#i drew this for the sole purpose of making him bright pink

[sunn-mechanic]

[ID in alt]

LET HIM BE PINK 💅

[artfullypoetic]

The Burn of Cold Niceties (9/?)

Title: The Burn of Cold Niceties

Summary: Three years after the the Fourth Shinobi War, newfound peace in Konoha is rocked when one of their own is suspected of treason. Determined to uncover the truth, Sakura takes it upon herself to dive deep into Konoha’s best-kept secrets. As she faces danger and betrayal, can she protect the village and those she loves? Blank period, mostly canon-compliant, SasuSaku-centric but will include all canon pairings. New chapters every week!

Disclaimer: I do not own nor did I create Naruto. This was created solely for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (for future content)

FF.net Link | AO3 Link. Please comment/review!

Chapter 9

Sakura watched silently as she sensed Pakkun sitting on the branch of a tree several feet past the village gates, no doubt waiting for her to move before continuing his quiet trailing. As soon as the pair left the Hokage’s office, her heart threatened to beat right past her ribcage. She had gone on plenty of dangerous missions before but never has she embarked on one solo. She was so lost in her worries that a tap on her shoulder almost caused her to jump right out of her shoes.

Turning to her right in the direction of the tap, she saw no one. However, her training allowed her to sense a familiar warm presence to her left where Naruto stood wearing a large grin.

“Very funny,” Sakura rolled her eyes at the childish joke her former teammate played.

“Heh, sorry.”

At least he looked a little embarrassed , she thought to herself as she observed him scratch the back of his head.

“What brings you here, Naruto?”

“I just wanted to see you off,” the yellow-haired shinobi lowered his arm, his expression shifting slightly away from his previously happy demeanor. “Didn’t feel right to not see you before you leave, you know?”

“Well, I appreciate it.” Sakura landed a soft, playful punch on his upper arm. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Nervous, obviously. But other than that, I’m mostly excited to finally figure out what’s going on.”

Naruto nodded rapidly to echo her sentiment before wrinkling his nose and adding, “Looks like that stinky old dog is coming with you.”

“Don’t call him stinky!”

He looked shocked at her sudden defensiveness before realization dawned on his features. When it did, he bursted into uncontrollable laughter to which Sakura responded only with a scowl.

“I’m sorry, Sakura—” Naruto paused to catch a breath in between giggles, “—I forgot about the whole shampoo thing.” More laughter.

“Hmph.” Sakura closed her eyes in annoyance and looked away as she crossed her arms across her chest. A deep pout formed across her lips. She debated whether she should hit him but decided against it.

“Okay, okay,” he drew in more breaths as he calmed his hysterics, one arm draped across his stomach. “I’ll stop.”

Sakura finally turned to face him again to see that Naruto had held his palms up in defeat, tears still sitting at the corner of his eyes and a smile on his lips from his earlier fit. The pair looked at each other for several beats as both their expressions morphed to something more solemn.

“I wish I could come with you,” Naruto finally said.

“I know.”

“Send me a message as soon as you can to let me know you’re okay?” he held out a fist to her. 

As her fist met his, knuckles hitting knuckles, she beamed, “Promise.”

Seconds later, Naruto watched in awe as she slowly transformed her appearance, making her hair grow longer and adjusting her features slightly so that she was no longer Sakura. Her signature pink hair darkened to a light auburn and her bright green eyes dulled. This jutsu wasn’t a typical transformation jutsu that could easily be discovered. Instead, she used a technique, with slight modifications, that was passed down to her by Tsunade. With this jutsu, she could alter her physical appearance itself rather than simply creating an illusion. However, she could only alter things very slightly relative to the immense changes that could be achieved with a transformation jutsu.

“Whoa.” Naruto’s eyes widened as he took a step back to watch her.

“How do I look?” She asked, spinning slightly with her arms out.

“Not like you, that’s for sure.”

“Good, I can’t lure them in looking like me or they might send too many reinforcements and mess up our plan.”

“This is crazy,” he remarked as he gently lifted a lock of her newly-colored hair in between his fingers. “Grandma Tsunade really taught you everything.”

She chuckled, “What did you expect?”

The duo exchanged final goodbyes with Sakura promising to write to him as soon as she could. With a final embrace, she turned away from him and headed past the village gates. She made it several steps before his voice forced her to whip her head back around.

“Sakura?” 

“Hmm?”

Their steeled gazes met as understanding flowed between them. She felt her heart tighten as nostalgia washed over her. 

“It’s your turn this time,” Naruto’s voice suddenly sounded grave and so out-of-character. “Bring Sasuke home.”

***

“Oh, my dear, I’m so glad you’re okay!” The old female merchant exclaimed as she held a hand to her chest. 

Sakura, in her disguise, had just finished loudly telling the woman about how a man with dark hair and a weird purple eye saved her from bandits two days ago. In hopes that she would draw the attention of the hunters who previously attacked her, she chose the busiest marketplace on the outskirts of the Fire Country. The small village was mere miles away from where she last encountered them—where she first discovered the extent of the poison they had in their possession.

