#i am very quickly running out of title ideas help

[m1d-45]

small miracles

summary: washed up on the sands of ritou, inazuma’s famous helper lends you a hand.

word count: ~2k

-> warnings: n/a, just standard imposter au things. you are on the run, technically. very minor gore i guess(like veeeery tiny)

-> lowercase intended!

< masterlist > || second part >>

dirt collapses beneath your feet, your torn shoes skidding on the edge of the cliff north of liyue harbor. you can hear the waves lap at the rock thousands of feet below you, layered under the huffs of the people in front of you.

steel blades shine in the hot sun, the millelith wielding them just as fierce. you can see the hatred in their eyes, the need for your end, whether by the spears in their hand or the waters behind you. the only reason they haven’t struck is because of the woman behind the ring of them.

a dark oak pipe balances on the tip of ningguang’s finger, her eyes as sharp as their ruby hue. she lets it tip to one side, her head following the tilt, before she spins it back into her palm. every action is defined with grace, not so much as a hair out of place. every golden ornament shows off her prestige, her power, how without even lifting a finger she has you pinned in place against a cliff.

perhaps if you weren’t at risk of dying, you might feel different about it.

one of the millelith asks if they’re allowed to strike. the red tassel on her forehead swings as she shakes her head.

“no. this fake is not worth liyuen metal.” ningguang tucks the pipe away in a smooth motion, crossing one arm over her chest to rest the opposite elbow on it. a clawed finger swipes an invisible hair back into place on her bangs. “send them to the sea. their bones will serve as an excellent toothpick for osial.“

well, that was a horrific visual.

in an instant, the millelith spin their spears around, careful to keep the blades away from themselves and each other to jab to dull ends at you. behind them, ningguang barely looks fazed, examining a geo crystal in her hand. you know the nonchalance is manufactured, a subdued silence, but that doesn’t make it any better. she doesn’t care that she’s sending you to your death. she knows it, wants it, and what would the millelith be if they couldn’t remove one person from the tianquan’s presence?

your left foot is standing half on air. the part that is on ground is shaky, uncertain, dirt nowhere near as stable as stone.

you risk a look at ningguang.

ruby eyes are the last thing you see before you fall.

you wake up on a beach, sandy and exhausted. invisible wounds bleed harder as sand gets into them as you sit up to look around. your clothes are hard with saltwater, and it’s a miracle you made it here alive. though teyvat has been kind, fruit and clean water always within reach, you didn’t think that you would live long enough to hit land.

you stand—nearly falling—and shake out as much sand as you can, looking around. across the sea is a small island, within swimming range, but youre not inclined to explore when your limbs still feel so heavy. to your right, the beach narrows off, overtaken by the cliff behind you, but it seems to open up more to the left.

you decide to stumble that way, passing a spike of driftwood, and stop just as quickly.

you can see green roofs of houses, spires and what is maybe a watchtower in the distance, the architecture familiar. red and orange trees are interspersed between them, and your hopes fall.

you’d hoped you were in the stone forest. you’d hoped that you’d have a chance, knowing the abundance of hilichurls on the small islands, but now you’re…

you start walking, hoping to find some clues to prove your hunch wrong.

you see an okay looking boat, but youre preoccupied by the path branching to the left. wooden boards seem to make a walkway, and you step over them on your way inside. theres a small tent, a lantern, a block of supplies and a cooking pot. in the tent is a bed fashioned of hay, but embers light up the wood beneath the pot.

it would be a cozy enough place to stay, but you can’t risk whoever owns it coming back.

you head back the way you came and continue towards the city. the sand slides beneath your ragged shoes, but theres flowers following the breeze in the grass near the cliff. purple and a soft blue, they distract you long enough that a guard walks to their post further down the beach.

oh.

oh no.

you recognize the uniform, and the logo of the tenryou commission embossed on the armor. if inazuma is the same as any other nation—likely worse, considering the way its run—you need to avoid those guards at any cost.

you look to the cliffside. its steep, too steep to climb when youre still soaked from the sea.

you sigh, and decide to find another way up.

youre not quite sure how none of the guards saw you, but under the dwindling light of dusk, you manage to make to the southern(?) outskirts of what appears to be ritou.

…not that that means anything. you still don’t know how to get off the island, and trying to forcibly get deported will only result in an arrest. though there’s a food cart that most certainly can see you, the worker didn’t report you to the guards when they passed. you don’t remember her name, but know she sells some kind of food. maybe a fish dish? or was it egg? not that it matters, food is food, and if you’re lucky you’ll have enough mora for some.

you sit against a wall, checking your pockets. most of your stuff was either stolen or lost to sea, but your mora was still securely tied to your waist. after checking twice that you were out of people’s line of sight, you started to count, stacking the coins in piles of 10 on the grass in front of you. after a hundred, you moved them into one bigger pile.

you had more than you expected. though your pouch always seemed to weigh about the same, you didn’t think you could fit almost three thousand mora inside- or that you even had that. then again, chests typically had a few hundred, and you’d been pretty lucky in mondstat…

you set aside five hundred and hope it’s enough, but knowing teyvat’s economy… if salt was 60 mora, who knew how much you’d need?

whatever the case, you needed to eat. cradling the coins against you as you attach your pouch back at your waist, the go to move for the food stall.

your plans are dashed the second you stand.

a familiar face walked up the path towards the food stall, but quickly diverted towards you.

shit.

you step away, behind a tree, hoping against hope that he’d only seen somebody next to you instead of-

“hello there!”

you jump at how quickly thomas voice appeared at your side, taking another step back.

shit. that’s definitely him. weird horn headpiece, blonde hair, too-short jacket, dog tags and all.

you lick at your lips. they taste of salt. “hi?”

you hate how shattered your voice is. how quiet and rough it’s gotten.

“hey! i’m thoma.” he extends a hand, the small ribbon on the back of his glove rippling in the soft breeze. “it’s nice to meet you!”

you hesitate. it feels like you do a lot of that lately.

you remember him being affiliated with the kamisatos, which means he’s almost certainly heard of everything you’ve been accused of. but… there’s no way he would come up to you so casually if that was the case, right?

you want to trust him. you do. but there hasn’t been anybody else yet that you could.

carefully, you meet his hand with your own weak grip. the cloth on his gloves is leather, unsurprisingly, and though it is cold with the dusk chill, his fingers are warm. you have a feeling it’s from his vision, and your mind flickers to the last time you slept by a fire.

it’s been months.

“oh, you’re freezing! what are you doing outside?” his voice jumps a few octaves and his hand tightens around yours. “oh jeez, you’re going to catch a cold if you’re not careful. what are you doing without a coat in the middle of winter?“

is it winter? you don’t really remember the last time you knew the date for certain, but if that was true, then it was bad news. the clothes you wore you got from hilichurls and abyss mages, but the main enemies in inazuma were nobushi…

your worry must show on your face, because thoma’s frown deepens.

“now that i look at you… you’re not from inazuma, are you?”

you shake your head no.

“oh no… did you get caught up in the outlander affairs agency? they haven’t gotten any better after the decree, have they….”

“no, i-“ you cut yourself off with a coughing fit, tasting a bitter mixture of salt, blood, and bile climb up your throat. it’s disgusting, and alarmingly salty. you must have drank more ocean water than you meant to; it’s a wonder you didn’t choke on the trip over.

(how did you make it over? the distance from liyue to inazuma was too large for you to have simply floated, surely? but didn’t thoma himself float over?)

thoma’s other hand lands between your shoulder blades, patting lightly. “hey, it’s okay. it’s good you haven’t ran into the agency, but that cough doesn’t sound good at all…”

you adjust the tattered mask on your face, straightening and doing your best to look like you haven’t been on the run. “i’ll be fine.”

your chest tightens with the need to cough, but you set your jaw. you can’t afford to get involved with the yashiro commission. you’re certain the mora clutched in your grip is enough to buy you a decent meal and—alongside the rest of it—some kind of warm herbal tea.

gentle green eyes catch the money in your palm and widen. you can see the gears clicking inside his head, and he speaks before you can.

“is that all the mora you have?”

“i-“

“and you don’t even have a- ah, i can’t leave you out here like this. could you come with me to the teahouse? there’s a waypoint just inside ritou, and i’d feel a lot better if i could get you some tea and clean clothes. it won’t be the fanciest, but i know there’s some spare sets and anything would be better than risking an illness. inazuman winters aren’t kind, and the shogun hasn’t been in the best mood as of late.”

the pros and cons weigh in your head. you could go with somebody you know is kind, and get what is certainly good food and hot drinks with clean clothes to boot. or, you could risk walking into a trap with, arguably, one of the most influential people in the yashiro commission at least, if not all of inazuma. it’ll either be the best choice you’ll ever make, or one that’ll land you in front of tenshukaku in chains.

thoma picks up on your hesitation, taking his hand off your shoulder and giving you space, though he keeps your hands linked. “can i at least bring you some dinner, then, if you don’t want to come with me? or a blanket? or- or something?“

he’s awfully worried for somebody he just met. you’re not sure if his determination is evidence of his benevolent nature, or if he’s trying to make you trust him as he calls over some shogunate soldiers.

…you also can’t decide if it’s your desperation for connection with somebody you can rely on or your need for a better environment that makes you agree.

maybe his bright smile has something to do with it. or the comforting warmth in his hands as he leads you away? maybe it’s the way he holds you tightly against him after you ask to go to the teahouse and are nearly sick coming out of the teleporter.

or maybe, by chance, it’s the light in his eyes when you say ‘thank you’.

[jongseongsnudes]

hungry

brothersbestfriend!sunghoon. 1.5k words. smut with a horny dom sunghoon ft. brother!jay.

“jay is that you?” you call out loud from living room as you begin to make your way towards the front door, “what’s for dinnerrrrrrrrrrr? i’m hungry, i’m going to die- oh hi, sunghoon.”

“hi to you too, princess,” the boy says with a smug grin, his eyes scanning up and down your short, silky pyjamas, “cute.”

you immediately freeze, your mind unable to wrap around the petname he so very so often used for you. it was originally a nickname your older brother had given you for being the youngest of the family but his best friend eventually picked it up too and it was both an unfortunate and fortunate thing for you.

because not only was park sunghoon the literal definition of the perfect guy but you also had the fattest crush on him.

“it’s 7pm, you’re telling me you haven’t eaten?” you hear jay’s worried voice from outside the front door before the boy himself appears beside sunghoon, “i’ll go buy something quickly. hoon you hungry?”

“yeah starving.”

“alright you guys stay here. i’ll be quick.”

oh shit. no way was your brother leaving you alone with park sunghoon. but then you hear his car actually pull away and then... complete silence.

although you’re awkwardly focused on anything but sunghoon, you feel and know that he’s staring down at you. why, you have no idea but it’s making you nervous.

park sunghoon makes you nervous.

“uh... well i’m going to go watch my show.”

and you were off, running back to the living room where your favourite show was still playing away on the screen. you fully expected for sunghoon to go wait in jay’s room but-

“what are you watching?” he asks, dropping his bag onto the ground before joining you on the couch rather closely.

shit.

“just something random. what-”

“hmm,” he suddenly hums into your hair, his body now leaning against yours, “you smell sweet.”

“uh- yeah that’s my shampoo. i just showered.”

you wanted to kick yourself in the shin for blabbing so awkwardly. what kind of answer was that!

“oh i know,” he chuckles, his voice evidently lower than usual, “i can tell by how wet you are.”

you immediately turn to look at him, unable to believe the dirty yet not dirty words that had come out of his mouth. the man was a natural flirt, duh, but was this... flirting or was he just comfortable?

you’ve experienced the very same dilemma so many times before. sometimes he was a bit too touchy, other times he would stand too close. one time, you even thought he was going to kiss you with the way he was staring.

but time after time, you concluded that you were just delusional. obviously. because look at him and look at you, no way was he flirting with someone like you. besides... he was your brother’s best friend and there were boundries that came with that title.

you were very clear of that... just sometimes you can’t help but have such sinful thoughts about the boy. especially when you’re alone in your bedroom at night... with your hand down your panties.

“what are you thinking of inside that pretty head of yours?” his sudden extra sultry voice breaks you out of your daze, only to realise just how close he had gotten to you. his fingers are tangled in strands of your hair, softly pulling at it to get your attention. and hell was it working.

god this man is going to be the death of you one day.

“i- i am thinking of...” your words tumble, your brain unable to come up with anything other than 'fuck me!' but luckily that’s not what you end up blurting. “i’m just wondering why jay is taking so long, i’m so hungry.”

“same.”

“oh would you like me to grab you something?” you were quick to stand, putting that very necessary gap in between yourself and mr park, “we have some snacks i can-”

“no need princess,” sunghoon grabs your hand, harshly yanking you back down, right into his lap, “there’s something i can eat right here.”

one of his arms tightly wraps around your waist to keep you on his lap as his other rests comfortably on your thigh, his fingers lightly tapping away on your bare skin. you could feel him smirking behind you, his lips so dangerously close to your ear that you could feel him breathing against your skin.

but it’s that familiar colonge of his that has you melting, the same one that lingers around your house whenever he’s over. the same one that drives you insane even when its owner isn’t there.

everything inside of you is screaming for you to get off and run! that this is inappropriate!

but you don’t.

“sung... sunghoon-”

“yeah princess?” he asks so nonchalantly as if you’re not seated on his lap while his free hand is moving so inappropriately up your thigh... and with his hard on poking against your ass, “tell me what’s wrong?”

“what... what are you doing HMM-” your breath hitches when his fingers disappear underneath the ends of your shorts that were indeed, way too short. but his playful chuckle tells you that he is rather pleased with how truly short they were and to be honest... so were you.

“i told you i was hungry,” as that very last word left his lips, sunghoon presses two of his fingers against your clothed pussy. it took every bit of you not to make any inappropriate sounds as his fingers begin rubbing you in a circular motion, sending shivers through your entire body.

you were already seeing stars, the feeling a hundred times better than when you had touched yourself just a few hours earlier.

his lips press down onto the side of your neck, leaving a trail of soft, wet kisses along your skin. your body feels as though it’s on fire, every part of you burning and craving for the man.

all this emotion and he hadn’t even taken your clothes off yet.

“your panties are drenched,” his words and the deep laugh that follows makes your cheeks flush in embarrassment, your hand automatically going to cover your face but sunghoon stops you, “you’re so cute, there’s nothing to be shy about.”

before you could even respond, sunghoon presses his fingers even harder, his thumb now roughly rubbing at your clit to push that moan out of you.

“oh god- hm hoon-”

“yeah princess? you like that?” you know he’s enjoying it, teasing you and watching you crumble in his palm like every other girl he has been with on campus.

“yes hoon... please-”

the sound of keys jingling in the front door interrupts you but the new fear in your eyes doesn’t seem to faze sunghoon in any way. what the hell!

“oh my god my brother is home-” you whisper yell while frantically trying to scramble off of sunghoon’s lap but the man holds you still, “what are you doing! quick-”

“unfortunate isn’t it,” he shrugs so nonchalantly at you, keeping eye contact as he finally pulls his hand away. the sudden loss of contact makes you want to cry but you don’t even have the time to do that before sunghoon places two of his fingers into his mouth. the very same two fingers that was rubbing you through your panties just a moment before.

the scene alone was enough to make you want to cum, the sight of him sucking on his fingers is so erotic and oddly enticing.

“hmm you taste so sweet princess,” he chuckles, “maybe you can let me have some more after dinner.”

if it weren’t for the footsteps in the hallway, you would’ve probably melted from sunghoon’s words but getting caught by jay wasn’t something you wanted right now. or maybe ever.

as much as he loved you, and you know the man loved you so so so much, jay had always been over protective and quite strict whenever it came to the topic of boys.

so imagine him finding you almost being finger fucked by his best friend.

yeah, not a scene you want him to witness.

luckily for you, just as jay enters the living room, you had successfully slipped off of sunghoon and was now sitting on the couch, the two of you casually watching the tv ahead.

“alright lets eat,” jay says before heading to the connected dining room, with you quickly following behind.

