwise, trouble with self-esteem. It varies from person to person, there is no strict list of obvious signs. Might I ask... why?”

Merlin shakes his head and stands, moving towards his bedroom with clenched hands and tight shoulders. Just before he shuts the door behind him, he turns to look at Gaius over his shoulder, brow furrowed and voice low:

“What... what was Uther like? When Arthur was a child?”

Gaius closes his eyes briefly, letting out a weary sigh and trying his best to hold in his grief:

“Strict, extremely difficult to please. He never... he never hit Arthur, not in public anyway, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he was violent privately. As a child, The Prince was terrified of the dark, and the dungeons. I got the impression that Uther forced him down there on more than one occasion. Arthur is... the one your concerned about?”

Gaius knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes when Merlin wordlessly nods before shutting the door behind him.

+1)

A few weeks have passed since Merlin had figured it all out.

He didn’t dare bring it up to Arthur, and shuts the conversation down any time Gaius mentions it. The conversation is for Arthur, and Arthur only, and Merlin wasn’t going to force it.

Besides, they’ve been extremely busy with the transitions; The Kingdom was going from anti-magic to pro-magic, and Merlin was going from servant to a member of court. Arthur had tried to force nobility onto him as well as his position as Court Sorcerer, but Merlin had put his foot down at that, insisting that he wouldn’t become some stuck up wealthy arsehole, not even if his life was on the line.

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Gwen, and Morgana had grinned at that, Arthur and Lancelot rolled their eyes, Mordred continued to insist on calling him “My Lord” anyway, and Leon had looked marginally affronted as he mumbled something along the lines of “I’m a Lord you know, technically.”.

They aren’t lucky this time around, and it all comes to an explosive head in a quiet, though still habited corridor in the middle of the afternoon.

Afterwards, Merlin absent-mindedly considers the fact that they could’ve been in the courtyard or the throne room or somewhere equally busy, and thanks the Gods for just this little bit of luck; only two servants, one guard, and the... the noble and his son were in the corridor at the time.

Arthur and Merlin are making their way to the council room, preparing themselves for a busy meeting: it was the first since magic was officially legalised, and the first that Merlin (and Gwen, though that was another matter entirely) would officially be sitting in on. Though, in all honesty, pretty much the whole Kingdom knew that Merlin had been advising Arthur privately for years.

Merlin frowns and Arthur stiffens slightly as they spot the noble gripping his young son’s collar and aggressively whispering at him. The boy can’t be more than ten summers old, but the tears in his eyes display his utter terror clearly enough; no child should ever have to be that scared, especially not of their parents. Merlin resigns himself to just magicking the pig’s trousers down when no one was looking his way, but barely a second after he makes that decision the man raises his hand, and slaps the boy across the face.

Everyone in the corridor freezes as the boy cries out, and the noble doesn’t seem to notice the way the guard looks frantically between him and The King, waiting for instruction, or the way the servants and Merlin were staring, horrified. Arthur breaks out of his shocked stupor first, striding towards him with his fist already raised and his eyes blazing:

“How fucking DARE you?!”

His knuckles make violent contact with the man’s mouth, and the spray of blood from a busted lip and loosened teeth is what spurs Merlin into action. He runs forward, scooping the distraught boy up in his arms and quickly handing him over to one of the servants:

“Take him to Gaius, swear that you will not utter a word of this to anyone bar the Court Physician?”

His eyes flash golden as the servants’ both nod, and they rush off in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. Merlin, satisfied that they will be unable to break their promise, turns next to the guard, momentarily ignoring the way Arthur has shoved the bleeding noble against the stone wall:

“Fetch the Lady Morgana and Guinevere and tell them to go to Gaius and the boy, stay with them, swear that you will inform no one bar those three what has happened?”

The guard nods, understanding the magic implicitly as Merlin’s eyes flash gold again. He spares The King and his deserving victim one last glance before running towards Morgana’s chambers.

Merlin turns, finally, to Arthur, almost-but-not-quite recoiling at the tears on his cheeks as he lands another punch to the noble’s jaw. His face is black and blue at this point, and Merlin pulls Arthur back just as he raises his fist again; he thrashes in his grip, but quickly sags as his breathing deepens. The noble falls to the floor, unconscious in all likelihood, and Merlin clicks his fingers, banishing him to the dungeons with nothing but a shower of golden sparks.