“Thank you! I’m just hoping I can find that man again to properly thank him. I think this would make the perfect gift!” 

“Well good luck and stay out of trouble!” The merchant’s kind eyes crinkled in a smile as she handed Sakura two small boxes of dango. She could never resist the dessert so she might as well incorporate it into her trap. 

As she munched on the sweets, Sakura meandered aimlessly throughout the marketplace, stopping to admire a stand brimming with flowers. While beautiful, it was nothing compared to the Yamanaka shop at home. An image of Ino carefully arranging elaborate bouquets brought a pang of sadness to her chest. It may have been only two days since she saw her best friend, but she already missed her dearly.

Sakura wandered the marketplace for another hour and into the late afternoon before making her way into the forest. As she left the bustling streets of people behind, she could feel her heart rate quicken. Without the safety of the crowd, she suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable. Normally, she would scold herself for these insecurities but she knew it would be an advantage if she were to keep up the innocent civilian disguise. In a flash, she saw a figure jump her from behind. Her remaining box of dango, now forgotten, dropped to the grass as she ducked to avoid the attack. 

Looks like it worked and they underestimated me, she thought to herself as she sensed only one assailant in the vicinity. Prepared this time, Sakura moved faster than any ordinary eye could perceive and pinned her foe’s arms behind their body. The movement slammed the ninja into the ground face-first and she placed a knee on their back to hold them in place. Through quick observations, Sakura noted that this attacker was a woman with a similar shade of hair as her disguise. She said a silent prayer of gratitude. It would be much easier for her to adopt this woman’s identity. 

With some effort due to the unknown woman’s thrashing, Sakura successfully tied her wrists together and behind her back using rope from her weapons pouch. For extra measure, she tied additional rope around the woman’s torso and legs before propping her back up against the trunk of a tree. 

Sakura removed the woman’s ANBU mask and studied her face. The girl was no more than Sakura’s age, most likely one or two years younger. But what shocked her the most was the expression her enemy held. It wasn’t anger or hatred. It was fear.

“Why did you attack me?” Sakura demanded.

The girl trembled slightly but stayed quiet. While frustrating, the silence was a relief to the kunoichi. It confirmed that the pair were alone and that no additional hunters were coming to the girl’s rescue. She likely knew that screaming would do her no good.

“Answer me,” Sakura produced a kunai and held it to the girl’s throat. When her command was met with more silence, she gritted her teeth and pushed the blade closer to the girl’s skin, drawing a droplet of blood from the wound. 

“I don’t know,” the girl’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“You’re going to have to give a better answer than that,” she drove the blade deeper.

“I’m serious! I don’t know! I was just doing what I was told” The girl’s gaze fell upon Sakura now, her eyes frantic. The expression on her face caused Sakura to jerk the blade back as a sudden guilt overcame her. 

“Then who gave you the orders?”

Silence met her again. But as Sakura reached closer to the girl with the kunai, she answered.

“Root,” the girl murmured, “It was Root.”

Sakura’s eyes narrowed at her answer as she lowered her weapon. “Prove it. Show me your tongue.”

“I—I don’t have it. Not yet.” At Sakura’s questioning gaze, the girl continued. “I’m still in training so they haven’t given it to me yet.”

“Why—”

“Please don’t ask me anymore! If they find out, they’ll kill me and my brother!” she interrupted her captor with a shout. 

“Listen,” Sakura’s voice softened as she knelt until their faces were level. “If you tell me everything, I can help you—you and your brother”

“Help us how?”

“I can’t tell you the details but you’ll have to trust me. I’m trying to take Root down.”

The girl studied her for several long minutes before finally speaking, “All I know is we were told to find a man with red and purple eyes. They didn’t tell me why or even who he was.”

“They, as in Root?”

“Yes, I—I think so.”

“Why are you and your brother in Root?”

“They raided our home and took our younger siblings and our grandmother captive. They said they needed recruits and that they would only let them go if we followed them.” The girl’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “I don’t want to kill anyone for them, I promise! I had to do it!”

“Don’t worry, I understand,” Sakura mustered up as much sympathy to her face as possible. “Now, tell me more about this recruitment thing.”

“I don’t know anything, I swear. All I know is that we have to follow orders and if we do well, we get rewarded with the Mark.”

“The cursed seal on your tongue,” Sakura confirmed.

The girl nodded.

“Are you sure that’s all you know?”

The captive girl’s nodding intensified at Sakura’s question. 

“Okay,” Sakura stood and faced towards a small area of the forest. “Pakkun, we’re ready.”

As the ninja hound bounded into view, Sakura concentrated on the girl’s features and manipulated her own until two identical women were side-by-side with one standing and the other still restrained on the ground.

“What’s your name and your brother’s name? I also need all the information about your family and the people you speak to inside Root.”

“Wait stop, what are you doing?” The girl shrieked and struggled against the ropes holding her as Pakkun clamped his teeth gently around one of her feet, ready to drag her back to Konoha. Her eyes widened in shock and horror as she took in Sakura’s mirror image of herself.