“hm smells so good!” you rummage through the take out containers in an attempt to distract yourself about what just happened between you and your crush.

“your neck is red, did you get bitten by something?”

shit!

“ah- must’ve been a mosquito,” you answer your brother a little too awkwardly, your heart now thrashing in your chest at potentially getting caught.

“looks bad, put some cream on it,” sunghoon says as he passes you to sit down, “lets eat. i need to shower after this.”

shower? here?!

“you’re... staying over?”

“yeah,” a smug grin appears on sunghoon’s face for a split second as he looks over at you, the playful glint in his eyes silently telling you of what was to come tonight.

oh. shit.

end.

2023 © jongseongsnudes on TUMBLR. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REPOST.

[devildomditzy]

“Are you sure this will work?”

“Cmoooon, it’s foolproof! When have I ever let ya down?”

You raise your eyebrows at him, giving him a pointed look.

“Okay, I let ya down one time.”

You raise your eyebrows higher.

“Alright, alright! A couple of times. But this time I’ve got it locked down, I promise!”

You look away from him, a bit peeved he was making you the ‘main component’ to his next ‘big scheme’.

Try as you might, you can’t say no to him. This little bastards got you wrapped around his finger.

He gives you that look. You know the one. The one that always lets him get his way. The one that instantly makes you fold.

You let out a defeated sigh, “Okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

“Yes!”, he cheers as you watch him bounce excitedly around the room, quickly starting to toss various things aside on his messy floor seemingly looking for supplies? of some kind?

When he turns back to you, he’s got new ambition in his eyes.

“Right, step number one, we gotta get Asmo to getcha all dolled up.”

He gives what you can only describe as an evil little chuckle as he grabs your wrist and pulls you along towards the avatar of lust’s room.

“Hiiii”, Asmo sings as he opens the door to greet you. “I’m guessing you couldn’t say no to him again?”

You give Asmo a defeated, but annoyed look that says ‘don’t even start’.

He defensively throws up his hands. “Ooo, didn’t mean to touch a nerve there, hon!”

“Yeah yeah, their nerves are touched or whatever ya just said.” Mammon essentially pushes you into Asmo’s arms, cause you to indignantly huff at him. “Just hop to it, woula ya? We’re burnin’ daylight here!”

“Now now Mammon, is that anyway to talk to your lovely partner?”

“P-partner!? Whaddya mean partner? They’re just some stupid-“

Your deadly glare cuts him off completely.

“S-stupidly amazin’! Great human! So perfect! Did I mention you were amazin’?”

“Mammon?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s fair.”

The second born leaves you in the hands of the fifth as he promptly fucks off to who knows where to gather who knows what for this “plan”.

Asmo practically shoves you down into his vanity chair, eyes sparkling with delight as he looks you over, hand grabbing your jaw and titling your head side to side as if appraising a jewel.

“Now, tell me. What did you get yourself into this time, love?”

“Ugh, I agreed to help with another one of his stupid “money making” ideas… if you can even call stealing from unsuspecting drunks an idea.”

“So you’re going to be robbing people?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know. I’m just the distraction. The ‘eye candy’ he said. While I’m busy chatting up whoever, he’s gonna swipe their wallets.”

“You know hon, you don’t have to go along with his stupidity just to make him like you.”

“I know”, you sigh. “It just… it’s makes him so happy!”

“And so does his credit card! Just wave that in front of his face for a few seconds, it’ll have the same effect. Trust me, I’ve tried. And succeeded.”

You cross your arms, looking down, suddenly finding the floor very interesting as your brain works overtime thinking about him.

“I know… I guess I just wanted to be the reason why he’s happy.”

Asmo gives you a knowing smile, shaking his head. “What am I gonna do with you two? Ugh, it’s so cute I can barely take it!”

“What’s so cute?”

Asmo doesn’t just laugh at that, he cackles. He doubles over, tears in his eyes.

“Honey, if you don’t think we all can’t see this silly little back and forth you two are caught up in, you’re as delusional as Levi was when he thought he’d won a meet and greet with his favorite idol.”

“Wasn’t that another one of Mammon’s schemes?”

“Maybe..”, he leads off with a devilish lit in his voice.

You remain quiet as a small smile finds its way to his face and he shakes his head at you.

“You’re both ridiculous.”

Asmo grabs your shoulders, twisting the chair so you fully face the mirror. He runs a hand through your hair, staring into your reflection.

“How abouutttt, instead of getting you all made up to go to some dingy bar with my idiot brother, we get you all made up for my idiot brother, huh?”

“I dunno Asmo, he’s probably not even gonna notice.”

“Nonsense! When I’m done with you those drunks won’t be the only ones who are distracted.”, he says with a wink.

His smile? Devious.

It isn’t too long, probably a little over an hour before you hear banging on Asmo’s door.

“Oi! Are ya almost done in there? We’re on a tight schedule!”

“Why don’t you come in and see for yourself?”, Asmo questions in a dangerous voice.

Mammon is staring down at his D.D.D, typing with one hand as he opens the door with the other, so he doesn’t immediately see you.

But when he does

“Well…What do you think?”

Your voice comes out much shyer than you had hoped for, but you force yourself to look at him, knowing your face was on fire.

His eyes are wide behind his sunglasses as he just makes this unreadable face. One you don’t know what to make of.

“I uh, ya look uh.. I gotta”, he stammers before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath and…

“I forgot somethin’ in my room! Ya, just uh, gotta go grab it. Real important. And uh, you know what? You don’t have to come with me! The Great Mammon’s decidin’ to fly solo on this one, ha ha! Sooo…”

You watch him awkwardly back out of the room, shutting the door behind him before you hear him waking away. And then you hear that walk turn into a run.

“Well?”, Asmo nudges you, “Go after him, silly.”

“But Asmo-“

“We both know exactly why he acted like that. Stop worrying so much.” He gives you a genuinely warm smile. “Everyone knows that he likes you”.

Though nervous and maybe trembling slightly, you still manage to make your way to Mammon’s room. You hear shuffling inside that quickly halts when you knock.

“Mammon?”, you question when you get no actual response. “It’s me, can I come in?”

Still nothing, but you swear you hear him lean up against the door.

“I thought I was the ‘main component’ to this scheme. Now you don’t want me to be a part of it?”

You can’t hide to subtle hurt in your voice, one that makes him make some kind of groaning noise before promptly opening the door.

“Mammon I- woah!”, you stumble as he grabs you by the wrist once more, pulling you into his room quickly and slamming the door behind you.

He turns his back to you, eyes closed, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated.

“Mammon…”

“Listen, ya can’t… I can’t have ya goin’…”

He makes another annoyed noise before turning to face you.

“Ya can’t go out lookin’ like that okay! Especially to some seedy ass dive bar!”

“Why not? Isn’t this what you wanted? This was the whole plan right? I flirt with people, you take their wallets, we run before Lucifer hears anything about it.”

“Yeah, but-“

“Now I wasted all this time getting ready and you don’t wanna do this anymore?”

“It’s not tha-“

“I thought we were like, partners in crime. Maybe I was stupid for thinking that.”

The disappointment in your voice makes him crack.

“Ya look too damn good, okay?! I’m not lettin’ ya go cause I’m not lettin’ any of those assholes touch ya, let alone look at ya!”

His face is cherry red, and his arms are crossed as he keeps his eyes promptly shut. He looks as if he’s bracing for impact. Bracing for your response.

“I got to thinkin’ bout it after I dropped ya with Asmo and just… the thought of you sayin’ all that sweet stuff you say to me to a couple of nobodies just so I could swipe their pocketbooks? I couldn’t…ya can’t….ya can’t say that stuff to anybody else, got it?”

He seems to let out the breath he’s been holding.

“Specially not lookin’ like that. I mean, ya always look amazin’, but this is…wow.”

He looks you up and down, and you can’t help but feel like your heart is exploding into a million pieces. Was it nervousness? Was it excitement? Was it a mix of both?

You’ll never know, because what he said next makes your thoughts hault, heart beating out of your chest.

“It would kinda be a shame for you to get all dressed up for nothin’ though so…can I take ya to dinner?”

[leclsrc]

heyy, could u write the "resting the head on their shoulder" prompt? or the five fights, whatever u prefer 🩷

last anon was for charles, sorry! 🩷

felt the rush – cl16

genre: fluff (no bluff. like dont b fooled this is not angst for once..!), slight nsfw tonesss, sainz!reader

auds here… multitasked & combined like 3 reqs to make this omds… so it runs a tad long. title from this

send for the five times they almost get into a fight and the one time they do.

You squeak when you exit your closet, still in the middle of zipping up your dress. “What are you doing here?!”

Charles is lying on your bed, wearing your robe that looks entirely too tight on him and makes him look like a stripper, eating a chunk of chocolate. He spots you and gets up quickly, before you can utter another word—before he gets any nearer, you raise a stiff hand.

“Step any closer and I’ll yell.”

“You’re no fun.” He pops the chocolate into his mouth. “I like your dress. And new nail colour?”

It’s a Dior dress. And deep red. “We’re supposed to be avoiding each other,” you retort instead, rolling your eyes. If the last few times you’d almost been caught being fucked within an inch of your life by your brother’s teammate were any indication, the sneaking around was getting too risky to bear for either of you.

“Like I said! You’re no fun.” Charles tuts.

“Well, a sex fast isn’t supposed to be fun, tonto.” You tap your pointer finger against the temple of your head. “Think about it. It’s supposed to be effective.”

“The real effective thing is…” he hums, murmuring something in Italian, lost momentarily in thought.

You clear your throat. “Yeah, the real effective thing is you wearing my robe. You look like my abuela.”

He haughtily crosses his arms. “I was going to say that the method that’s most effective is just having sex until neither of us can.”

An irritated (but still as beautiful, he thinks) face stares him down, despite the height difference. “I am not getting an STD.”

“They say too much of anything is bad for you,” he elaborates. “The more sex we have, the less we’ll end up wanting each other.” He nears you, lips curling into a teasing smile. “You know this is a good idea.”

The logic is so stupid it seems to work, but before you can even voice assent, your maid Bianca pushes the door open, her eyes wide with the reaction that comes from evident eavesdropping. “No! Miss, no. Él es malo para ti. Carlito se pondrá furioso!”

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the voice of reason wash over you. Before this escalates into a fight even further, you resolve it yourself. “Get out. And take off my robe, abuela.”

—

How things came to be with him, you can barely even remember. It started when he became teammates with your brother, and all of a sudden everything was confusingly imprecise, a mess of sex and alcohol and bad decisions, quickly followed by kisses and cuddles and sweet moments. You can’t even blame yourself for not being able to label the relationship, even having to consult Bianca to help out (to no avail).

But whatever the relationship is, you know Carlos won’t be happy if he finds out there’s something between you and Charles. Charles, who is buckling his belt and picking up a bundle of lace from the floor. You adjust your tiny skirt, eye his hand, make a dive for your underwear. But he’s quicker, making sure you can’t reach them.

“Give them back,” you demand firmly. “Those cost 200 euros.”

“For this?” He dangles the flimsy material in between you both. “This is like a scrap of fabric. Well, they are very pretty. Though not as pretty as what’s undern—”

“Shut up!” Your face burns with embarrassment and irritation, hands still fruitlessly attempting to grab the panties from his. “You’re so annoying.”

“I will shut up,” he says, “and you and I can stop fighting like this, if you just let me keep them.”

“Perv.” You cross your arms, eyebrows arched.

He pockets them, watches you remain quiet but annoyed. “See? Fight resolved, principessa.” He pecks a quick kiss to your cheek and you gasp with surprise as he ducks out of your hotel room.

—

You’re watching the race when Charles gets P1 and your brother gets P2. Reasonably, the garage is bubbling with excitement and alcohol, your and Charles’ families join the throng on the paddock congratulating them both for a race well done.

Somewhere in the middle of celebrations you’re pulled into an empty closet, populated only by oil and cleaning supplies, feverish kisses pressed all over your neck. You gasp into his mouth, hurried by his hands sneaking up your dress. “Careful with the”—you gasp, his lips against your inner thigh—“dress, it’s Hermés.” He nods.

“I—” You pause, breath hitching. “I saw on F1 Gossip, you have a new girlfriend.” The image of her selfie flashes white hot in your head and you roll your eyes.

“Rumors.” Charles grunts irritably, burying his face in between your tits.

You knot lithe fingers into his fluffy hair, pull him toward your face so you can let him kiss you again. It moves fast, like all your trysts do. “You follow her,” you pant after two kisses, “you follow her on Instagram.” Your legs wrap loosely around him, your hips bucking up to seek friction. 

There is a silent question hanging like rain clouds over both your heads: why are you so worked up? After all, hadn’t you both agreed to keep labels off the relationship? Still, you’re petty, a bit jealous, and the emotions incite your best detective tendencies. He just makes disapproving noises, moving onto his knees to lift the hem of your already short dress higher.

His eyes meet yours, fingers at the waistband of your panties. Clearly you refuse to let the issue die. “We’re just friends,” he says.

“And I’m just a teammate’s sister,” you quip sharply. “No sex. Until I get the truth.”

He laughs against your thigh, shaking his head as he stands up. “You overreact. You are jealous.”

“I’m not.” You insist petulantly, crossing your arms over your chest because you can feel his eyes flickering toward it. “Spill!”

To shut down the pending fight, he does. “We really are just friends—fans need drama. You’re my only principessa, okay?” He presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll fuck you another time.”

Despite yourself, you ask: “Promise?”

—

“Te gusta él,” Bianca says when she’s depositing your clean laundry into your wardrobe. You bite on a chocolate, stockings-clad legs bending as you adjust yourself on your bed to answer her statement.

“Qué quieres decir?” You pause, angry. “Bianca, you’re going crazy. I don’t like Charles, for your information. It’d be wrong. Do you have any idea how angry Carlos would be?”

Shame and anxiety boil low in your stomach. She tuts and right as she’s exiting—“I never even said his name, amor.”

—

You realize things have changed when he’s helping you clasp your bra back on and kissing you the entire time. When you’re whispering good luck to him before he’s off to race, in your illicit hiding places. When he kisses not your lips, not your neck or cheek—but your forehead, the small of your back, your shoulder. 

When you can successfully pull off telepathic conversations, across meeting halls or dining tables. What are you doing later? I’ll text you my room. Okay. Stop staring. No, you. Want a drink? Wanna sneak off? It’s a talent, a skill you’ve honed from the periods of secret sex.

You’re laughing into his mouth, brushing your hair into a neater mess, when someone knocks on the bathroom door. “Hello?” Carlos calls.

Your eyes widen. Let me do the talking. 

Okay. He nods briefly.  “Just a minute!” You both yell, at the same time. And you’re fucked. So is the telepathy, apparently.

Carlos pushes the flimsy lock open, enters with a bewildered expression on his face—one belonging to perhaps the only clueless person in the entire garage; nay, the entire fucking paddock. All at once, random expletives and questions leave him in Spanish, but you answer just as quickly, and the whole thing escalates into a quickfire question and answer.

“You stay away from my sister.” He points at his teammate, aghast. “Ella es mi hermana pequeña! Ay, dios mio. Ay! You’re a man-whore. A man-whore—!”

Ten minutes later they’re reluctantly getting along, both sipping water to calm them down. The anger is replaced by awkwardness at that point, and you’re in the thick of it, reassuring your brother in calm tones to make sure he doesn’t start throwing around the word man-whore ever again. After his brief burst of frustration that Bianca got to know before he did, he eventually quiets down himself.

“So?” Carlos asks, shrugging. “Qué tipo de relación tienes?” He cocks his head to the side, gesturing to the awkward Charles a few feet away. It’s a loaded question, one you’ve asked yourself a million times since you started fooling around. You’d felt something then, and God if you don’t feel it all now, a rush of emotion when you see him across the garage or pressed up against you in ratty closets.

The connection might’ve been hasty, spontaneous, illicit, but it will always remain there even if you try to deny it. So even if it’s difficult to admit—you know the answer. It’s so easy you could answer Carlos’ question in your sleep. You could tell him how often you think of Charles, how sweet he is, how his kisses stick themselves onto you like invisible lovebites, and how you hope you’ll never stop thinking and feeling. But for now, one label is enough.