Arthur breathes deeply, leaning all of his weight on Merlin as he clamps his un-bruised hand over his mouth, his wide eyes staring intensely at where the boy had been stood moments before. He doesn’t respond to Merlin’s calls, and with another flash of gold, they disappear, reappearing in Arthur’s bed chamber.

Merlin shoots Mordred a quick message over their mental link as he lowers Arthur to the floor, leaning him against the edge of the bed and moving around to be crouched in front of him. The King’s breathing has gotten dangerously deep and dangerously fast, the tears streaming down his face as his hands clench and unclench around nothing. Merlin quickly intertwines their fingers in an effort to stop Arthur hurting himself, but that just freaks the other man out even more as he desperately scrambles to get away from the contact.

Merlin lets go and moves back, eyes wide and desperate as he watches Arthur bring his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his arms and rocking slightly. His cries are muffled, but Merlin can still hear the heart wrenching sound; the Warlock takes a moment to breath before he stealthily moves around the room, lighting candles, locking the door, and shutting the curtains (bar an inch), before moving back to sit beside Arthur, a foot or so of space between them.

After a few minutes of no change, Merlin starts humming. He can’t remember any of the words, but it’s an old lullaby his mum used to sing when he couldn’t sleep, when he was scared of his own magic and his own friends and every shadow that moved in the dark. Arthur’s breathing slows, though he still hiccups occasionally, and Merlin rests his hand on the stone floor between them: an offer, not a demand.

Arthur doesn’t take it, instead shuffling over to lean his head on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin freezes, not daring to put his arm around the other man as he continues to hum; he must’ve circled back and restarted the same song six, seven, eight times before Arthur nuzzles in further and sniffs before muttering:

“You’ve a good voice, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs a gentle laugh, leaning his head on top of Arthur’s softly as he quietly replies:

“Runs in the family, my mother used to sing to me, though I don’t really know any other tunes I’m afraid.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t reply, turning into Merlin’s chest slightly as the Warlock hesitatingly wraps his arms around the other man; he stops being so hesitant when he notices Arthur’s eagerness. Merlin pulls him close, sighing but letting Arthur settle in before he says anything. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the pain shooting up his spine at being sat on the stone floor for so long, but he decides he doesn’t really care, if this is what Arthur needs.

After a few more minutes, he rubs his cheek into Arthur’s soft hair and speaks, his voice gentle and loving:

“Feeling better?”

Arthur stiffens slightly, but quickly relaxes, nodding into Merlin’s chest and mumbling:

“The boy?”

Merlin smiles at Arthur’s worry:

“Safe. He’s with Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen, under protective guard.”

Arthur nods again, tightening his hold on Merlin’s tunic:

“And his... father?”

“Bloodied up and locked in the dungeons, far away from his son. Mordred let the guards know that he is not to leave under any circumstances, told the council that the meeting had been postponed until further notice, and then went to relieve the guard in the Physician’s chambers.”

The King relaxes, and so does Merlin, though only slightly, he knows that this is where that terrifying conversation has opportunity to rear it’s ugly head:

“Arthur, are we going to talk about this?-”

He rushes to carry on when Arthur’s breath hitches and his hands pull on Merlin’s tunic slightly:

“-You can say no, Arthur. I swear, I will never, ever ask, not if you don’t want me to.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but he shakes his head, gulping before replying, his voice thick:

“No, it’s fine, I should probably... talk about it, right? Morgana is always on my arse about being less repressed or whatever.-”

Merlin nods, but doesn’t say anything, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair rhythmically. Arthur lets out a deep breath, humming contentedly at the gesture and leaning even more into it:

“-My father was... difficult to please. His default was anger, no matter what, and it was... rare, for him to be anything but furious. He never... not in public, and never left marks where anyone could see.-”

Merlin struggles against the urge to hit someone (preferably Uther, though unfortunately he was dead. He supposes Uther’s old supporters would do in a pinch), but he makes do with taking a deep breath:

“-When he was especially furious he would lock me in a storage closet, or the dungeons. He... he would order that all the lights be put out, and all the windows covered, so I couldn’t see. Merlin I couldn’t see anything. I still... I can’t stand the dark, but I’m guess you figured that out?-”

Merlin knows that he’s referring to the candles and the perpetually open curtains and nods, humming in agreement:

“-How pathetic is that? A grown man, a King, afraid of the dark.”

Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur and shakes his head:

“It’s not pathetic, Arthur. It’s an automatic response, a defence mechanism that your brain puts in place to try and protect you from being re-traumatised. To this day, I’m terrified of fire, even though I have no reason to be anymore, even though it can’t hurt me as a Dragon Lord.”

Arthur gulps, but relaxes slightly, though his voice is quiet, almost ashamed as he continues:

“I can’t look at Lancelot’s turned back, I struggle to spar with him as well. He... he doesn’t even look anything like my father, he just... he always wears red and has the same hair as my father when he was younger and they’re the same height. Sometimes I feel like I’m a child again, everything around me just disappears and I’m back in that dungeon, or my father is stood over me screaming. How am I meant to be a good King when I’m scared of my own shadow?”

Merlin sighs, staying silent for a few minutes as he attempts to put an answer together in his mind. Arthur sniffles again, and Merlin is suddenly made aware of the wet patch where Arthur’s head rests on his tunic:

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, as many times as you want: you are a wonderful King. You’ve delivered a Golden Age upon this Kingdom, your friends love you, your people adore you. You’ve never just been a good King, Arthur, you’ve been the best this Kingdom, and this world, has ever seen.”

Arthur loosens his grip again but huffs a quiet laugh against Merlin’s chest, which the Warlock definitely counts as a win:

“Kiss-ass.”

Merlin laughs this time, though he doesn’t stop carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair:

“Nah, when have you ever known me to kiss ass? I speak only the truth, My Lord.”

They both fall silent again, and Arthur pulls away from Merlin’s chest. Merlin drops his arms immediately, not wanting to make the other man uncomfortable, but Arthur just takes one of his hands and goes back to sitting by his side, his head resting on Merlin’s shoulder. The silence is long, but comfortable, and it’s dark outside by the time Arthur speaks again:

“Merlin?-”

The Warlock doesn’t make a sound, but squeezes Arthur’s hand in acknowledgement:

“-I thanked you for all the big stuff: saving my life, and saving the Kingdom, and all that. But I never thanked you for the small stuff. The candles and the endless support and the excuses.”

Merlin frowns slightly in confusion, not that Arthur can see:

“Excuses?”

“You didn’t think I didn’t notice, did you? You started years and years ago. You always seemed to notice when being with... with my father, or the knights, or anyone really, was getting too much, you always had some excuse ready. Sometimes you outright lied, even if it would get you in trouble, just to get me away from people. I don’t know how you knew... no one else ever realised. Saying I had paperwork when I didn’t, or a patrol when I wasn’t scheduled for one, or a concussion just to give me some privacy. Thank you.”

Merlin smiles slightly, squeezing Arthur’s hand again:

“You were too busy looking after everyone else, someone had to look after you. I’m grateful it was me, Arthur, I-”

He pauses and sits up slightly straighter, though it doesn’t jostle Arthur too much. He lifts his head anyway, staring at Merlin in concern with tired eyes:

“Merlin?”

Merlin looks to him suddenly, but smiles:

“Hmm, sorry, just Mordred. Updating me on the kid and asking if you’re alright.-”

Arthur’s cheeks flush slightly, but Merlin’s smile grows as he shakes his head:

“-Don’t worry, no one knows about... this, just that you went berserk when you saw a Noble beating his kid, and punched his teeth out.”

Arthur relaxes and nods, humming thoughtfully as he looks to the floor. He stands up, wobbling only slightly after being curled up in the same position on a cold stone floor for several hours, and Merlin follows him confusedly:

“Do... do you want to go check in on them? The kid’s been asking after you apparently, wants to thank you.-”

Arthur looks conflicted, almost as if he were worrying that he wouldn’t actually be welcomed, so Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles, waiting until Arthur looks at him before continuing:

“-We can leave it until morning, if you like, but you saved that boy, Arthur, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t move until Merlin wipes his face clean with his sleeve and smooths out his clothes. If he uses a little magic to make the two of them more presentable, then neither of them mention it as they walk purposefully to the door.

Merlin looks to Arthur stood next to him, his hand hovering over the door handle:

“Ready?”

Arthur smiles at him, taking his hand and squeezing it, but not dropping it as he opens the door and steps into the corridor:

“Ready.”

THE END!!!

As angsty as it was, I really enjoyed writing that😅. I couldn’t help myself though, I had to give it a happy ending :D

I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! I love y’all!!

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