“I’m going to become you and get information. Then I’ll help your brother get out and I’ll send people to get the rest of your family.”

“No, you don’t understand! They sent me after you and if I—or you disguised as me—come back without a prisoner, they’ll kill my brother!”

“What do you mean?”

“This—this was my test. If I fail, they’ll kill my brother. They said that he had to take responsibility for me if I messed up again.” The girl was desperate as she pleaded with Sakura, “So please, you can’t just take my place.” 

Sakura pinched her nose and closed her eyes in exasperation. This was becoming more complicated than she originally hoped. She racked her brain for a new plan, kicking herself for not thinking this far ahead. When the thought came to her mind, she opened her eyes to meet Pakkun’s gaze. 

“What are you thinking?” the ninja hound asked. At the sound of Pakkun’s voice, the girl shrieked and jumped as best as she could while restrained to get away from him. The kunoichi and ninken both ignored her reaction.

“Pakkun, I’m going to need you to report to Kakashi-sensei that the plan had a slight change. I’ll still infiltrate Root, just not as a member.”

“You’re not serious,” the ninken replied as he realized her plan.

“It’s the only way to make sure no one gets hurt.”

“ You could get hurt.”

“I’m a kunoichi of the Leaf. I won’t go down that easily.”

Sakura’s now-brown eyes steeled against Pakkun’s lazy gaze. After a moment of heavy silence, he relented with a sigh.

“Kakashi’s not going to like this.”

“He doesn’t have to, but I think he’ll agree that it was the best choice.”

The girl, who was silently looking between Sakura and Pakkun throughout their exchange, finally piped up. “What are you two talking about?”

Sakura trained her gaze on the girl who looked back nervously as she still leaned to one side, trying to get far away from the strange, talking dog.

“You’re going to capture me. Or rather, I’m going to let you capture me.”

“You’re going to be my prisoner?” Her girl questioned incredulously.

“Yes,” Sakura nodded. “I’m going to be your prisoner.”

***

Sakura, who was now back in her original disguise of a girl with light reddish-brown hair and dull green eyes, followed quietly as her captor dragged her along. Her wrists burned from the friction against her restraints and she had to fight the feeling of claustrophobia that threatened to creep in from the blindfold across her eyes. The girl, who informed Sakura that her name was Sachie, was shaking as she held onto Sakura’s upper arm and pulled her towards her comrades who were waiting at a campground on the other side of the forest.

Earlier, they had set the plan in motion and Pakkun was to report the mission change to Kakashi. Sakura would now act as Sachie’s prisoner to make sure that Root didn’t harm her brother or the rest of her family. It was just a minor adjustment, Sakura reassured herself. She would still be on track to achieve the purpose of her mission.

Pakkun had acquiesced to her sudden change of plans and with a few disgruntled mumbles, he turned and headed back in the direction of Konoha. While Sakura assured Pakkun that she had a plan for once she actually was inside Root, she knew that the hound could see right through her. Truthfully, she had no idea what she would do from there. It was going to be twice—no, three times—as difficult to get information as a prisoner. But she could see that she had no other choice.

With her lack of vision, Sakura nearly fell face-first after tripping on an unknown object on the ground. Sachie’s grip on her tightened to steady her and a quiet apology tumbled out of her mouth.

“Don’t do that. Don’t apologize to your prisoner,” Sakura hissed into the girl’s ear. She swore she heard the girl mumble another apology but she paid it no mind, distracted by the two new chakra signatures she sensed in her surroundings.

“Hey look, Sachie actually did it” A male voice announced, the sound of the man slapping Sachie on the back reached Sakura’s right ear.

“We knew you could, Sachie. Plus just one look told us that this girl would be easy,” piped up another male voice to Sakura’s left. She could feel him thumb a lock of her auburn hair. “It’s a shame we’re going to have to turn her in, she’s quite the looker.” 

“Hey,” Sachie slapped the man’s hand away. “No touching the prisoner, she’s mine.”

“Someone’s a little possessive.”

“It’s my first success, I can’t risk anything happening to her before I bring her back to the captain. Speaking of, let’s get going. I think we may have stirred up some commotion earlier and I don’t want to draw anymore attention”

With huffs of agreement, Sakura could hear the men begin to pack up their things. To her right, Sachie was no longer shaking but her tight, sweaty grip on Sakura’s arm gave away her anxieties. 

The men, who were now packed and ready to leave, returned to where the two women stood. One of them leaned down close to Sakura’s face, so close that she could feel his breath waft to her cheeks.

“What’s your name, pretty girl?”

“Mariko,” Sakura answered. She picked this name with her goal in mind. Truth, the name meant, and truth was what she sought.

“Cute,” the man scoffed.

A sudden pressure radiated from the back of Sakura’s head and the last thing she remembered was the feeling of moist grass and dirt slamming against her bare cheek.

[kikilefangirl]

Worthy of Admiration

Bucky Barnes x Reader

(Word Count: 1644)

As you pulled up to your apartment complex, nothing was seemingly out of place.