You stare, and Charles smiles. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

[seren1tyhaze]

pls post dive part 2 😓😓 dying over here

Dive Part Two Teaser: Strawberry Sunday

Hi :) I know, I know. It's been so long.

I want to say firstly, your love and support of my Dive fic has been more than I could have ever imagined. When I first published it last May in a fever dream after Doyoung's D&G photoshoot, I never imagined it would be this well received. We are quickly approaching 1.5K notes on the original post and every new comment really makes me smile.

I really am actively working on part two, which is lovingly titled Strawberry Sunday and a continuation of Jungwoo's cheeky idea from part one. For now, I offer a small teaser which of course involves that same religious imagery that everyone fell in love with in Dive. It's also nsfw.

Please comment on this post to be included in the official tag list when Strawberry Sunday is released in full.

Until then, check out my other works and stay well :)

~~

Doyoung gasps for air and slams the palm of his hand down on the wooden surface of the desk hard, digging his fingernails into the varnished surface. His other hand runs through his hair for the hundredth time, grateful he doesn’t have a mirror hanging in his home office, knowing he looks a mess. A groan rips from his lips and it rings out loud, filthy, and filled with pleasure.

He drops his hands and gaze at the same time, reaching down to pull cheeks covered in arousal and spit up to face him, sliding his cock out from surprised lips. He takes a moment to examine the beautiful face looking up at him from the floor, eyes twinkling with mischief and skin flushed a beautiful shade of red.

He takes a moment to breathe, dragging his thumb across a wet lower lip before bringing his thumb to his lips and practically moaning around the digit, tasting himself. His cock twitches and before he can say anything he feels teeth grazing heavily across his length-

“Earth to Doyoung-ie?” comes a sing-song chant through his headset, snapping him back to reality.

Doyoung looks up embarrassed and into the webcam on his computer, clearing his throat quickly. Haechan has a knowing look in his eye and his head is cocked slightly, staring him down through the screen.

“Yeah, yeah sorry, I got distracted by um…an email,” he stammers out, flipping quickly in his open Bible on the top of his desk.

Had he just been standing at his desk, imagining you were underneath it giving him head during his weekly virtual Bible study session? Yes, yes he had been. Was he now having to face the very curious eyes of three of his best friends, the “Lee Three” as they liked to call themselves, and try to lie? Yes, absolutely.

“Must have been some email…” Jeno mutters, taking a long swig from his water bottle. His hair is damp and by the look of his background, it seems like he's dialed in from his phone in the lounge at his gym.

“It’s okay, I think we’re almost done for the day anyways,” Mark offers, closing his own Bible and adjusting the collar at his neck. He didn’t normally wear his costume (as Haechan called it) for their sessions but he was away at a conference and in between presentations.

“Can I ask for some advice before we close?” Doyoung pipes up, closing his own book softly and flipping it over, as if that would help him be less ashamed for what he was about to ask.

“Of course, we are always here to listen, Doie,” Mark replies softly, pushing his glasses up his nose and leaning back in the uncomfortable chair he had been sitting in for the past hour.

“Let’s just say, there’s something that you know someone you care for very much would enjoy. And maybe this thing is something you’re unsure of. And this thing you’re unsure of is something that two other people you care for very deeply suggested but you really aren’t sure if it’s the right thing for you and the other person to explore right now…” Doyoung rambles on, seeming to get lost in the vague grammar of the narrative he was building.

Haechan cuts him off with an exasperated sigh which almost transforms into a whine as he speaks.

“Jungwoo and Jaehyun want to fuck this girl you won’t shut up about and you don’t know if group sex is really the right thing for you do this early in your situationship,” he states bluntly, looking up from picking at the corner of his fingernails.

“HAECHAN!” Mark and Jeno yell into their headphones in unison, Doyoung flushing a deep shade of red and reaching up to clutch at the cross around his neck.

“What?” Hyuck asks, still holding a deadpan look in his face, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Doyoung sighs but nods slowly, looking up to meet an awkward Jeno, who is scratching the back of his neck. He flicks his gaze to Mark who is merely laughing, leaning back in his chair and clutching his stomach.

“Why are you laughing, Father,” Doyoung retorts, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise in his chest as he chastises one of his oldest friends.

“Doyoung, please. The three of you have been doing this for years and I don’t know why you get so worked up about it each time. If she wants to do it and you are comfortable with it, just make sure you have open lines of communication with those two devils. You know how carried away they can get,” Mark replies with a signature roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m still scarred from my night with them,” Jeno murmurs quietly, thinking no one heard him.

“Oh shut up, you know you loved that shit,” Haechan quips quickly, leaning close to his webcam as if it would bring him physically closer to him.

“Honestly, go for it, dude. It’s like the least risky situation out there and from the sounds of it, I think she is probably into it,” Hyuck adds, voice becoming almost soft as he finishes his sentence.

“Just don’t do it on a Sunday, okay? That’s all I ask,” Mark chuckles again, waving goodbye to the group before disconnecting from the call.

Doyoung rolls his eyes, nodding to the other two before disconnecting and pulling out his phone to finally return Jungwoo’s text that he had been staring at for weeks.

~~

hope you enjoyed ;) comment to be added to the tag list!

[darbyallinsskateboard]

The Baddest (Matt Riddle X Reader)

I don’t see anyone write for this man so here I am

Inspired by Baddest - K/DA

Summary: Reader is like a sibling to Sami and Kevin, so when they verse the judgement day with Matt Riddle what happens when reader protects Riddle from Rhea?

I bite my nails as I watch my ‘brothers’ talk amongst themselves, the judgement day had challenged them to a match, but they needed a third person, just now someone comes through the curtains of the guerilla, you looked over and saw Matt Riddle scoot over on his scooter, quietly snorting to yourself “Hey Kevin, what about him?” Kevin looks over and shakes his head “No! definitely not! I don’t like idi-” “Hey! I heard you two were looking for a third man!” 

“Yeah! they were! hey you don’t have a match tonight, that’s perfect” Kevin glares over at me and I just laugh “That’s what I was going to say little lady! what do you say Kevin? Sami?” “I mean I don’t see a problem” Sami says and now Kevin looks to glare at him “Cool! so it’s a match!” says Riddle before scooting back out of the guerilla “I seriously hate the both of you” “awe, love you too!” you and Sami laugh at Kevin and then continue discussing.

The time for the match is upon us and I watch my brother’s walk out, with their tag titles up in the air, Riddle is next and he gives me a fist bump before he scoots out, I let out the breath I had in and sigh, I had admired Riddle since our NXT day’s but never really had the confidence to talk to him one on one, or really tell anyone I liked him.

I watch as the judgement day eye down my friends and I bite my lip, I see Rhea giving Matt a particularly rough look ‘Is she going to hurt him?’ see you used to be very good friends with Rhea, until she joined the Judgement Day, you guys have been feuding lately, and Rhea was the only one you could admit too you liked Matt, you really hoped she wasn’t going to try use this against you, you watch as the fight happens, Rhea interfering every once in a while.

When it was reaching the apex of the match Riddle had Dominik in the middle of the ring where he was going to try floating bro him but Dominik was pulled out of place and Riddle roughly hit the mat, Rhea then crawled into the ring and grabbed Matt, looking directly at the camera “This is what you get for messing with the judgment day little girl!” I quickly tell the technicians to play my music ‘Baddest By K/da’ starts playing and I run out into the ring, Rhea let’s go of Matt and I slide into the ring, tackling her and beginning to punch her.

Rhea was under me defenseless and Dominik got back into the ring, planning to break me up from Rhea, but before he could Matt grabbed him and got him in bro-derrick position and performed it, going for the pin “1....2....3!” but that didn’t stop you from continuing the assault on Rhea, before you were being pulled off of her, thrashing around “Let go!” “Come on we won, let’s go back” you hear Sami’s voice as you let him drag you from the ring.

when back in the guerilla the boys are all talking before Matt walks over to me “I’ve never seen you so aggressive, it was sick as, especially because you helped save me - hey! I got an idea! we should totally be a tag team!” “that’d be cool Matt” I look at him with a smile and he smiles back.

“Also, want to go out to dinner with me? I need to thank you in some way” I’m stunned before I smile widely and agree “Yes! I’d love too!” “I’ll dm you when I’ll pick you up” you nod and watch as he walks out “Our little y/n is growing up!” “I’d rather it not have been with Riddle but I guess I can’t stop you” you laugh as you continue talking to your brothers and joking around.

you feel your phone vibrate and open it, it was a message from Matt “forget dinner, just come to my locker room ;)” you couldn’t help but giggle “I gotta go guys” you say walking out “USE PROTECTION!” you laugh as you keep walking down the hallway

A/N omg a Matt Riddle post

[whatthefishh]

I request Steven Grant the love of my life helping a reader that got lost in a library. (It’s happened to me more than once…I needed a hug after I got out.)

Kitkat this is so cuuute hehe these are my spooky thoughts (SFW) on this idea:

You were once again lost in your reading, nose buried in a random title that caught your eye as you perused the shelves of your favourite library again

this library wasn't the most popular in your area, but it was still your favourite, despite the rumours about it being haunted

Steven had texted multiple times when you were late for your dinner plans, nothing special just some good food with your favourite guy

conveniently, the restaurant you had chosen was right across the street from the library, and this was not unintentional on your part. You knew he would be coming from work, and possibly late, so instead of waiting around at an empty table, you were going to wait for him in the comfort of the books around you

Though you were lost in the story you were reading, you still were somewhat aware of your surroundings... enough to notice when the temperature dropped enough for your skin to develop goosebumps... enough to notice the flickering of the lights in the corner which you were sat at... enough to notice the eerie quietness that blanketed the library, even though moments before you could hear the soft chatter and beeping of the librarian behind her desk. Come to think of it... she was nowhere to be seen. Everyone had left. The library seemed utterly empty except for you, whereas moments before... you could've sworn there were several people shuffling about.

A random breeze runs through you, and you feel cold all over. Quickly shutting your book and leaving it behind, you weren't in the mood to fight whatever meddlesome kids (or potentially real ghosts) were messing around at this late hour. Maybe the rumours were true!

Making a run for it, you felt disoriented, trying to find the exit in your haste to leave but the lights were playing tricks on you and maybe you made a wrong turn at some point because suddenly you didn't know which way was right. Until you hear his voice.

Steven called out to you, his voice distant but very clearly Steven. You tried to follow the direction from which it was coming from to find your way out of the dark, the leaning towers of books more intimidating than usual.

Blindly running and calling out to him, he kept yelling your name, making it easier for you to find him in the dark. Your frantic voice making him worried, Steven's own voice started mirroring the urgency in yours.

You collided into his chest before you knew it, his arms coming around you comfortingly. Steven cooed at you, holding you close and whispering that it'll be okay, rushing you out of the library doors into the night.

Steven kept his arm around you until you reached the restaurant, trying to comfort you as you told him what happened. He only laughed when you said that you weren't going to go in there without him again.

He also didn't complain about your neediness for the rest of the night, adamant on burrowing your way into his side. He only hugged you back, secretly content with your clinginess.

Taglist

@kittyofalltrades @am-3-thyst @sir-knight-slytherdor @m0nster-fvcker @daemonnix96 @alexxavicry @this-bitch-writes @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @floppapop @loonymagizoologist @cherryvalentine1 @ahookedheroespureheart @lonelyisamyw-0love @twwcs @raven-rk @bitchyglitterfox @ichigodjarin @einno-arko @xbellaxcarolinax @soonknight @romanarose @dameronscopilot @milkymoon2483 @unspokenmoon @campingwiththecharmings @vaderstherapist @oscarisaacsspit @fettuccin-e @mercuryrosesixx @nik2blog @melodygatesauthor @darktealrat @noahspector @dameron-grant-spector @your-voice-is-mellifluous @minigirl87 @annautumnsoul

[bi-bard]

Your Past and Mine are Parallel Lines; Stars All Aligned and They Intertwined - Mal Oretsev Imagine [Shadow & Bone]

Title: Your Past and Mine are Parallel Lines; Stars All Aligned and They Intertwined

Pairing: Mal Oretsev X Reader

Word Count: 2,271 words

Warning(s): mention of stealing, slight self-worth issues

Summary: [Inspired by "All of the Girls You Loved Before" by Taylor Swift] [Post-Season 2 Finale] Mal takes on the title of Sturmhond and soon meets a thief for hire, (Y/n). He recruits them at the direction of Tamar and Tolya, not realizing how much his life was going to change after that.

Author's Note: I think the show version of Mal is over hated. That's my hot take of the day.

Also, I've been looking for an excuse to use this song because who am I if I don't write a story for every Taylor Swift song that I can get my hands on.

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

I couldn't help that sometimes I would go a while without a job.

I couldn't help that the idea of being tied to a single crew made me just a little sick to my stomach.

I had to get by somehow. I could usually get hired quickly and get some decent pay, but sometimes when the chips are down, you need a little extra to get you by.

It always felt silly going back to stealing out of coat pockets or off of wrists. It made me feel like a kid again. But I guess it made for good practice.

I wasn't one to get caught. Mainly because I didn't get too excited. I was careful. I knew what I could get away with grabbing and what I couldn't. I knew when certain crowds were more observant than others.

When I found a very crowded bar, I knew that I could get away with far more than I could on a street somewhere.

I scanned the room as subtly as I could.

My eyes immediately latched onto the gold compass hanging on a man's neck. It was hanging low enough that my hand wouldn't look too obvious when I reached up. There was so much on the man's neck that I doubted he would notice it leaving his neck.

I was quiet, careful. I moved as normally as I could until I got close enough to the man. I offered a small smile, acting like I just needed to get around him as I snagged the compass from around his neck.

I was certain that he hadn't noticed.

I was almost to the door when I heard a voice behind me, clearer than the voices of the other patrons, "Hey! Give that back!"

I shoved the last person between me and the door out of my way as I took off running.

I took off down the main road until I could find an alleyway.

As I continued through the twists and turns, trying to put as much distance between me and the man as possible, I found myself almost laughing. That rare for me. I usually just got my work done and got away as soon as possible. I never took the time to enjoy it. But this... this was different.

I yelled as my arm was snagged.

I was turned around and shoved back against the wall of the alley. I was left face-to-face with the man that I had been running from. He was holding both of my wrists against the wall. His grip was tight enough that I was certain that there was going to be a bruise left behind.

"Let me go!" I snapped.

"Give me back my compass," he replied.

I just pulled at my arms again, trying to get free. I tried to kick at him, but none of my hits were landing.

A new voice spoke up, "(Y/n)?"

I looked over at the new voice. "Tolya?"

"You know them?" the man holding my wrists turned to look at Tolya.

Tolya nodded. "We worked with them ages ago."

"(Y/n) (Y/l/n)," Tamar explained, walking around the man to stand on his other side. I looked at her, a small grin on my face. "Quick, clever, fiercely independent, and always aware of every single escape route. Thief for hire."

"Hey!" I snapped.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't call me that!"

"What are you then," the man asked.

"More of a tracker. I'm just better at tracking more... notable things than just animals. I'm more than just a thief."

The man looked at the compass in my hand, raising his eyebrow a bit.

"Don't get all high and mighty about this," I said. "You don't truly think that I wouldn't recognize Sturmhond's compass, do you? If anything, I'm in the first steps to returning his property."

"That's a fun story, actually," Tolya replied.

"Why?"

"Because he's Sturmhond," he pointed at the man.

I scoffed. "Nice try. Sturmhond's blonde... and a little less of a prick."

The man glared at me.

"You're holding me against a wall, I can call you a prick."

"He had the title passed to him," Tamar explained. "Meaning that compass is his now."

"Well then, I'll return it once my arms are released."

"Sturmhond" relented, letting my arms go. I saw Tamar shift, ensuring that I couldn't run for it. I offered a fake smile before placing the compass in the man's palm.

"So, if Sturmhond's a title, do I get to know your true name?"

"Mal."

"That was easier to get out of you than I expected," I muttered. "These two introduced me already. And I'd say that it's nice to meet you, but that would be dishonest."