Miss Marcia sat next to her open window watching the neighborhood kids run through the grass. Suge and his boys from down the way whistled as you walked past. The usual.

But as soon as you made it up the steps, you paused. Something didn’t feel right. You were suddenly more aware of the knife burning a hole in your pocket.

“Monty!” You called out and he came almost immediately.

“Take these to your Mama, tell her it was no problem.” You said. You didn’t hear his reply.

You hand him your grocery bags, never taking your eyes off of your apartment door further down the hall. You take light, cautious steps. Turning your key with one hand, you rest the other on your knife.

As soon as the door clicked, a metal hand reached for your throat. You sidestepped, feeling the air whizz past you. You lunged at your attacker, but he was fast. His flesh arm reeled back, landing a harsh blow to your side. You slashed his forearm before he could get to you fully.

It caught him off guard long enough for you to kick him in the ribs. It gave you just enough time to retreat to your kitchen. A collection of knives and guns awaited you.

You were prepared for a moment like this.

You focused your energy, calling out all the weapons in your possession. A dagger whistled towards you and you caught it in mid-air. A dagger to go with your knife. The metal man was on you, his gun in hand.

You threw the dagger, digging it in his shoulder. As soon as you let it fly, you focused on his gun, you could feel its mechanics and jammed it from where you were.

Your knife clattered to the ground in the process, though. Hand to hand then. A block. Metal hand incoming. Dodge. Dishes and plates rocked and clashed all around you.

You matched his pace blow for blow. Learned his movements. He favored no arm or leg, not even the metal one. Military grade equipment. Very well trained.

You noticed the details. You were holding your own against the stronger, faster, bigger man solely because of the details of his weaponry. That was your mutation. Weapons. The strategy was purely years of training.

Then you slipped up. The sound of children laughing and running up and down the hall took you by surprise.

No, don’t come up here, you wanted to scream.

As soon as your attention drifted from him, the man seized the opportunity. He had his hands on your throat. You were slowly sinking and black spots dotted your vision.

Just then, another man busted through the door, and pushed your attacker off of you. The two wrestled on your living room floor, but you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

Then everything went black.

                                                        ...

“A fake ID, no prints, and an arsenal of weapons in every room.” Natasha sounded off. She stared at your sleeping form through the observation deck in the Tower’s Med Bay.

Bucky frowned at that. The mystery woman he’d gone after and attacked as the Winter Soldier. The details were fuzzy, but he remembered some parts. From what he gathered, she lived completely off the grid. For good reason if she had Hydra out to get her.

Tony swaggered into the room, and made a beeline for Steve, whose worried gaze alternated between Bucky and the woman. He was used to the stares from everyone; he deserved them.

“Spangles, for some reason Terminator over there-,”Tony gestured to Bucky on the opposite end of the room, “almost you know, to our Jane Doe and here’s the best part, minimal damage.”

His words hung in the air, and Bucky drew his lips in a tight line. He found his own gaze drifting towards her, full of concern. He rubbed his temple.

“What are we looking at, here?” Steve let out at last. Bucky scolded himself for not asking that question himself.

Reality sunk in when no one could answer him.

                                                        ...

“You took a lot of hard hits, yesterday.”

At the sound of the deep voice, your eyes fluttered open against the harsh white light. Hospital. You tried to sit up all the way, but a metal handcuff bit into your wrist. You grimaced and finally looked up and the man.

You tried to scramble backwards at the sight of your attacker, but you were still cuffed.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” The man backed away and held his hands up.

You made no moves, but watched him carefully. His metal hand was still very much a threat. You ghosted a hand over the bruise it gave you. You took a ragged breath and licked your lips. Chapped. If not for the morphine drip, everything would hurt. Nope. You were in no condition to deal with the outside world. If you left, now, you were as good as dead.

“My name is Bucky. I’m sorry I attacked you,” He started.

It seemed genuine, but as you thought back to Metal Man, you realized who he was and why he was so familiar. The Winter Soldier. Hydra. You tried not to make a face.

“I wasn’t in control of myself. You’re safe, you’re at Avengers’ Tower.” He said frantically.

Holding your body weight up for so long on your own was beginning to take a toll. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. You swallowed hard. It hurt the roof of your mouth because it was so dry, like sandpaper.

You spied a glass of water on the nightstand next to you, so you reached for it. You came up short, but luckily enough Bucky picked up on your actions. He handed you the water and helped you get back in the bed.

You guzzled it down as soon as it touched your lips. Not long after did a familiar voice chime in.

“Well shit, I thought I taught you better than this.”

Both your heads snapped up to see none other than Nick Fury at the door. In a flash, a butterfly knife was sailing through the air. You willed it away from Bucky’s head, and chose to lodge it on the handcuffs.

The chain snapped and you sat up. The pain in your ribs flared, but at least you weren’t chained to the bed anymore.

“Wanna trade, old man?” You said, rubbing your wrist.

Fury let out a laugh and squinted with his good eye. You picked up your clothes, and scoured through the bag they were in.

“And you two...know each other?” Bucky jumped in.

“Oakland. I was seven. Mutants don’t get to live squeaky clean, especially young black ones.” You told them.