"Still jumping from job to job," Tolya asked.

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"We're doing good work," Tamar said. "You should join us. Get out of here."

"Why would I do that?"

"Get away from the city with your face plastered on wanted posters."

I looked at Mal.

"Wouldn't you rather take your hood off for a while and not fear being arrested?"

I took a deep breath. "Getting out of the city doesn't mean that no one is going to hunt for me."

"I have a personal connection to the king. I could get him to ensure your safety."

I paused, looking between the trio.

"One trip," Mal pushed. "After that, we can drop you wherever you'd like to go or you can continue traveling with us. Your decision."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Fine. One trip. That's it."

"Yes!" Tolya pushed his way past Mal to hug me. "I've been waiting for you to join us."

"I'm certain you have," I muttered. He finally stepped back. "So, when do I get to see the ship?"

That one trip turned into two. Two into three. And on and on and on.

Mal and I patched things up rather quickly after our... unfortunate first meeting. We went from a shaky partnership to a far more genuine friendship.

We were often paired up together when working. According to Tamar, our skills paired up well together. According to Tolya's smile when he saw the both of us, I knew there was something else on both of their minds. Tolya had read too much poetry to simply let things lie where they were.

They did have a point.

Mal and I worked well together when he wasn't the one that I was stealing from. I had grown very used to being around him. It was great.

I was convinced that it was simply a good friendship. Two people looking past a bad first impression and finding similarities where they didn't expect to.

Until one night.

We were in the middle of a mission. I was tasked with sneaking a key off of a man. He wore it around his neck, easy within reach so he could brag about his high-paying work to any poor bastard who would listen.

His voice was grating. And it only got worse the more that he drank.

I had to wait for him to get shitfaced before I could make any move.

He was focused on yelling at different people around the bar. He was trying to show that he was the big man there. He was in charge.

He drunkenly called for a toast for little to no reason.

While everyone was chugging their drink from the toast, I passed by, snagging the key off of his throat. The alcohol had made it so he wasn't very observant. Good for me. I got out before he said anything.

No, it wasn't until I was a little way down the street that I heard a drunk yell of angry, slurred words.

I ran to the alleyway where Mal had been waiting for me so we could both get back to the ship. He let out a relieved huff when he finally spotted me.

"That took you ages-"

I pressed a hand over his mouth before silently motioning for him to stay quiet. He nodded. I pulled my hand back and fixed my eyes on the small part of the street that I could see from where I was.

The drunk man stumbled past the alley that we were hiding in. A few men were behind him.

"This feels very familiar," Mal mumbled after it seemed like the coast was clear.

"Last time we were in a place like this, you slammed me against a wall," I replied. "Planning a repeat incident, Mal?"

I turned to look at him. The breath was nearly knocked out of me. His eyes were completely trained on me. Studying me. Looking for so much detail that it almost forced my heart to stop where it was.

"Mal," I muttered. I couldn't tell what I was trying to do. Get his attention, give him a warning, give him permission.

He leaned forward, kissing me briefly before very quickly pulling away. He tried to ramble about which way we needed to go, but I stopped him, leaning in and kissing him again. Properly this time.

That was the night that everything between us shifted.

Mal immediately seemed more accustomed to being open about his feelings than I was. He made little to no effort to hide how the kiss had affected him. I was hesitant. I didn't want to face the chance that this could all blow up in my face.

But he wore me down.

Probably on accident.

He would never push anything. He would smile at me during meetings, protect me more when we were out, and compliment me more. He spoke in ways that reminded me of the poets Tolya had told me about.

We kissed again. In his office. If that was the right name for it.

It was soft. Less rushed than the first one. He whispered how much he wanted to be with me. I found myself agreeing with little hesitation.

And it was like something very suddenly clicked. Being with him suddenly felt like the most natural thing in the world. Letting his hand touch mine was comforting instead of terrifying. Any future kisses felt like puzzle pieces clicking together instead of gut-churning.

It was all just... right.

We had always spent time together but this was so different. And it was worth any and all teasing we got for it. I was happy. I was finally truly happy.

I soon decided that the best times with Mal were during night watch.

On the nights that I was part of the night watch, Mal would often come up and spend time with me. We'd mumble quietly to each other as we watched the waters and the stars. It was nice. Probably the closest that our lives allowed for a date. Privateer work didn't really allow for romantic dinners or walks around town with our hands intertwined.

"Have I told you how much I've grown to really appreciate our nights out here," I asked one night.

"I think it's come up a few times now," he replied. "Why?"

I paused for a moment. "I just... I want you to know that I... I adore everything about this... about us. I don't think that I say it enough."

"I promise, you do," he said. "I really enjoy having this time with you too. These nights are my favorite. I feel like I get to see parts of you that you don't show other people. And I think they're amazing."

I looked down, feeling my face warm up. I heard a quiet chuckle come from Mal's lips.

"I'm sorry, am I seeing the great thief for hire be truly flustered for the first time," he moved so he was leaning in front of my face.

"Shut up," I grumbled, turning my head even further away. "I've just... I've never had someone talk about me like that... I've just always been an annoyance or a useful tool or something. To have someone talk about me like you just did... It's strange."

"A good strange?"

I turned back to him. He was now leaning against the railing of the ship, just looking at me. Not letting his attention drift for a second.

"Yeah," I replied. "A good strange."

He leaned over and kissed the side of my head.

I closed my eyes as he did, allowing myself to truly enjoy the moment while I had it.

"For what it's worth, this is all a very good strange to me too," Mal admitted as he pulled back.

"What do you mean?"

"It's... Well... The last time I was with someone like... this, I felt drawn to her," he explained. "Like I didn't have a choice in it. I was just meant to be... there. And then that feeling just disappeared. Suddenly, I didn't know what I was meant to do."

I took a deep breath, "And now?"

A grin pulled at his lips. "I feel like I had a choice in it... in this. I chose you... and it feels like one of the best things I've ever done."

I felt a grin of my own forming.

He leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. His hand moved to cup the side of my face. My hand touched his and my lips followed his lead.

I leaned back first, smiling at him. "I... I love you, Mal."

"I love you too."

And it was like all of the steps to get to him fell away. Now, there was only him... this.

And I was perfectly happy to only see the love I had finally earned.

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

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The Lady Knight

HTTYD fandom, I am excited to announce my contribution to our fanfic archives! This is my first fic that I've ever posted, so comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Special thanks to @borrassofi, @bi-bi-want-dragon, @triumphantfury, and @macheriemila for all their support and inspiration and letting me tag them!

You can read my fic on AO3 here

Summary: Astrid Hofferson never cared about being a girl, much. But when she overhears her parents' discussion, she decides to become the son they don't have, and train as a knight. After all, how hard could it be? At Training she overcomes grueling exercises, carefully avoids suspicion, and grudgingly makes a friend - the Prince himself. But as she grows and matures, so do her feelings, both guilt and - something else.

She never wanted to be a boy, even though she had wished for it a few times. But a whimsical wish was quite different than devoting oneself to years of careful deception. She had been born into a long and proud lineage of Hoffersons, but this generation, there was no boy. No male to inherit the land and titles and follow in his father’s footsteps to become a legendary knight. To say that her father was disappointed was an understatement, but she took the fact she was female harder than the rest.

She supposed she could qualify as the tomboy of the family. All of the Hofferson girls were beautiful and strong. Their house was one of the most noble in the kingdom, and with only girls, more prone to kidnappings and ransoms; so her father had ensured that all of his daughters knew how to handle a sword when needed. But Astrid’s favorite weapon was her prize axe. She could ride straddle and sidesaddle, and her voice, while still feminine, was rougher than her sisters’.

She had never truly cared much about being a girl, except for the fact that boys got to wear more comfortable clothes and could go to war. She never understood a girl’s limitations until she listened to her father talking to Mother behind the door and realized that being a girl meant you could not inherit the estate, so when Father died, they would be homeless - and her father was nearly eight years older than Mother.

She was creeping down the corridor in her soft cotton nightgown to eavesdrop on her parents. Her fifteenth birthday was coming up soon, and she had caught Mother and Father speaking in hushed voices that would abruptly skid to a stop whenever she entered a room. She had made it a personal goal to find out her party plans or presents before she got them every year; her sisters and sometimes the servants were easy enough to pry the answers from, but it was her parents who she had never been able to best, and this year was her year.

The thick carpet muffled her careful steps and the aged wool scratched between her toes as she made her way to the flickering bar of light creeping out from under Father’s office door. Mother must be pacing inside. She slowly lowered her ear to the crack and closed her eyes to make out the voices better, for Father’s door was thick enough to obscure the words to any spy trying to gather important information. Astrid breathed evenly and ignored the rough pressure of the carpet against her cheek as she carefully tried to shift herself in a better angle. She prided herself on her stealth, knowing not to move too quickly or to try to run if she thought she was found out; those actions only created noise, but Valhalla help her if she was ever found in this embarrassing position!

“. . . what on Midgard are we going to do?” her mother’s voice filtered through - but with a shrill note of panic? Astrid frowned. Was Mother running out of ideas for her party? Surely she wasn’t so spoiled she wouldn’t understand if the celebrations weren't very extravagant? In fact, she was perfectly fine with it just being a quiet affair among the family. And she’d always thought the party ideas were Father’s.

“. . . no need to worry, my dear. I’m in great health; I’m not going anytime soon.” Father’s deep voice soothed Mother’s worry like a balm. What? Was Father not going to be there? He never missed any of his children’s celebrations! Except for that time a couple years back where he had to go help the King in the war, but while it wasn’t won it had calmed, and Berk was well on its way to winning - eventually. But that had nothing to do with his health. Were they even talking about her party?

“There’s no guarantee.” The click of Mother’s heeled shoes was replaced by a thunk and rustling of fabric as she presumably collapsed gracefully onto a chair. “And of course, in a few years we’ll have to find suitable husbands for our daughters while we still have the position to receive good offers-”

“Darling-”

“If only they could inherit! Or if Agor hadn’t-” her voice seemed to crumble at the mention of Astrid’s deceased brother’s name and even the light through the door crack seemed to dim in remembrance. He had passed away when she was very young, so she did not remember him, but he had been the closest to her age and the darling of her parents.

Her mother’s shadow grew bigger as Father joined her on the chair. Astrid could no longer hear what he was saying as he comforted his beloved wife. There was no need to; they clearly weren’t talking about her birthday party. She began to carefully raise herself to make her way back down the hall.

Laying in her soft bed, it was then that she cursed her gender; she hadn’t cared much about it before as she still learned to fight and read and figure like any boy. She enjoyed soft dresses and while her etiquette lessons were boring, she was good at them and had to admit she looked much more graceful from them. But now she wished she could have been a boy. She knew that she could take over her father’s lands easily. She was smart, decisive and strong. If she had been a boy she would have been perfect. But no one other than her servants and family took her orders and ideas seriously. If only she was Agor.

She was the second born of the Hofferson ladies. Her older sister, Astoria, was better accustomed to being a lady than she was; if one compared poise or smiles, they were the same, but her sister had a comfortable ease that Astrid did not possess, but maybe it was just because she was the eldest. She steeled herself and resolutely married into a good family to help the rest of her younger sisters. Astrid was more impressed at her sister’s bravery than she wanted to admit, as it forced her to recognize that she was selfish enough to have not done the same. So, she decided as the next oldest to become the son her father had always wished for, and become a knight. What could go wrong?

A few months after Astoria’s wedding she approached her parents with her brilliant idea. It did not go as well as she hoped. Her mother’s voice reached an ungodly pitch of indignation and disbelief, and her father looked terribly affronted, as if her suggestion had somehow invalidated all of their hard work, but Astrid was nothing if not tenacious and her father rued the day he enrolled her with the debate tutors. She argued that she was the least social of Lord Hofferson’s daughters, so she would raise the least suspicion. Plus, she was the closest in age to the deceased brother she was pretending to be, she continued as she elaborated upon her plan. She was already more skilled at fighting than most other noble boys her age - fifteen - and was confident enough to finally convince a gruff father to give her his honor and her mother to offer to cut her hair. She would be shipped off to training and become a squire that very week, as the annual training that was mandatory for all young aspiring knights was about to begin. The normal practice of squires assisting a knight until they turned eighteen had been done away after none of the said squires were able to pass the test to become a fully fledged knight, and now all squires would be trained together by the same instructor. Father had been very pleased with this announcement when it first came out, but now his enthusiasm for the program had been significantly dimmed.

Her story was that she (meaning Astrid) had a secret twin, Astor. Astor had always been sickly, and after the terrible death of their older brother Agor, Astor had been kept secret from society, as Mother would not be able to bear society’s pity if she lost her other son. She thought the entire idea rather brilliant, and Father sighed and began to mention this secret son of his who had miraculously recovered enough to go to training to anyone whenever business took him outside his castle. A new hair of Mother’s bleached wheat locks shimmered into silver with every passing day, but ultimately Astrid was sure Mother would see that Astrid was doing the best she could for her family. She was sacrificing her whole identity in an effort to create another one to better protect her family. No, it wasn’t marrying a well off lord, but Astrid could only do so much.

.oOo.

The first day of training was terrifying. She had never been so surrounded by warriors, and it thrilled her. All the noble’s sons were staying in the Great Hall, the ancient courtroom Kings used to sit in. Now, the old throne room was a banquet hall, the biggest guest rooms had been converted to classrooms; the smaller ones into separate rooms for noblemen who could afford to pay for their son’s privacy. Father had indulged her and rented one of those rooms so as to not compromise her identity. For if she was ever found out, her virtue and her sister’s by default would be put in terrible jeopardy.

She jumped at anything closer to her than three feet. She was pretty, she knew, what if her face wasn’t masculine enough? She didn’t talk, she was too afraid she wouldn’t sound right. Who on Midgard had said this would be a good idea? Father had left immediately after seeing her trunks deposited in her room, as he did not wish to make it seem he coddled her; fitting in would be hard enough as it was, but now she thought she would have given anything to have him take her back home. She barely slept, certain someone was going to burst through the door and expose her. She nearly cried, something she hadn’t done since she was ten. But if she didn’t cry as a girl, she wouldn’t cry as a boy.

Dawn came with an unbearable clanging. She groaned loudly and sat up as something metal hammered against her door.

“Rise an’ shine, lad!” called a cheerful Scottish voice through the door. Gobber, the retired knight with a peg leg and interchangeable hands. She had been introduced to him the night before, and he’d informed her he’d be in charge of the physical training. She recalled his accent being heavier and more slurred, due to the keg of beer attached to his left stump. How was he so clear headed so early in the morning after that? She emerged from her room a few minutes later, tunic rumpled, short hair mussed, glaring through tired eyes above dark circles. Gobber beamed good-naturedly.

“‘Attaboy,” he grinned. He clapped her on the back, hard, and Astrid stumbled forward a step.

Apparently, Gobber believed that waking up at dawn to learn how to manage heavy wooden practice swords before breakfast was the way to go. “If ye ever haf tuh fight fer yer life, ar’ they gon’ wait til ye finish yer beauty sleep?” He mocked the tired teenagers.

“My manly beauty would be too great for them to handle,” a short, stocky teenager boasted. He wobbled and barely managed to hold his position. The wooden sword shook. “Can’t we have had breakfast, at least?” he whined. Astrid, who had been staring stoically ahead, cast a glance at him. Square face, choppy black hair, whiny, privileged voice; Jorgenson, the Duke’s son.

After a week, Astrid was used to getting up before dawn. After a month, she was waiting outside for Gobber to come get her. He gave her an approving smile and that day he announced that everyone would have to meet him in the Armory on their own, and if anyone was late it would be noted. A chorus of groans followed this declaration, and Astrid resolved to be the first one there every morning.

The Armory was a large room off the side of the Great Hall, and led into the training Arena. The stone walls were rough with hooks and weapons, but the far wall was painted in tar and had a stand for chalk on it. At first Astrid hated how confined the room was, with dangerously sharp or dull weapons crowding everyone (although it did ensure no one cheated and leaned on the walls to catch their breath) and a dozen grumpy boys sweating and stinking up the place. As the days became colder, she was relieved they didn’t have to train outside, but was careful not to show it. If Gobber suspected they were grateful for the Armory, she was sure he’d drag them outside.