You soften at the mention of your younger self. How young and vulnerable you were when Fury found you. You’d been on Hydra’s radar ever since, running ever since.

Your grip on your bag of clothes tightened. You’d had a run in with the Winter Soldier before. You got lucky, back then. And again, it seemed. You bit your lip.

To his credit, Bucky noticed your change in mood.

“Stay here.” He suggested. You met his apologetic eyes. He was serious about you staying, and making up for what he did.

“If I wanted to be a part of a group, y’all wouldn’t be my first call, no offense.” You said. Fury scoffed and his good eye narrowed into a slit. He didn’t comment, though.

You were a mutant who wanted to live your life on your terms, not as a spectacle. You let out a sigh.

“When the doctor clears me I’ll be a ghost.” You stated. You were more so talking to Bucky than Fury. He knew full well you weren’t a team player.

“Next time don’t get rusty,” He called out, tossing you a wad of cash. You nodded in thanks, but Fury just waved his hand and walked out. That was just how he was.

It was just you and Bucky, again.

For how massive he was, the man had an innocence about him, it was almost childlike. But there was years worth of weariness, too. And guilt. A product of Hydra, and decades of a corrupted purpose as the Winter Soldier.

You decided Bucky was a weary man who was doing his very best to live in spite of it all.

“Cheer up, comrade,” You told him with a hand on the crook of his neck, “You’ll still have me for a few more days. Until the doc clears me.”

You shot him a dazzling smile and laughed to yourself when he turned a bright pink. He stammered through his reply so much you felt bad, and let him be.

But as he got up to leave, his eyes dulled. He really wanted you to stay and redeem himself for his actions. You couldn’t say it wasn’t admirable.

You twirled the knife in your hands, in one combination after the other. Bucky had blown up your hiding spot. Hydra was without its best asset and would probably be gunning for new ones. People like you.

You clicked your tongue. You could do with a life fully funded by Tony Stark himself, in the most secure building you’d ever been in.

“It’s too hot out there for me, right now. I might need a place to stay until it’s safe to move.” You said.

Bucky nodded and gave you a small smile.

“Can I ask your name, now?” You blinked at the question.

You’d lived so long without anyone, that you hadn’t even considered revealing any true information about yourself. No introductions, no goodbyes. Bucky could probably relate to that.

“Y/N.”

It felt good to say your name out loud. You surveyed the room around you. The faces of the men and women pretending they weren’t watching your exchange with Bucky.

You tilted your head and surveyed your new knife. Your nostrils flared at your collection left behind in your apartment. Oh, you’d be staying alright.

Reeling back you threw the weapon at your observation window. Successfully sticking, the knife was directly in line with Tony Stark’s head, if not for the window.

“Stark! I want my knives back!”

[takoyakitenchou]

You and I, a takumegu story

joy is meant to be fleeting. and yet.

Morning

“Takumi-kun,” Megumi yawned as she approached him bearing onigiri and a stainless steel HydroFlask filled to the brim with piping hot jujube tea.

The Italian greeted her with a steaming mug of coffee from his espresso machine in his kitchenette. “I wish I could say good morning, but I’m rather averse to the notion at this point.”

Megumi laughed. It was nearing 5 AM in Tokyo, and they’d been in Takumi’s office at Legislation with a veritable cityscape of the first and second seats’ paperwork organized by importance for the last ten hours. It was tragic that they had agreed to finish all their work a night early so they could enjoy each other’s presence, but this quality time had been relegated to the stupid office. 

“Shall we continue?” Megumi asked, her words lacking any and all traces of conviction.

Takumi heaved a sigh. “I’ve signed so many documents today I can’t tell if I’m writing in Japanese or Italian.”

“To be honest, I’ve probably not even been signing my own name,” she mused. Then she blanched. “O-oh no! W-what if I sent t-the—”

“Relax, Tadokoro-san,” Takumi said, sensing an impending panic attack. “I’m sure Arato-san reviewed the documents before we sent them to New York.”

“I was the one reviewing them!”

Takumi put his hand over hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. His eyes widened slightly as he realized what he was doing, but he brushed the feeling aside. “It’ll be alright, Tadokoro-san. It won’t matter too much.”

It looked for a second as if she were about to implode, but then she sighed, “I don’t have enough energy to hyperventilate.”

“I understood that on so many different levels.” Takumi took one of the onigiri and felt rejuvenated with the first bite, reveling in the warmth of the honey dressed pork. “This is a masterpiece,” he told her. “I feel better than I’ve been the rest of the month collectively.”

She smiled, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “I’m glad you think so.”

Takumi’s eyebrows drew together. “Tadokoro-san, now that we’re both functional, do you want to visit the noodle festival in Dotonbori?”

She dropped her onigiri. “T-that’s in Osaka, Takumi-kun.”

“Well, Nakiri Alice told me we’re free to take the jet whenever we want as long as it’s not in use.” Takumi lifted his hand. Dangling from his fingers was a lanyard with a small gold key. “Shall we?”