There weren’t too many noble boys her age but she managed to play arrogant and aloof well, so no one got close to her and found out her secret. She didn’t want to be friends with the boys, anyway. Did they not take their duty of bringing honor to their families? Her father received letters of glowing praise about his ‘son’ as she quickly rose to the top of the class, being the best at hand-to-hand combat, sword fighting, tracking, climbing, everything - well, except riding. That was the only class she was second best in, and it irritated her more than she wanted to confess.

Trying to be a teenage boy was harder than she thought. She had never thought of herself as dainty before, but almost all the boys were tight knit, clapping each other’s backs, roaring loudly with laughter, having food fights, and public baths. She shuddered at the thought. She bathed herself after everyone had gone, and the water was always freezing. She couldn’t wait until she could return home on her yearly visit and soak in a nice, hot, private bath for hours and wear silk robes under no constant fear of what would happen if they found she was a girl - well, young woman.

She had never been very attracted to boys in a romantic sense; she had always been too busy planning and working and practicing, but she feared she would never get married after living with a bunch of male adolescents. They were gross and hairy and sweaty and smelly and vomited after they drank too much. Occasionally one would make a disgusting comment about a lady servant and it was all she could do not to beat them senseless right then and there. The only boy she found herself mildly interested in was a quiet, skinny boy her age.

Everyone in training went by their surnames. She had become Hofferson, the prodigal son. Jorgenson had learned that he only went by ‘Hofferson’ the hard way: she had beat him when he tried to clap her on the back and called her ‘Hoff.’ For some reason, though, this other boy only went by ‘Hiccup.’

She hadn’t even noticed Hiccup in the beginning. At first she had been shocked - was there a noble family by the surname of Hiccup? Then she figured it must be a nickname, as Jorgenson had called him ‘Hiccup’ first. Perhaps he wanted someone with a name just as awful as his (with a name like Snotlout, she could hardly blame him).

Hiccup was scrawny and weak. He could barely hold a sword, much less swing an axe or a mace- which they were going to learn how to use in a few months. Astrid secretly crept out of her rooms every other night with her new axe, made heavier and more masculine looking, to practice. She was frustrated she didn’t see him at night either. She even went every night for a while to see if perhaps they were just missing each other, but no. He didn’t even try to get any extra practice. She didn’t know why the fact irritated her, why she wanted to see him try. It was just because he was exactly what she had been afraid of becoming, she told herself.

Despite his abysmal performance with weapons of any sort, Hiccup made up for it with other things. He was the best rider, and she hated that he just had a natural instinct with the beasts. He was . . . different from everyone else. They made fun of him because of his size, but she noticed that he was quick witted and diplomatic despite being shy. They had vied for the top spot in History and Strategic classes more than once. She knew it wasn’t wise, but she was drawn to him, and knew he was too afraid of her to dare pry or try to make conversation. She knew he was smart, and would have to be on her guard in front of him so he didn’t figure out her secret. Because if anyone was smart enough to find out, it was him. Still, she found herself sitting next to him during Strategy, or standing next to him before they rode their horses.

Winter was reaching its end, and the white, regal snow had turned to muddy slush that was somehow colder and infinitely wetter. Gobber, the wonderful, considerate instructor he was, had them training in the Arena now. Keeping one’s balance was even harder in the slippery sludge, and they were still practicing with wooden weapons, but they had moved on from swords. They were to learn how to handle every weapon, and by the end of the year, they’d be allowed to choose one or two weapons to continue in. Astrid already knew she’d choose her axe, but was enjoying learning to handle all the other weapons as well.

Hiccup was dismally trying to handle a mace. No one really liked the weapon except Thorston, who had declared his weapon’s name ‘Macey.’ Astrid was the nearest to him, executing the eight positions and enjoying the swish of wind the heavy wind made as it swung through the air. He fell, some of the slush splattering on her face. She sputtered, then rounded on him with a glower.

“Watch it!” she growled. Hiccup scrambled up, apologizing profusely. Astrid rolled her eyes.

“What are you even doing with that thing?” she asked sharply. “It’s just like a club, use the momentum and the same eight points of fighting we already know. Did your father teach you nothing?”

Hiccup scowled fiercely at her and picked up his too-heavy mace, gritting his teeth. She frowned. She must have said something wrong. Did he get sullen after she corrected him? Maybe he was just a spoiled noble boy, but no, that didn’t fit him. She resolved to keep an eye on him. She normally didn’t bother apologizing if she accidentally offended someone who wasn’t an instructor, but she felt like maybe this boy could use one.

After the session had finished, she hung up her practice weapon next to him. They were both the shortest of the class, and she had to stretch a little to reach the hook for her wooden mace. Her arms protested but she paid no mind to the ache. She was used to it after five months. Hiccup attempted to do the same, but his footing wasn’t stable and he stumbled, off balance, into the entire wall of practice weapons, the haphazard tumble of metal and wood ringing throughout the stone Armory as they jumped out of the way. Gobber whirled around and groaned in exasperation.

“Hiccup! What’re ye-”

“It was my fault, Sir,” Astrid interrupted quickly. Everyone’s eyes swung to her incredulously. “I lost my balance and knocked into him.” Hiccup blinked his eyes like an idiot. She shot him a look. Play along, it ordered. He blinked again before he caught on and then quickly nodded. Gobber raised one side of his dirty, blonde unibrow.

“Well, Hofferson, seeing as you are so keen to share Hiccup’s punishment, fifteen laps around the Arena. You’ll miss dinner but get a slice of bread before bed.” Astrid nodded stoutly, her stomach tightening in protest. Would word of this reach her parents? Hiccup shot her a glance; he thought she was crazy. That was fine. She thought she might be crazy too. She followed him out the Armory door back into the cold, keeping pace with him as he jogged painfully and slowly around. Her legs and arms were numb and her cheeks chapped red when they finally finished and headed toward the kitchens. Gobber eyed them and handed them a slice of bread each with a slab of butter. They accepted them gratefully and sat by a bench near a stove.

Hiccup frowned at her contemplatively. She didn’t meet his eye as she took a hefty bite of the bread, sighing in relief. He took a shaky breath.

“Thanks for that,” he said quietly. “It did absolutely nothing, taking the blame, but thanks anyway.” A cross between a grimace and a smile crossed her face.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied. She met his gaze and he gave her a small, grateful smile.

After that they kept each other company more often than not. They didn’t speak often; she wasn’t inclined to talk much, always wary of her voice, and he didn’t try to pull her into conversation, which she was thankful for. But there was something - comradery, maybe - that was developing as they worked side by side in silence. She wouldn’t say they were friends; it wouldn’t be wise to get close to him. To get close to anyone. You couldn’t make friends if you were keeping things from them, but they cold be friendly, she reasoned with herself.

What she hadn’t known was that he was also keeping things from her.

Training drew to a close. She grew more adept at faking her voice cracking. She learned to laugh in a way that would have made Mother faint. She still refused the alcohol other boys tried to sneak into their barracks, but had figured out plausible excuses. Then the yearly visit to their families came round, and their parents came to collect them. Astrid was curious to see who her ‘friend’s’ parents were. He seemed more nervous and fidgety than normal whenever she mentioned parents. She had guessed he probably didn’t get on too well with them. That was understandable. Her own relationship with her parents had been strained at best throughout the year, as they made it clear they were uneasy with her choice, and Astrid being the stubborn lass she was, never shared her hardships she had to conquer with them, or mentioned how much she dearly missed the rest of her sisters, or the nights she wondered if maybe being a wife was really so awful; surely it wasn’t so bad as her day had been. She’d share only her triumphs with them until they admired the choice she had made.

But despite all this, Astrid was excited to see her parents again. She had never been so close with them before, her interactions and love for them more dutiful than anything, but in her absence, she had received a letter every week and she couldn’t wait to reunite with them again and spend a month in silk gowns and practicing her poise. She would have never thought she would be so excited to be a girl.

The promise of going home soon made her more talkative than usual. Gobber seemed to be glad too, and gave them more time off of practicing weapons handling. After over ten months of handling them, he told them, there wasn’t as much need to practice. Astrid disagreed; she was of the opinion Gobber was tired of stupid boys and desperate for a drink, but she was grateful for the extra time all the same. The days were hot, and most of the boys went swimming, but she couldn’t join them, careful of her female body underneath her boyish clothes. She had stopped wearing long sleeves under her tunic and wrapped her forearms, admiring the toned muscles in her upper arms.

Hiccup still wore long sleeves and didn’t go swimming with the other boys either, so they had sort of mutually agreed to ride together during their free time. She found him in the stables, stroking his black stallion’s glossy coat. “He’s beautiful,” she greeted them, nodding at the horse.

Hiccup acknowledged her with a nod. He patted his horse again - Toothless - before leading him out of his stall. She crossed over to Stormfly, her horse, and led her gently out of her stall so she could begin brushing.

“Toothless?” she had asked incredulously when he had introduced her to his horse.

“Yep,” Hiccup replied, popping the ‘p.’

“Toothless,” she repeated, gesturing at the stallion who was contentedly eating the apple HIccup had just given him - with all his teeth.

“So he won’t bite me,” Hiccup said dryly. Astrid couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.

“I trained him myself,” Hiccup broke the silence as they began to saddle the animals. She peeked at him from the corner of her eye; she hadn't expected him to elaborate further.

“Where’d you find him?” she asked as she finished brushing out Stormfly’s coat. “I’ve never seen a stallion this fine.”

“He was wild,” Hiccup told her proudly. “We stumbled across each other one day. I was fascinated. He didn’t trust me at first, but I visited him everyday - and, more importantly, brought him snacks.” They snickered and Astrid could’ve sworn the horse rolled its eyes. “Eventually, we became friends, and . . . then I got on his back for the first time.”

“What was it like?” Astrid asked, entranced. She’d never heard Hiccup talk this long, and never so passionately. She realized she had stopped working to look at him, and hastily grabbed her saddle, fastening the straps securely, testing to make sure they were tight enough, but not uncomfortable for her beloved mare.

“He threw me off the first few times,” Hiccup admitted with a small laugh. “But after that . . . it’s like flying.”

“I know the feeling,” Astrid told him quietly. Their gaze caught, the boy’s bright eyes looking at her in understanding and - she felt a weird warm feeling settle in her chest. The hot summer air suddenly made itself known in her flushed cheeks. Had it been this warm a minute ago?

“That sounds amazing,” she said abruptly, wanting to change the subject. “I bet if he hadn’t been wild he would have been fit for royalty,” she joked, part serious. For some reason, Hiccup’s smile seemed to fade at that.

“Haha, yeah. Well, guess it was a good thing he was wild, right,” he scratched the back of his head with a strained smile. Astrid mentally berated herself. She had done something wrong, but she had no idea what.

“My girl’s pretty fast, too,” she challenged him, hoping to lighten the mood again. “Want to race?” She finished with Stormfly’s bridle and swung up easily into the saddle. That brought Hiccup’s smile back.

“Sure,” he agreed enthusiastically. He pulled himself into the saddle with enviable grace and winked at her, before breaking into a lighting-fast gallop. Astrid blamed the foreign fluttery feeling that arose on the thrill of a challenging race as she grinned and followed him.

.oOo.

The day to leave arrived, and she met her parents by the entrance with her luggage. For a second they said nothing, taking in the other’s appearance with wide eyes. Had her father’s hair always had so much gray? She had grown taller, and it was strange for her gaze to settle above her mother’s eyes. She set the luggage down and they embraced. 

She pushed down the sudden tears that threatened and tried her best to keep her personality as ‘Hofferson’ rather than reverting to ‘Astrid’. Time for that later. Her parents chatted amiably with Gobber, the Head trainer, who was ranting about Astrid’ spectacular prowess, and Astrid excused herself to say goodbye to Hiccup. She hadn’t seen him at all that day, which was strange, because she was sure she knew all the spaces he retreated to. Where was he? Did he think they were going to leave before saying goodbye? Why did the thought of that make her feel upset?

She found him surrounded by guards trying to take his baggage for him despite his protests. She frowned as she recognized the livery colors; black and red. And the royal Haddock crest.

“There you are, your Highness,” one of the guards said cheerfully as he secured the last trunk to the back of the carriage and held the door open for Hic - no, Prince Henry. Because of course Astrid was so focussed on maintaining her identity that she forgot the Crown Prince was her age and named Henry. Prince Henry, with the extraordinary green eyes. The Prince who had managed to tame a wild horse. The Prince who looked almost entirely like his slim mother, not the broad king. Her mouth dropped open as everything clicked into place with a rush of confusion, disbelief, and anger. The prince turned to catch sight of her and paled.

“Hofferson-”

Astrid spun on her heel and rushed to her parents, suddenly anxious to be home.

Two months was too long to think, Astrid decided. She would come to a conclusion after hours of pondering in her delightfully hot bath (she had had one every day since she arrived home) but would change her mind in the next one. And she was furious; now she couldn’t even enjoy her hot baths, and it was entirely his fault. 

She knew she was being unfair; how could she be mad at him for not mentioning he was the Crown Prince? It wasn’t like they were friends or anything, and he didn’t even know she wasn’t a boy. So why did a part of her feel betrayed? 

Her options were to deem he was untrustworthy and avoid him, or to confront him about his identity. But he was the Prince; she shouldn't ostracize her future king. But then, none of the other boys in training seemed to have much respect for him. Did they not know who he was either? Why would he not tell anyone? Why hadn’t she ever realized? She was confused and her head was messed up, so after a delightful week of relaxing and regaling tales to her younger sisters, her father had her continue to train to stay in shape and she resumed lady etiquette lessons, trying to learn as much as possible in two months; after all, who knew how long she would stay a squire? Being so busy helped keep her mind off other things, and she decided to forget about Hic - Prince Henry and concentrate on her family. She would deal with him when they saw each other again.

She would never admit it, but he occupied her thoughts far too often. It was because she had nothing better to focus on while at Training, and boring poise made her mind wander. She didn't really find him that interesting.

When she arrived back Gobber allowed one day to settle back in before they went straight into classes. Most people were rusty after a month of lazing about and she silently thanked her father for keeping her in shape. She spied Hic - PrinceHenry making his way over to her a few times, but she always turned around and headed in the opposite direction to avoid him. She wore a fierce scowl, and the boys who had gotten a little more friendly before she left wisely gave her space. 

She hadn’t reached a conclusion about what to do with Hiccup - with The Prince, but she couldn’t let him be the one to confront her. No. That would be cowardly, which was something she refused to be. So, one day after breakfast when they were on their way to another Training session, she walked up behind and punched him. Hard.

Hiccup yelped and jumped to face her, clutching his shoulder. “Wha-? What wa-”

“That’s for lying,” she said sternly as an explanation. He shook his head disbelievingly and glared right back at her, but their sort-of friendship was now closer to a real one. No, they were friends, she realized with a shock. Hiccup was her friend. She hadn't meant for it to happen, but she had a friend now. And her friend should be able to defend himself, she resolved.

She had been back in Training three weeks so far. She was top of the class like last year, but this year she had a different focus than doing well in class. She was looking for Hiccup. Everyone had gone to sleep, even the servants were gone and the kitchens dark and empty. She doubted Hiccup was situated in the barracks with the other boys, since Jorgenson - or Snotlout, as the boy had smarmily insisted - had his own room, surely the Prince would? She crept quietly down the dark corridor, listening through the doors. The door closest to her had no sounds or light coming from it. She knelt down to the door crack to examine further, but had to plug her nose to hold back the sneeze from all that dust. She doubted anyone slept in there.

She turned the corner of the corridor - the corridors were rather small, honestly. Father had at least five sets of rooms per corridor at home, but this was an old building. The next door she listened had a heavy snoring, an awful mix of snorting, choking, and grunting noises. She hoped that wasn’t Hiccup. A small boy like him wouldn’t make sounds like that, would he? Her fingers lightly traced the wood along the door. Ah. Someone had hung an elaborate carved ‘S’ on the door. It was Snotlout’s room. 