“It’s five in the morning…” But they both knew she was already more than convinced.

When they landed in Osaka, the festival was already underway. 

The sun was slipping past the horizon by the time they realized they’d been gone the entire day and probably caused pandemonium at Legislation — tragic, how they were the sole pillar keeping the Elite Ten from falling to pieces — but neither seemed to mind.

They were sitting on a bench, watching the passersby, content with all the noodles they’d consumed.

Takumi furrowed his brows. “Tadokoro-san?”

“Yes, Takumi-kun.”

“How would you feel if we called this a date?”

Megumi’s eyes widened. “E-ehh?”

Takumi’s face turned red as he attempted to contrive a respectable excuse, but his panic was cut short when Megumi took hold of his hand with an uncharacteristically calm air.

“I would love that, Takumi-kun,” she smiled, and with one look, Takumi figured that not even the urban atmosphere around them could compare to the cosmopolitan vibrancy in her gold eyes.

Sunset

There has always been some vague concept of balance. Everything comes with a counterpart; there is no exception to this, and there never will be. It is a universal truth, as constant as the laws of motion, as flexible as time. Balance is often unseen, and yet it is there. Joy is countered with anguish, laughter with tears; neither can exist without the other.

And yet, every time Takumi Aldini’s electric blue eyes fell upon that sweet cinnamon roll of a girl — one hell of a chef when she was provoked, though — he realized that no law was absolute, because he had never experienced anything but exhilaration when he was with her.

Love was fleeting; that was another supposed aphorism he’d learned from the wise.

But loving Tadokoro Megumi was something he could do once, twice, twice eternity.

“It says in Nakiri-san’s memo that we’re supposed to be providing a lunch service for the jury of the Bocuse d’Or,” Megumi frowned, reading the post-it note stuck on the inside cover of the manila folder Alice had provided for this particular task.

Takumi finished off his espresso. They were watching the sunset in Vienna, drinking Melange and sharing a slice of Sachertorte with the sun descending beyond the Wiener Musikverein in the gentle Saturday backdrop. “For a second there I was going to ask you which Nakiri you’re talking about. Isn’t the Bocuse d’Or in France?”

“Lyon,” Megumi confirmed. “I’m betting Nakiri-san sent us here on purpose. Bocuse d’Or won’t even happen this year. Ah, look. She left us a note on the back of the post-it.” Megumi cleared her throat before reading, “Happy one year, lovebirds. You have twelve hours before Erina goes berserk and calls NATO to send troops to find you guys, so enjoy them. Call me when you want the jet to come pick you up from VIE.”

“Well, Tadokoro-san, I guess we can relax for the rest of the task period. Happy one year, by the way.”

Megumi gave him a bright smile and replied, “Happy one year, Takumi-kun.” 

The sky was soft, an endless canvas streaked with muted shades of orange and pink, everything blending into a gorgeous view highlighted by the spectacular architecture — and yet Takumi couldn’t seem to register anything other than the remarkable girl blushing nervously across from him.

To think it had been a whole year. It was too good to be true. This was the type of love most men searched for their entire lives without once catching a glimpse of; this was the type of love in fantasy, romance novels — everything an illusion. And yet this was real, as real as the warmth of her heart beating against his when she pressed her nose to his neck.

Takumi knew even he, with all his virtues, didn’t deserve her. But maybe she’d be willing to take him along for the ride; wherever Tadokoro Megumi went, he would follow.

It was just then that Takumi’s phone rang, snapping both out of their shared reverie.

The Italian sighed as he read the caller ID: Nakiri Erina.

“Do I pick this up?” he mused aloud, but he already had his answer.

“Y-you have to, Takumi-kun! She’s the first seat!”

“What do you say we don’t go back to school?” Takumi said, turning his phone on silent and flipping it face down. 

Megumi gave him a horrified look. “You just ghosted Nakiri Erina!”

“I mean, she’s probably too busy dealing with Yukihira’s chaos to care, right?” 

“Chaos is a severe understatement,” Megumi admitted. “B-but what if she kicks us off the council?”

Takumi grinned. “It’ll be alright, Tadokoro-san. We have a whole week to ourselves.”

With a sigh, Megumi relented. “So… we’re in Vienna.”

“Right.”

“There’s this restaurant I really want to try… but there’s another place down the street that Ryo-kun said had really good rainbow trout. And while we’re in Europe… have you been to Budapest?”

Takumi clapped his hands together. “Say less. We’re taking a sabbatical for the rest of the month.”

Megumi gave a nervous chuckle. “For research purposes, right? Otherwise Nakiri-san is going to kick us over the Pacific Ocean when we get back.”

At this, Takumi burst out laughing. He managed to choke out, “You are truly one in a million, Tadokoro-san.”

And he meant it.

Dawn

To say Takumi Aldini was known for his elegant calisthenics would be a stretch, but when that chaotically graceful blessing was around him, swinging up onto the rooftop of the trattoria with a picnic basket perched precariously on his fingertips was most definitely not a problem. 