She noticed a flicker of light down the corridor, and made her way over to the last door at the end of the hall. A slight glow could be seen if she crouched down and peered under the door, like there was a candle in the next room. She studied the dark wood for a minute. Did the Prince have a set of rooms? She tried the handle. It jangled softly. She let out a huff and cast a look around the shadowy corridor in hopes of finding something to help her. Snotlout’s snores were loud, would he wake up if she knocked on Hiccup’s door? What if Hiccup didn’t hear? She knocked firmly on the door and held her breath to listen. Snotlout’s noise didn’t stutter, but she thought she could make out a shift of a body on sheets.

She knocked again. Then again. She pressed her door against the door and heard a sigh accompanied by a thump. She debated knocking as the flicker of light under the door grew brighter. A key clinked and the door opened a crack. She quickly took a step back.

Hiccup, his brown-red hair longish and a bit tangled, peered out through a crack, a candle’s light illuminating his head’s silhouette.

“Hey,” whispered Astrid. He gave a terrified squeak and jumped back behind the door, another thump sounding and a muffled “ouch.” She pressed her lips together to keep from snorting. He must have tripped.

“You alright?” She asked, not bothering to hide her amusement. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. Yep, the Prince had a set of two rooms. The one they were standing  in - well, one standing, the other scrambling to get up - was small, with a tapestry hanging on the wall across the doorway where Astrid guessed his bed and wardrobe lay. There were two comfortable chairs and a desk in this room. The desk was covered in parchment of different sizes and quality and various amounts of ink. She turned her attention away from them despite her curiosity. She had a point being here.

“Hofferson,” Hiccup laughed nervously. “What are- uh, what are you . . . doing here?”

“You weren’t sleeping anyway,” she began. Hiccup looked confused.

“How’d you know I wasn’t sleeping?” Astrid’s eyes widened.

“What? I - no, I didn’t know you weren’t sleeping until I came here and saw the light! But it’s good you’re not sleeping. This would be harder if you were tired.”

“What are we doing?” Hiccup asked. Get to the point, Astrid, she told herself. Quit messing around.

“Since you can’t sleep anyway, why don’t you train,” Astrid suggested. He stared at her, nonplussed.

“Yeah, okay, maybe this is just a crazy dream.” He turned towards the doorway, scratching his head. She scowled, and pinched his arm.

“Ow!” he recoiled. “Okay, not asleep. Unfortunately,” he muttered. Astrid raised her eyebrows at him and he rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not good at Training, or anything fighting at all,” he explained patiently.

“Exactly,” Astrid responded with equal patience. “That’s why you would practice, so you’d get better.” Hiccup sighed dramatically.

“C’mon, how’d you think I got so good at fighting?” She prompted.

“I dunno, you were born perfect?” Astrid fought the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“No,” she smirked. “I snuck out every other night to practice.” She saw his jaw drop out of the corner of her eye, impressed. “And that’s what you’re going to do, now.”

“Who says it’ll even work,” he argued, although she didn’t sound as discouraged as he had a moment ago.

“It’ll be worth it,” she promised. “We’ll start with the basics.”

She had noticed during their training that Hiccup struggled with the basic eight positions, causing him to hesitate and lose momentum and focus. 

“Did . . . did your father never teach you this?” she asked quietly after Hiccup flung down his sword upon the Armoury floor in despair for the second time.

“The King is a busy man,” he responded bitterly, “and it’s not like I’m built for fighting anyway.”

“I’m built the same way and I do fine,” Astrid argued, gesturing at her own slim figure. Liar. There were things growing on her in places that were becoming harder to conceal that boys didn’t have, but that was irrelevant. “Now pick up your sword, Your Highness.”

Hiccup scowled and picked up the sword. “No need to call me that,” he said, and struck at her instead of getting back into position two. Astrid’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she blocked his strike easily. He really didn’t like his honorifics.

“Watch your footwork, Your Highness,” Astrid continued, curious as to how he’d react. He adjusted his stance.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I should get to call you something too.”

“Call me what?”

“Something that annoys you . . . like, Hoffy.”

Astrid stopped still. “Hoffy?”

He snickered. “Hoffy it is.”

“Alright, Haddock, I shan’t call you your highness any longer.”

“But I still get to call you Hoffy?”

“No.” She went on the attack, and swiftly disarmed him. His mouth twisted into a displeased grimace.

“Tell you what,” she amended, “If you train with me every day, and every other night, you get to call me Hoffy once a day. And if you miss a day of training, that privilege is revoked, so use each time wisely.” Hiccup sighed dramatically.

“You drive a hard bargain, sir,” he said gravely, “But I accept your terms.” He held out his hand in an over-formal manner. She took it and they shook with straight faces before collapsing into laughter.

Astrid wasn’t the only one to rope her friend into her schemes. It turned out Hiccup enjoyed spending time at the smithy to the point where the blacksmith grudgingly accepted him as his sort-of apprentice. Astrid knew how to sharpen her ax or sword, but enjoyed hearing Hiccup explaining the finer art of smithing. He had his own little back room full of scrap metal and hasty diagrams. It was cramped and humid, and quickly became one of Astrid’ favorite places.

He had many ideas and contraptions he wanted to try out, most of which were unsuccessful, but she cheered her friend on despite the disasters and took to creating elaborate alibis to cover him so they wouldn’t get caught. Later, after narrowly escaping the ire of Gobber or Mildew the head servant or whatever poor soul had been affected, they laughed off their ridiculous cover stories, each one more impossible than the last.

They couldn’t always avoid getting into trouble though. Hiccup’s latest contraption, the Mangler, he called it, had been brought outside for testing. Hiccup wanted to see if it could take down the miniature catapult they had built. If the endeavor was successful, he explained, their army could use it to take out the enemy’s long range missiles. But the testing process was dangerous.

Astrid stood beside him, excitedly watching as he readied the launcher, checked the calibration, and enthused about everyone’s future reactions; he was sure this contraption would work, and they would be hailed geniuses. Personally, Astrid wasn’t so sure. They had never been this naughty before, but she relished it, and figured it would make her posing as a boy more believable; boys did do stupid, dangerous things after all.

“Ready?” he called out.

“Ready,” she confirmed. He bent over the Mangler and took careful aim. He took a breath once, twice. Then on the third exhale he pulled the trigger and the enormous weighted net-slash-bola went flying. She straightened up with a whoop as they watched it soar and plummet.

“Oh no,” cried Hiccup, panicked. She whipped her head toward him in alarm.

“What?”

“I, uh . . . The angle isn’t right; I overshot.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“It’s heading toward the calves.”

She let out a healthy curse and grabbed him, running toward the calves and hollering. The calves scattered at the net came crashing down, wrapping around the fence posts and toppling them with its heavy iron weights. The cows and teenagers stood stock still for a moment, then the animals stampeded over the splintered fence. 

"Well . . . I mean, at least it works."

"We're going to be in so much trouble if someone finds this mess."

Gobber discovered them desperately trying to clear the scene of the Mangler’s evidence, and they were given menial duties and extra exercises for two weeks. It was worth it.

.oOo.

After Snoggletog, Astrid came to a realization. Hiccup was growing.

First he shot upwards, and the developing muscles he was gaining were hard to recognize, as he still looked the same. But then, as they were sparring hand-to-hand one night, she became aware of the fact that he was taller than she remembered, and when he knocked her over, the weight of his body on hers was . . . heavier. And that was all she noticed when she was in that position. She still managed to throw him off and pin him down, but her victories were steadily becoming harder to reach, and their fights were lasting longer.

Hiccup went from being the shortest of the squires in Training to being the tallest. Thankfully, Astrid wasn’t too far behind in terms of height. The roundness of his face dropped off to reveal a razor sharp jaw and pronounced cheekbones. He was still lean, but you could tell he had muscles and shoulders underneath the fabric of his tunics. His pants got tighter (though Astrid would never acknowledge noticing the fact), and with the development of his body the Prince was suddenly more enthusiastic about swimming or sparring with his shirt off. He now looked like a young man, and the only one who called him ‘boy’ was Gobber, and that was just in jest. He was attractive, too, and even the boys who had made fun of him last year were a lot more interested in being friendly with him.

Unfortunately, Astrid was much less happy about her own body’s growth. She was relieved to find she had inherited Father’s height. She was the third tallest among her peers; the only two taller than her were Hiccup and Ingerman. She was not as pleased to discover the growth of her womanly curves, which she had undoubtedly inherited from her mother. She couldn’t allow herself to wear short tunics or too-tight pants (like Hiccup), or her decidedly not masculine hips might be noticed. She had to wrap her chest securely and wore layers to conceal the shapes, but it meant she was often hot. And she couldn’t utilize the baths nearly as often as she’d like. Although she had never put much stock on being pretty, she had always appreciated her fine features. But she had to be careful with how she did her hair and what length she allowed it to grow to. Mother had facial paints to enhance contours and such; Astrid would have to learn how to use them when she returned for the summer.

When summer rolled around and Astrid returned to her family, she found herself writing letters more often to Hiccup than she did to her parents over the entire year. She was the only one who called him Hiccup now. The other boys had taken to calling him ‘Haddock’ when they addressed him - except Snotlout who thought he was entitled to call his second cousin ‘Henry.’

“Why would you like to be called Hiccup if it is the nickname they used to make fun of you?” she had asked him.

“You never called me Hiccup to mock me,” he told her sincerely. His smile turned roguish. “You honestly thought that was my name; you couldn’t recognize your future king.”

She rolled her eyes in chagrin while he laughed. “I was busy with other things!” she defended herself. “And I’m not the only one who can be blind; I bet you couldn’t even recognize a girl if she was under your nose.”

He walked over to her to enhance the height difference between them, looking down at her over his nose. Astrid tamped down the hysterical laugh building in her throat. If only he knew.

“I don’t see you with many girls,” he challenged.

“I don’t bother myself with the ones here; but back at my estate, I’m surrounded by them every day,” she boasted, trying to remember Snotlout’s demeanor when regaling his exploits. What she was saying was true, just not in the way she was portraying it.

“Yes, well, girls have never been interested in me for anything but my position,” he said scathingly. “And I don’t care for simpering maids.”

She had no idea why his answer made her smile.

Back at home, Mother instructed her in the art of makeup, and Astrid practiced diligently until she was satisfied with the almost male face looking back at her in the mirror. She continued her weapons practice in her free time, but Mother insisted on dragging her out to garden parties along with her two unmarried sisters to remind the world that Astrid Hofferson still existed. A wig had been crafted for her to wear over her short hair, and the seamstress had to redo all the sleeves on her dresses, muttering about unladylike muscles. But her parents were pleased to find that Astrid could still conduct herself perfectly among ladies, even if she was a little behind on the latest gossip and scandals. Her curves and pretty features finally came in handy again, and Astrid couldn’t deny the thrill of wearing nice dresses instead of durable tunics, but she quickly grew to miss the freedom of fighting and running off with her friend. She barely knew no one at these parties; they couldn’t risk any of Astrid’s peers recognizing her and blowing her cover, but she felt lonely and out of place.

It was a relief to finally be back in Training. This year, their curriculum would be different; they were old enough to help out in the war - no actual fighting, but helping keep the camp guarded and the odd job that no one had done. Their fighting techniques were good, what they needed now was experience, Gobber had told them when he received his instructions to bring them there. And what better place to gain such experience than the battlefield where everything they had trained for was happening first hand? 

They weren’t allowed to participate in the fighting. They were situated right behind the front lines, on recently conquered land. Injured men were carried on stretchers to the healer’s tent. One of the healers showed them how to bandage and clean a wound. Astrid was a lot better at wrapping than the others, what with her secret monthly bloods and chest bindings.

After they’d been on the battlefield for a week they watched a soldier die. His comrades carried him in, his left arm a stump and his abdomen caked in blood. They watched as his groans faded and the nurses tried to staunch his bleeding, one of his companions sobbing at his bedside. Astrid felt a sense of purpose as she observed the scene; this was what she was fighting for. This was what she was preparing to do for her family. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Hiccup quickly exiting the tent and followed him.

He was bent over, heaving. Once he was finished, she knelt beside him, careful to avoid the watery vomit. He didn’t acknowledge her, just closed his eyes and panted. She didn’t say anything, waiting for him to break the silence.

“He- he died,” Hiccup said at last, stunned. “He’s dead.”

“He is.” 

He turned pleading eyes to his friend. “But what if - what if there could have been another way? What if he didn’t have to die? Can’t there be another option?”

“People die every day,” she replied carefully. “Maybe, in another world, he would have died today anyway, despite not fighting in a war. Maybe he wouldn’t have. But that man who died today, died for a cause. He fought for something until his last breath; isn’t that the best way to die?”

Hiccup said nothing and raked his hands through his hair.

“You’re going to be King someday,” Astrid continued. She wasn’t sure now was the time for him to hear this, but she wanted to explain her conviction to him, wanted him to understand. “You’re going to be forced to make decisions that get people killed.” Hiccup squeezed his eyes shut. “What's important is that you won’t let those decisions be in vain.”

But despite some of the sobering instances, everything was exciting. Even the tedious waiting behind the lines, doing the dirty jobs the fighters would order them to do and sneaking off to watch the seasoned warriors drink around the campfires and sing songs that made Astrid’s cheeks burn. They had never been to a battlefield before. The cold was biting, the soldiers grim, the landscape gray, and yet, to naive, blood-thirsty teenagers, everything seemed worthy of an epic ballad.

The battle moved further North, yet the knights-in-training stayed, so Astrid and the prince snuck out to practice sparring on an actual battlefield. 

“We haven’t picked up a sword to use it in ages,” she coaxed. “Besides, we don’t want you getting rusty and back to fighting like last year.”

“Ha, ha,” Hiccup said dryly. “I won’t deteriorate that far. I almost beat you last time, remember?”

“Key word being ‘almost’,” Astrid taunted.

Hiccup checked his sword in his scabbard; it was perfectly polished and sharpened. “I’ll beat you one day, Hofferson, just you wait,” he promised.

Their sparring location had been conquered easily and the bodies had been cleaned up and buried or burned for a while, but the echoes of the swords clashing brought to life the recent ghosts of the battle that had just taken place. Before they had taken more than two steps, Astrid struck. Hiccup met her blade with his own with ease as they retreated and met again.

She lost herself in her battle cries and the ringing of the blades. She hit and rolled and twisted and jumped and flicked her blade, but Hiccup’s defense was nigh impenetrable. He struck at her legs and she danced out of the way, unable to get close enough to him to land a blow. Their dirks met again, the hilts so close together their hands were almost touching.

“Call it a draw,” Astrid suggested through a strained grin. Hiccup’s height and weight were an advantage when it was strength against strength.

“Not on your life,” he teased, out of breath, “I got you right where- oh!”

Astrid caught a flash of movement in the darkness off to the side. Without thinking, she leapt forward to knock Hiccup out of the way, taking him by surprise. She gritted her teeth against the sudden slice of fire along her right shoulder.

Henry swiftly rolled on top of her and rose to meet their attacker, gripping the hilt of his sword fiercely. He circled the figure, matching their footwork. They threw a dagger at him, and he moved out of the way at the last second. The blade embedded itself next to Astrid, who flinched but kept quiet. She didn’t need to remind their opponent there was a second person to watch besides the prince. The person drew a sword, and Hiccup attacked.

They were evenly matched, it seemed, and Astrid felt a glimmer of pride until the assailant pushed through Hiccup’s guard. Her friend was driven back, barely able to block each swing. She sat up carefully, breathing through the flare of pain along her shoulder, and grabbed the knife. Hiccup saw her out of the corner of his eye, and his retreats angled until the person’s back was to her. She leapt up and slammed the knife’s hilt upon their head and they crumpled.

She stood across the Prince, panting heavily as he stared down on their aggressor’s form with a savage expression. He blinked and shook his head as if clearing it. His face, usually so cheerful, was grave.

“Are you okay, Hofferson?” he asked, concerned. 