Megumi was waiting for him with a fleece blanket around her shoulders and a gentle smile that warmed her gold eyes brighter than the Italian sunrise. “Hi, honey,” she said sweetly, as if she hadn’t prodded him awake ten minutes ago and told him to bring breakfast up to the roof in five. He’d never be able to catch up to her hopping hare speed, but he figured he’d gotten the basics of Tadokoro Time down. To be early was to be on time and to be on time was to be late. Considering he was five minutes past the downbeat, his girlfriend had probably been waiting for him since before the dinosaurs.

“Good morning, amore,” he replied as he sat beside her and opened the basket. Takumi produced a loaf of brioche and began cutting with expert precision, trying to keep his pulse steady as he felt her eyes on him. The small velvet box in his pocket was doing nothing to help this endeavor.

Megumi regarded the two identical 1.8-centimeter slices in awe before thanking him and lifting the first bite to her lips. 

“This is delicious,” she said once the tranquil hum of the autumn pond had faded to the back of her mind. “The rosemary completes the ensemble really well.” He was truly amazing; they’d been cooking love confessions for each other for the last seven years and he could still make her heart skip beats. His love was unconditional, more pastel than anything.

“Grazie, amore,” he said. “It means the world coming from you.”

“I’m only telling you the truth,” she blushed. “If I have to, I’ll say it every day to make sure you know that.”

It was now or never.

“Listen, Megumi. There’s something you need to know.”

She gazed up at him curiously over her brioche.

Takumi took a deep breath. To hell with the speech he’d parsed out in his head last night — that kind of thing never worked anyhow.

Loving Tadokoro Megumi was about elements and worlds that weren’t in their dimension or maybe even in their universe; it was something beyond time and space that his mind couldn’t process, much less put into words, but maybe this dawn would help transmit this, somehow.

But it was highly probable that Takumi had been ready for this simple statement since the moment he first laid eyes on her. A night’s worth of drafting could not possibly hope to serve justice to everything he needed to say. It was the pinnacle of all his emotions that would do more than enough, right here, right now.

“If I said I knew exactly when I fell in love with you, I’d be lying, but if anyone asks I’ll tell them I love you now, and that is all that matters. Tadokoro Megumi, you are the most insanely talented, beautiful girl I have ever known, and I am the luckiest man in the world to stand by your side, so thank you for that. I know I’m far from perfect; I have my flaws, and you have yours, but you need to know that every little part of you is absolutely everything to me, and nothing in this universe could ever change that. With your hand in mine we will turn this wasteland into paradise. You and I, no… us. I promise that I will always be with you. Forever is finite. But my love for you is beyond that.”

At this point, Megumi closely resembled something similar to a red train — Takumi swore he could see the smoke venting from her ears — but he’d waded too far in to step back out. 

“I have one question for you.” Takumi got down on one knee, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the Verragio box. The ring was elegant to the point where it possessed an ethereal quality. Diamonds seamlessly fused with rose gold on a platinum band; it was definitely flashier than anything either had ever dreamt of before, much less purchased, and yet it was heartfelt and deliberate. And, perhaps most importantly, it spoke volumes — more words and confessions captured within the metal than Takumi could ever express. 

It was a promise of the unbridled love he had for her, the promise of a sterling future he wanted to build with her.

“It is a privilege and an honor to love you. Will you make me not only the luckiest, but also the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

She nodded, doing her utmost to fight back the tears. And as dawn broke in the sky above them, the girl that brought onigiri to his office at five in the morning, the girl that laughed at him over hiyamugi and squeaked whenever he wrapped his arms around her, the beautiful girl that always made him wonder what he had done to deserve her, said two words, and that was enough.

“I will.”

-

soooo um hi @taku-megu i was your secret santa this year! writing a takumegu fic is something i haven’t done before, so i’m really glad i was given the opportunity to write for you. i hope you have a safe and wonderful holiday with your loved ones! 

and of course, thanks to @shokugeki-secretsanta for organizing this event :)

- reina

[winzenni]

didn't mean to make you cry (lee donghyuck)

Summary: when your design project partner’s joking criticism unintentionally makes you cry, how will he fix it? after all, you’re his crush...

Genre: hurt/comfort?, fluff

Pairing: donghyuck x artist!reader, high school!au

Word count: 1.5k

When you were paired up with the outgoing, edgy, purple-haired boy in class for your design assignment, you thought your final grade was done for. The purple-haired class clown, Lee Donghyuck, who wears leather jackets and looks like he plays with fire in his free time, but actually has a kind heart and warm aura. 

You thought Donghyuck would ditch you in the very beginning, dumping the entire assignment onto you and opting to hit up the local night market with his friends instead, but he had surprised you. Throughout the month, Donghyuck had stayed on task in classes and been very attentive to your vision and goals for the project. Together, you were assigned to create a design layout that would display students’ artwork and be printed in the school newspaper.

Though your peers in class all opted for a traditional newspaper design, with serif fonts and boxy modules, you wanted to break out of the norm and create a futuristic vibe, with circles and vivid motifs, to emanate a clean aura in your work. When you were paired with Donghyuck, you feared he would shut down your creative vision, but instead, he had been extremely supportive and helpful in the project, even offering insight to improve the layout and refine the modern look of the pages.