“I’m fine,” she waved him off and walked over to her outer tunic she had shed before the spar, donning it quickly to cover her back. “We should turn him in to Gobber.” Hiccup nodded and they both grabbed an arm, Astrid holding back her wince as her shoulder strained.

Gobber was sitting in his tent when they entered. He shot up in alarm as he took in the figure strung between them. “Holy - are ye okay, lads?” 

“We are. He might not be,” Astrid said as she and the prince dropped the body on the floor. “Caught him trying to sneak into the camp. Tried to kill us.” Gobber’s mouth formed an incredulous O.

“We think he’s from the other side,” Hiccup added.

“Thor’s soiled underpants on his spanked ass,” exhaled Gobber. “Ye could’ve - ye almost got yersel’s killed!!! What were ye thinking, ye daft bams!” He knelt to inspect the intruder’s face and inhaled. “Aye, yer lucky yer still alive.”

“Hiccup fought him,” Astrid said.

“Hofferson knocked him out,” Hiccup added. Gobber cuffed him on his head. He yelped, rubbing his tender scalp with a glare.

“What were ye two even doing outside?” Gobber asked in exasperation. They shuffled their feet and examined the specs on dirt on the tarp floor, dragged in by their boots. When neither of them said anything, Astrid spoke up.

“We were sparring,” she admitted quietly. She didn’t dare look up. Gobber sighed.

“I dinnae ken why ah’m still surprised anymore,” he said, shaking his head. “Ye did good, bringing him in.” Hiccup shifted, a small smile on his face. “But ye fools will be on chamber pot duty for a week!” The smiles fell at record speed. “Were any of ye hurt?” He questioned.

“No, we’re fine,” she interjected quickly. Hiccup shot her a confused glance, but she ignored it.

“Good. Yer dismissed; go! Sneaking off in the middle of the night . . .” Gobber muttered, waving them out of his tent.

Hiccup could clearly see his friend was in pain, but could also tell they didn’t want Gobber to know.

“Hey,” he tugged on Hofferson’s arm. “Let’s go to my tent and get that shoulder cleaned up."

“No need; I’m fine,” they assured him, but he could see the furrow between their brows indicating they were in pain.

“I’m not going to leave you alone until I know you’re okay,” Hiccup threatened. They paused, and rolled their eyes.

“You worrisome idiot,” they huffed. He grinned and pulled them along as they walked to his tent to clean his friend up (it was marginally bigger than everyone else’s). 

Astrid was hesitant to let him treat her. No, she knew she should have just said no; but it had warmed her heart to see him so concerned about her. She was taken with a sudden urge to tell him the truth. She had been feeling these urges for a while, usually after the Prince had told her something personal or after a particularly close escape from trouble, but never as cripplingly strong as now. 

She struggled with herself as Hiccup sat her down on the floor (his tent’s fabric was also thicker than hers) and procured water and some rags. He knelt by her with the supplies, ready for her to take off her shirt. She should tell him. She should do absolutely nothing of the sort. No, she was going to do this; he deserved to know if only to explain why she couldn’t let him treat her. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, the words abandoning her at the last second. 

The Prince simply sat there, waiting. He trusted his best friend Hofferson, but he had had his own suspicions that something wasn’t entirely right about him. With his armor off and hair grown longish from their trip, the Prince couldn’t help but think he was remarkably pretty, for a boy. And Hofferson consistently got sick around the same time of month, and he always bathed apart from the rest of them. Hofferson always wore looser clothes than the rest, but no one was immune to sweat, and he had noticed that the tunics never stuck to him quite the same way it did to other boys. Or even sometimes Hofferson’s voice would go high without sounding like it was about to crack. He had a hunch, but had never dared confront him with it; what if his friend were offended?

Astrid braced herself for the plunge. “Hiccup,” she couldn’t meet his eyes. “There's something I need to tell you - Or, well, confess, more like . . .” This was hard. Her nerves built up, screaming for her to abort. There was still time to take it all back. But that would still leave her with an uncomfortable dilemma. She didn’t like lying to her friend - her best friend. She wouldn’t hesitate to throw herself in front of him to protect him, and she didn’t doubt he felt the same. So why should she hold back an important secret? Would he be mad at her for lying and ruin their friendship? Would he order her to be executed? No, that was ridiculous, but she had no idea what to expect. She swallowed and spit it out. “Hiccup. I’m not - I’m not like you guys. Like you boys. I’m a-”

“-girl,” the Prince finished for her. Her mouth dropped open in shock and horror. They were quiet for a moment, the world holding its breath as if waiting to see what happened next. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched the edge of her tunic. She wished he would just say something so she could stop wondering how in the world he had known that.

“It makes sense,” he said carefully, earnestly. Astrid gawked at him in disbelief. 

“You knew?” she accused, outraged. After all that worry, the struggles, the guilt, he had known?

“No, no,” he assured her. “I mean I - I had a hunch - I suspected. B-but it wasn’t obvious. I was too afraid to bring it up for fear you’d kill me for the offense!” he chuckled thinly. "But it - it explains a lot of things."

“Are - Aren’t you going to tell anyone?” she asked shakily. He shook his head vehemently.

“Why would I? You’ve kept all of my secrets; I can keep yours.” She observed him through narrowed eyes, but she had every reason to trust him. And he was, after all, the Prince. If, or maybe she should say when, she was found out, it would only help her case if the Crown Prince supported her, she reasoned. But maybe her parents shouldn’t know she’d told him. That detail could stay between them. She held her hand out, and they firmly shook hands.

“So,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and gestured to her shoulder, suddenly shy in front of a girl. “Do you, um, do you want help or-or should I leave? Since. You know, um, yeah.” Astrid couldn’t contain the girlish giggle at his discomfort and reddening face.

“So eager to get my shirt off without even asking my name; where are your manners?” she teased him. Hiccup’s eyes widened in shocked realization and, if possible, flushed harder.

“N-No!” he stuttered desperately. “I - I would nev- I - not what - so what is your name?” he fumbled as he scrambled to catch his dignity like one fumbled at a falling vase. Astrid was greatly amused; he hadn’t stuttered around her for almost a whole year, and hearing him stutter again made her nostalgic and happy.

“Astrid,” she said quietly, suddenly overcome by shyness. Would he like it? Did he think it suited her? Why did trusting him with such a simple fact feel so . . . intimate?

“Astrid,” he repeated to himself, as if savoring it.

She found herself swallowing hard and trying to calm her heart as it stumbled, unaware of the prince’s guilty stare as she unconsciously wet her lips.

Read Chapter 2 here

[smartycvnt]

Green

Title: Green Pairing: Nyssa al Ghul x Reader Summary: Nyssa and Y/n realize how much of an impact environment can have on a relationship. NR WC: 755

Y/n kicked her feet back and forth off the edge of the rooftop she was sitting on as she sipped on her beer. It was cocky and something that would have had her punished if she was still in the League. There were certain behaviors that were frowned upon, no matter how impressive one's kill count was. Y/n fancied herself as one of the greatest to ever been among the ranks of Ra's al Ghul, but of course, there were those who begged to differ. Talia wrote her off as a showboater, and Nyssa had always been a bit jealous. Y/n didn't want their relationship to be like that, but there was nothing that she could have done herself to fix things between them aside from completely disbanding the League of Assassin's.

"You should not be in this city." Nyssa's voice was cold, even colder than Y/n remembered it being.

"Hey there ice queen. What brings a girl like you to a city like this?" Y/n asked as she pointed her rifle downwards. Nyssa looked at the weapon in Y/n's hands and scoffed. "What? Don't knock the weapons of the century until you try them. Waller hooked me up with some pretty neat gadgets."

"Does she know that you're a deserter?" Nyssa questioned. Y/n laughed at Nyssa's question. Nyssa's face scrunched in displeasure. Y/n realized then that Nyssa had no idea why Y/n had left her post on their final mission together.

"Who the hell do you think recruited me?" Y/n glanced up at Nyssa as she watched the realization settle in. Nyssa looked displeased to say the very least, but didn't say anything else. "I answered your question, now answer mine."

"I have been residing in Star City and helping out the Green Arrow, which is why I can't allow you to do this," Nyssa said as she grabbed the muzzle of Y/n's rifle. Y/n narrowed her eyes as she swept Nyssa off of her feet and sent the woman flying back several feet on the roof. Y/n saw the door open to the club and aimed her sights down to see who was exiting. She let out a sigh of disappointment when it ended up not being her guy. She lowered it again as Nyssa grabbed her by the collar and dragged her away from her little camp.

"God, that American did a number on you. You get a little pussy and suddenly you're the shining example of morality. I know what you've done. I've got the scars to show how deep your compassion runs." Y/n shot up to her feet and got in Nyssa's face. Nyssa looked away from Y/n, suddenly unable to meet her eye. It was their first meeting since Y/n had left, and Nyssa thought that she would have wanted to kill Y/n, but all Nyssa could feel was guilt. They weren't at odds with each other, not really.

"I am sorry for what I did to you," Nyssa said as she sat down cross-legged on the ground. Y/n tossed her rifle to the side and laid down next to Nyssa. "We do not have to be enemies here, I just can't let you assassinate anybody."

"It's not on Amanda's terms, it's on mine. The people I kill, they truly deserve it now. I am past redemption, but the world doesn't have to be. You and I, we aren't ever going to be heroes, but we can make it safer for those who can be. I don't want to fight with you any more than I want to go back to being Amanda Waller's bitch," Y/n admitted. She glanced up at Nyssa, who seemed to be smiling slightly. "Let me pull the trigger tonight, and tomorrow, I'll let you show me another way."

"What you do when I'm not looking is not any of my business," Nyssa said as she covered her eyes. Y/n muttered a quiet thanks before she set herself back up again. This time, she was able to catch her guy and dispose of him quickly. The rooftop was empty and abandoned by the time that any guards got there, both Nyssa and Y/n nearly half a mile away from the scene of the crime. Y/n found herself feeling free as Nyssa held onto her hand while they ran together. It was much less scary having Nyssa as her ally rather than her enemy.

[fangirls-fanfiction]

The Next Chapter is finally here! Sorry it’s taken so long, I literally could not think of a title and I procrastinated with posting it on here because I have to edit it all over again when I write it on tumblr 😅

Anyways, enjoy!

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Chapter 13

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♦️𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙺𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝙰 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝?♠️

The Devil blinked awake after one of the best sleeps she had had in a long time. Though in slightly different positions, both her and Queen Dice were still cuddling and hugging as they were the night before.

She never expected Dice to stay. She thought for sure that she'd leave halfway through the night. Even so, she was glad she stayed. Dice proved once again that she knew just what to do in a situation. She always knew what to do. That's what Lucifer loved about her. That and her smile. And those shimmering green eyes. She could stare into those eyes for hours and never get tired of them.

Shifting to a slightly more comfortable position, the Devil sat up so she could get a better look at Dice. Even sleeping, the woman looked perfect. Even with her face free of any makeup and her hair messy as all Hell, she was flawless. The Devil wanted to kiss every spot on that beautiful face of hers.

But not until she woke up, she needed Dice's permission.

Still sound asleep, Queen Dice snored softly, Old scratch still admiring the beautiful woman. It was still difficult for her to grasp how she managed to score such a gorgeous girlfriend like Queen Dice. One with a lot of wit and certainly one of the main reasons why her Casino was still up and running. It was the woman's idea after all.

Lying down once again, she tucked her head gently in the crook of Dice's neck, listening to her even breathing and slow heart beat. The serine sounds could have put her to sleep once more, had there not been a knock at the door.

The Devil sat up quickly, Queen Dice groggily sitting up as well. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, yawning, as she doesn't usually wake up so early.

"Boss? Are you awake? I brought you breakfast." Henchwoman called through the door, knocking again.

The purple imp knew the Devil's schedule all too well. Even when the demon woke up, to when she went to bed that night. It was almost impressive, definitely appreciated, and a little annoying.

"Boss?" Henchwoman asked again.

Panicking, the Devil looked to Dice, the woman still trying to wake up and function properly.

"Sorry, dear." The Devil whispered, throwing the covers over Dice.

The action surprised Dice, throwing her down. She said a few things, muffled by her groggy and hoarse voice from just waking up, and the covers.

"Shhh!" The Devil hissed before turning to the door. "Yes, come in, Henchwoman."

After the door creaked open, Henchwoman brought the Devil's breakfast to her along with her morning coffee. Henchwoman smiled thoughtfully upon seeing her Boss so excited for her breakfast. For Hellfire's sake, the demon was already digging into her pancakes before Henchwoman had sat the plate down on the bed. Setting her morning coffee on the nightstand, Henchwoman kept her warm smile as she waited further instructions.

Though the Devil seemed to be... Distracted. She ate her breakfast so fast, Henchwoman wasn't sure if the demon had even tasted it. She must've been very hungry, Henchwoman thought.

"Thank you, Henchwoman." Old Scratch finished off her breakfast, shooing Henchwoman away.

"Uhm... Boss? You don't want any updates on the souls in the underworld?"

"You can tell me later."

"Nothing about the Casino's success?"

"That too."

"You ain't even gonna ask me how I am...?" The volume of Henchwoman's voice went low, just enough for the Devil's sharp ears to catch it.

"How are you, Henchwoman?" The Devil smiled warmly, though the tone of her voice only seemed to be pacifying the purple imp.

"Fine..." Henchwoman mumbled, her gaze falling to the floor as her spirits dampened.

"Good! Great!" The Devil shooed her away again. "Why don't you go see if Stickler needs help with anything."

"Sure thing, Boss." Henchwoman forced the smallest smile in a lifetime and walked off, shutting the door behind her.

Once she was gone, Queen Dice sat up from under the covers and smacked the Devil on the back of her head.

"YOUCH!! What did I do?!" Lucifer rubbed the back of her head.

"That was for being rude and uncaring to Henchwoman." Queen Dice snapped before giving her girlfriend a kiss on the cheek. "And that's for keeping your secret." She smacked the Devil's face. "And that's for not saving any of your breakfast for me."

"Will you stop hitting me?" The Devil massaged her cheek where Dice smacked her.

"Sorry, Dee, but I had to teach you a lesson. Why're you so afraid of Henchwoman finding out anyway?" Dice crossed her arms.

"Because..." Devil sighed. "I... Appreciate... And... I care for Henchwoman... But the dear girl don't know how to keep her mouth shut. Especially around Stickler- And you and I both know that Stickler will tell everyone."

"You don't trust her?"

Those words stung. Of course Devil trusted Henchwoman. Hell, she'd been the only one there for the Devil most of her miserable existence. She'd done nothing but support her and try to keep the Devil happy, even at her worst. Sure, Devil may have been too hard on her at times when she'd screw up. Maybe she should give her another chance.

"Fine, I'll talk to her."

Queen Dice placed a hand at the side of the Devil's face, turning her head towards her. Without warning, she kissed the demon on the lips.

"And that's for agreeing with me."

♦️ ♦️ ♦️

Henchwoman sadly made her way back to the kitchen, but not before she heard hurried footsteps behind her. Turning around, she was surprised to see her Boss trying to catch up with her. She found it peculiar that Old Scratch didn't just use her trident. Though she didn't bring it up, as that would just make the Boss angry with her.

"Henchwoman," The Devil came to a stop, brushing her clothes off and fixing her hair. "First of all, I'm..." Her voice drifted off as she fumbled with her words.

"You're...?" Henchwoman creased her eyebrows.

"It's hard for me to say..." Something seemed to be stopping her from what she wanted to say. "I'm sorry."

"Ok..." Henchwoman decided it'd be best not to frustrate her Boss even more, even if a part of her wanted a wholehearted apology.

"And second of all... Can we go to my office? I'd like to speak in private, if you don't mind."

"D'uh... Sure."

After dropping off the food cart and heading upstairs to her office, Henchwoman was a little less than excited. Whenever the Boss wanted to talk to her in private, it was never a good sign. It usually meant either she or someone else was doing something wrong and the Devil wanted it fixed right away. The problem was, Henchwoman never knew what it was until her Boss noticed it and approached her about it. Getting scolded by the Devil was never an easy task. Though judging by her calm demeanor, this might not be as bad as Henchwoman would think. But she'd learn from years of experience to always be on your toes when dealing with the Devil and her rage.

Once getting to the Casino floor, the Devil lead the way to her office, not uttering a word until the door was clicked shut and locked.

"Now, Henchwoman, what I'm about to tell you does not leave this room. Understand?" Old Scratch said sternly.

"Ok."

"Swear to me that you won't tell anyone."

"I won't."

"SWEAR IT."

"Ok! Ok! I swear I won't tell nobody!"

"Good."

The Devil heaved in a long sigh, closing her eyes as she prepared for what she was about to say. All the while Henchwoman was dreading to hear what her Boss had to say, but was also curious and a bit concerned. Usually when the Devil wanted to speak with her alone, it was a complaint. And she was a lot more brash and short with Henchwoman. Now, she just seemed... Nervous about something.

"Henchwoman... This has been going on for a few days now... And I... I need to address it..."

Oh dear.

"I haven't told you because... Well, multiple reasons, but we'll get into that..."

Here it comes.

"But... Queen Dice and I... We... We're dating..."

Oh.

OH-

"You're... You're what?"

"Dating. Queen Dice and I are dating."

"O— Oh..." Henchwoman's gaze fell to the floor slowly as she seemed to wrap her head around the situation. "Ok... That’s… That’s great!…”

"Henchie? Are you ok?"

Henchwoman's purple eyes shot back up as she smiled widely nodding. It was a pained smile. One forced and agonizing. Though she said nothing more, only keeping the smile on for her Boss.

The Devil knew something was wrong, but she didn't quite know how to describe it. She hadn't the slightest clue why Henchwoman would need to force her smile. Perhaps ahead was angry; the Devil had promised that she would never fall for a mortal again. And once again she broke that promise.

Even if she wanted to, she couldn't just ask what was wrong with her companion. It didn't feel right, and even if she did, Henchwoman was so quick to please her that she'd lie on a whim. So she decided to pretend that she hadn't noticed;

"I'm sorry I hadn't told you before... We're trying to keep it a secret... Not that... That I don't trust you it's just..." Lucifer cleared her throat, averting her gaze.

"It's fine Boss, I understand." The imp answered.

"So... You won't mind keeping the secret?"

"Not at all."

"Fantastic! Thank you, Henchwoman!" The Devil sighed. "I'm so glad to get that off my chest... You may return to your duties now, Henchwoman." She waved her off soon enough.

"Right..." Henchwoman turned to go out the door, stopping short before she opened the door. "Hey... Boss?" She turned to face her.

"Henchwoman? Is something wrong?"

"No... No... I was just... Nevermind."

Henchwoman opened the door and quickly exited her Boss' office, clicking the door shut.

Sighing, the Devil turned to her unfinished and barely worked on pile of unsigned contracts. The pile only grew taller and taller every day, she really should get to working on them soon. Soon...

Very soon.

But not right now.

Standing from her seat, Lucifer headed out the door, off to the kitchen to get a morning coffee and see her girlfriend.

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

"Do you think they'll care if we sneak out to make some breakfast?" Cuphead asked, opening the door ajar and looking around to see if the coast was clear.

"I'm sure they won't, the Devil didn't seem to mind yesterday." Mugma'am stuck her head out above her sister's.

After checking to see if they were safe to go, the two of them went off to the kitchen down in Hell to get a quick bite to eat. After that, who knows what. There wasn't much to do in Hell; the deck of cards Dice had given them got boring really fast. Other than that, they didn't know what else to do with their time.

Almost arriving to the kitchen, they heard an extra set of footsteps, making them freeze in place. Though, they soon found it was just Henchwoman.

"Good morning, Henchwoman." Mugma'am offered a smile to the friwnung demon.

"Hey." Henchwoman only seemed to be able to muster so much as a little smile before her frown returned.

"Why're you so down?" Cuphead asked.

"It's... Nothin... Really it's nothin..." Nothing seemed to lift her spirits, she only continued on her way.

"It don't seem like nothin." Cuphead muttered to her sister, Mugma'am shrugging.

Upon coming to the kitchen, the two of them found the Devil and Queen Dice making coffee. Well, Dice was, the Devil was just talking. No doubt she didn't know how to work the coffee maker.

"I know it's a lot, but that's the price to pay for being a business woman." Dice continued their conversation. "But hey, at least you've got an awesome girlfriend to kiss afterwards."

"You're right, you are pretty cool." The Devil winked.

"I know." Queen Dice sat the Devil's '#1 Boss' mug next to her on the table as she walked off with her own. "I'm off to prepare the Casino for the day, I'll see you later." She winked to her Boss. "G'mornin girls." She walked past the sisters in the doorway.

"Morning." The Devil spoke to them as well, a little less enthusiastic than Queen Dice.

"Good Morning Mrs. Devil." Mugma'am sat at an adjacent chair to the demon.

"Hey Devil, is there anything fun to do here in the Underworld?" Cuphead asked.

"What do you mean? Is that deck of cards Dice gave you not good enough for you?"

"There's only so many things to do with a deck of cards before they get boring."

"Fair enough." The Devil sighed. "But unfortunately, unless you want to work, torture souls or go to business meetings; not really." She rolled her ember eyes. "I for one, however, have many hobbies; painting, singing, gambling, torturing, sleeping, collecting assortments of shiny objects— You know."

"Uggggh! Why is it so boring down here?!" Cuphead groaned, stitching down in a third chair.

"Hey! I'm not boring! I'll have you know painting is relaxing, but not boring!" The demon's eye caught the clock on the wall above the door. "Looks like that time again. Well, I need to get to my meeting and then do my duties in the underworld." She stood up with her coffee. "I'm summoning a Hellhound today." She winked.

"Woah, a Hellhound?! Can we come?!" Cuphead asked excitedly.

The Devil stared for a moment, actually seeming to give it some thought. Pursing her lips, she stared between the two girls, giving her their very best puppy eyes.

"No. I don't think so."

Cuphead groaned loudly again as the Devil went off to leave the room, her ear twitching as she heard Cuphead's protest.

"You can either find something to do, or I can assign you a job in my Casino." The Devil spoke sternly.

"Woah, really?! What kind of jobs?! Would we be scamming off rich people like Dice does?" Cuphead jumped in her seat.

"Well, you're both seventeen; not old enough to work behind the bar or work a card table. So...; Cleaning duty." The demon smirked.

Both of the girls grimaced and looked at one another as the Devil laughed loudly.

"That's what I thought." She walked back through the door. "Why don't you two go outside or something? It's not like you're prisoners or anything." She mumbled, shaking her head as she continued.

"Hey, she's right, y'know. Sure, we're staying in Hell, but we're not prisoners." Mugma'am said. "Why don't we just go out and do what we usually do?"

"I guess I just never thought of that... But yeah! We totally could!"

"Just stay clear of anyone who looks like they might be from the orphanage. Especially that lady that owns the orphanage."

"Right."

"Right."

[magicalbats]

oooiug THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR HARD WORK flesh devouring was so very good! and to have started and finished it all so fast, too! I love the movement from confrontation to compromise (on the whole and in this part), I love the window into their more domestic future… I love that reader is often reluctant; it’s very real and charming that she hesitates or shies away from pain or unknown sensations even when she knows she enjoys them. And I love that a large part of this is wriothesley helping her articulating— understanding even— her needs better!

… but also I SEE YOU with that wink at what’s going on with Furina and neuvillette. banging my fists against the glass. WHAT ARE THEY. I know We Know but… auughg!!!

— dinner guest

✋😭💕

Dinner guest anoooon

It took everything in me not to completely sidetrack and turn all the focus on Neuvi and Furina!! I was so tempted! But I ultimately decided to leave it up for reader interpretation, first and foremost because I’d already drawn the comparison between them with Wrio and us so it almost felt like there wasn’t anything else to say about it. lmao I think letting everyone decide for themselves exactly how far that comparison actually runs was the right choice for this fic

Buuuut in my mind, from my perspective, I think they’re actually the more advanced future iteration of Wrio and his reader cmdkxmdmd it’s how they’re going to look after the wedding hahaaa

But oh my gosh when I tell you I am kicking my feet and giggling! I’m so happy you enjoyed this short series!! I admit I’m also a little shocked at how quickly I wrote it, but I quite literally could not stop thinking about them! What a fun dynamic they ended up having … I think when it was just the Kinktober prompt it was easy to look at Wriothesley’s actions as selfish or mean, so I was actually pleasantly surprised at how he ended up sort of evolving into someone deeply intuitive who was picking up on things the reader character wasn’t even aware of about herself. Like. Knowing how fast these four parts came out I’m sure you guys know I didn’t have anything plotted. lol It just sort of naturally developed as I went, so I guess what I’m trying to say is that it was a journey for me too! I didn’t know how or where we were going to end up, but when the inspiration for that final scene with Furina and the puppy, and the ring came to me I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that that was where we needed to be!

I am somewhat? Playing with the idea of doing a companion piece with Wriothesley and the female inmate he mentioned in part 4, partially because I am always down for switch shenanigans xmdkxkdnd but also to sort of explore the sexual atmosphere inside the prison. I’m admittedly a bit fascinated with what the hell is even going on in there?? 🤣 I’m currently doing the Unfinished Comedy world quest, or whatever it’s called (yes, I waited until the last possible moment to do these xmdkdkxm) and I am both perplexed and shocked by the presence of this child inside the fortress? I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that Wriothesley knows she’s there and he’s fine with it … sooooo lol? lmao even?

Oh, and on a final note I just wanted to share the title inspiration with everyone! Ofc the main point of reference was Wrio symbolically consuming her flesh through their physical encounters, both the good and the bad, but I actually got the inspiration from the Wiki page entry for Cerberus, since that’s his constellation!

[neonsix67]

My lamb!! (This pic has already been posted by @spotlightstudios per my request because I thought I wouldn't get around to actually posting about it, but here I am so awe well)

My little thing ♡

Physical concept explanation -

-> As always, I live to add a tail to everything I can but I mainly did it here because it helps me understand how to be more expressive with this specific creature, because I'm not the most comfortable with drawing animals.

->I mainly used the Tarot fleece for this because that the fleece I main-ed, but I did just unlock one of the second round of fleeces so idk...that may be subject to change but I really do like the design of that one for the Lamb.

->Can't really see it, but this Lamb has some heavy eyebags. Earned through extreme devotion and hard work, the stress of managing 24 idiots 27/7 has its weight over time, and never being able to sleep, eat, or die has some more...visible side effects.

I didn't change a thing with Narinders' design, at least not his Bishop design. I expect something a bit more...indulgent when I get to his defeated follower form.

But now a quick question (not really heavily ruling on answers but I am a little curious) but I have this idea for another Lamb OC/self-insert. Adding her would mean the existence of another Lamb with this version of the story, and I would likely pair it up with the other Lamb, or should I keep the Lamb of this one as the last and just make this other one a separate story? So the question is-

My version of the lore under break

Okay so I am running very heavily on a family dynamic here. Spot can advocate... but the whole idea is that Narinder kinda adopted this thing and it was SO gosh dang grateful that it worked, lived, and breathed for him. It wasn't long that Lamb starting viewing Narinder as a sort of father figure, never having one for itself since lambs were hunted down to extintion. Lamb would use every death as an opportunity to see Narinder and tell him about the Cult, or the most recent crusade, or just what sort of people Lamb has been meeting, anything to keep his attention.

The first time Lamb called him "Dad" was a slip up, quick and accidental, but Lamb never really apologised, and seeing that Narinder didn't really get mad at the title, Lamb just kinda kept calling him Dad, and eventually even gets cute with it and calls him Papa Nari (this is a reflection to me playing the game...but I met him one time and was like...yeah that's Papa Nari, no one can tell me otherwise). Eventually Lamb hangs around enough during that little bit of time that it takes for it to be resurrected it begins to talk to Aym and Baal as well, who both, seeing that their Master favors this one, oblige to conversate with. It wasn't much longer after that that Lamb began to really view the two as older siblings, playing knucklebones or sharing cult dynamics like a sort of gossip with the two.

As time progresses and the Cult grows, so does the family dynamic, and the Lamb is viewed as Papa Nari's golden child, which doesn't really bother anyone other than Narinders siblings, who catch on that this Lamb is successfully a killer by nature and is learning to be loved by The One Who Waits. Slowly, as they each fall to its blade, does it really sink in that this mission may succeed in the Fifth Bishops' favour. Well, that doesn't quite sit right with Lamb... what will happen when they complete Papa Naris' mission? Don't get it wrong...it WILL complete what was asked, but Lamb has this nagging fear and anxiety that this happy afterlife, this second chance at a real family, will be stripped when they kill all the bishops and provide with Narinder the freedom he so deserves.

So far, that's all I care to type out for now, but boy has this been lingering on my mind for the past couple of days.

Oh and quickly back to the idea of a second Lamb! Spot! Know that this doesn't stop me from crossing our headcannons together. In my mind, your Lamb still exists somewhere out there and just ticks off Papa Nari by not doing anything killing wise. It does not like it one bit but doesn't mind it enough seeing as it makes Papa more proud of it when it continues with the mission.

[gentaro-kinniecom]

"Always Forever"

↦Pairing: Leo Tsukinaga/afab!reader

↦Cw: Semi-nsfw, Forced marriage, medieval au!, first time, possessiveness, ooc (?)

↦A/n: I think this might be my fav fic by now teehee <3 (title inspired by this song!!)

Life as a princess was not the typical 'happy ever after' ending in movies, still, if you knew how to play your cards right, things wouldn't be more of a mess as they were

"Mother, I cannot simply accept his proposal. I don't love him." They argued, not wanting to imagine how life would be with whoever their mother made them marry

"That's not up to you to decide, we already arranged a dinner with them to celebrate your upcoming wedding"

Unbelievable, even after all their protests, Y/n's parents dragged them towards the entrance hall. Not quite literally but, a butler escorted them. Even in their best outfit, they didn't feel ready to meet whoever was awaiting for them. To their surprise, a very well dressed guy stood beside his faithful knight. One had grey-ish hair and blue eyes, scanning the room as he greeted y/n's parents, the other simply stood still, ginger hair and green eyes gazing into your e/c ones. They looked away, not knowing how to react to that meaningful 2 second eye contact.

"Good afternoon, my name is Leo Tsukinaga, I'm Sena's loyal knight, at your service madam" He bowed, taking your hand while kissing the top of it and smiling.

"Lovely meeting you Tsukinaga, I'm sure Sena is just as eager as I am to meet him"

Let's just say, he wasn't what you expected him to be. Izumi wasn't rude at first meetings, but the more you've got to know each other, the urge to take you away and force you to marry him was becoming stronger by the minute. Of course, that also implies a certain relationship between Y/n and Leo.

They couldn't help but start falling in love with him as time passed by. Unfortunately, it was too late, Izumi's plans were to arrange the wedding at the end of the month. Which meant only 5 days left before they'd have to marry him for the purpose of creating an heir to both kingdoms and peace between them.

"Leo, what am I going to do? I don't want to marry that good for nothing obsessed prince for the sake of my kingdom!" They yelled out of frustration, placing their palms over their eyes as they cried. Leo tried comforting them, giving y/n kisses all over their face and taking their hands away

"I was hoping if, you'd like to run away...together" That didn't sound like a bad idea, after all, you had already packed for an occasion like so. Without thinking twice, Y/n left on the night of their so called wedding.

"Oh Leo, how could I ever thank you?" He smiled mischievously. Placing his hands on your lower back as he closed the distance between you both.

"Hmm...you've always been mine, we could get married, yeah, you'd like that too right?" They nodded as he quickly pushed them onto the makeshift bed he'd made before escaping together. The cabin was small enough for one person, but it'll do just for tonight.

"Of course, I'd like nothing more but to just be yours, forever" Hearing this, Leo took off the remaining clothes off your bodies, wasting no time to claim you as his.

"I'll love you forever, so don't think about leaving me dearest" With those words, he finally thrusted inside your tight cunt. Smiling at the sight of both bodies connected as they wrapped their arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss

"'Always forever'...doesn't that sound lovely?"