For fun, you had put some close-up photos of your old sketches and drawings in the background. You thought Donghyuck would have called you self-centered for putting your own personal works on the page, but he had proven you wrong by complimenting the design afterwards. Together, your smooth black pen lines and colored pencil textures created a personal, diary-like feeling to the design, while the minimalistic modules and white space kept the clean modern vibes. 

His willingness to cooperate and kindness to you and your ideas had truly shocked you, and erased the bad boy/lazy rebel image you had thought of him. He seemed like someone you wanted to get closer with, maybe.

“Donghyuck and Y/N, time for your evaluation.” the teacher called you two up.

“Hm, this corner of the page is a little crowded. It’s hard on the eyes,” Ms. Kang says. 

“It’s because y/n drew the picture there,” says Donghyuck. “It’s ugly, right?” He says it in a joking manner, and you know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the words stir up some insecurities you’ve suppressed for a long time.

Ms. Kang laughs along with him. “Donghyuck, don’t be mean. Her drawing looks fine…”

--

You know he was joking when he had called your drawing ugly, but you couldn’t help but think that maybe he truly meant it. People were always like that to you.

In elementary school, your parents had loved your art. Your scribbly golden retrievers, your painted landscapes, they had praised each one and hung them up on the refrigerator, and you were so proud to have a talent that they were proud of. 

In eighth grade, your hyper realistic self-portrait earned you a ticket to New York to have your art displayed at a museum’s exhibit highlighting children’s artworks. You began to think this talent could take off and become a career, but your parents disagreed.

“Art doesn’t make money, y/n. Do you want to starve when you grow up?”

As you grew older, your art got better but your parents’ support decreased. Though you could draw a golden retriever 100 times better than before, your parents weren’t praising you.

“It’s ok, y/n. It looks kind of ugly.”

“That’s supposed to be you? It’s ugly-”

“Why did you draw me so ugly-”

Ugly was such a short word. But why did it hurt so much? Whenever you saw your parents’ faces, you just thought about your ugly, meaningless passion: art.

--

The bell rang. 

“Ah, I barely noticed the time. We’ll finish grading your design next class.” says Ms. Kang.

“Cool, thanks seonsaengnim,” Donghyuck responds. “Y/n, what did you think? She really liked the-”

You stand up, grabbing your bag and leaving for the cafeteria. You couldn’t hear Donghyuck’s words over your parents’ criticisms ringing in your head.

“Are you dumb? You’re NOT going to art school.” “No more art, y/n. It’s meaningless.” It had been a while since the word “ugly” had come up when talking about your art, your hobby, your talent, no -- your sole passion in life that gave you a purpose. You didn’t even notice your eyes watering up.

“Y/n, didn’t you hear me?” Donghyuck catches up beside you. “Ms. Kang said -- wait, are you crying?”

You’re taken aback, looking up to the face on your left. Concern flashes through his eyes as a sense of embarrassment pierces your chest. He thinks I cried because of a dumb joke he made, you think to yourself. He thinks I’m too sensitive and weak like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, taking a u-turn to seek refuge in the bathroom. 

At lunch, you plop your tray beside your friend Renjun, taking a seat.

“How was the project evaluation?” He asks. 

“Renjun, you’re gonna laugh when I say this. I cried for no reason in front of Donghyuck,” you reveal.

“Why? What happened?” He asks worriedly.

You explain the purple-haired kid in your class, the design project, the thoughts that had rushed through your mind after Donghyuck had jokingly called your art ugly. Renjun, who you had first met in art class and hoped to become an art student himself, was one of few people who truly understood your insecurities about your future in art. 

“He probably thinks I’m weird and too sensitive now,” you say.

“Maybe,” he says. Renjun was never one to lie, even if the truth hurt a little bit. “It’s okay though, you probably won’t see him ever again after this year.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, patting it comfortingly.

“You’re right,” you laugh, scooping up another spoonful of rice.

--

How can she be laughing so much after crying less than twenty minutes ago? Donghyuck asks himself from across the cafeteria. Did I do something wrong?

“Donghyuck, what’s on your mind?” pipes up Jeno. “What are you looking at?”

“Hm? Oh… Earlier in class, that girl over there cried after I said something but I’m not sure why.” Donghyuck answers.

Jeno raises his head to look over at the girl in question. “Oh! Y/n? She’s so nice though, how did you even make her cry?” “I don’t know! That’s what I want to know!” Donghyuck defends himself. “Who’s sitting next to her though? She was just crying last class, why is she laughing already?”

“Oh, that’s Renjun. Why don’t you just ask him? He seemed pretty chill in math class last year,” Jeno suggests. 

-- 

When Donghyuck sees Renjun turn into the boys’ bathroom before class, he follows.

“Renjun!” he calls out.

Renjun turns around to see the owner of the unfamiliar voice. 

“Why did y/n cry? Did I do something wrong?”

Tilting his head to process the sudden interrogation, Renjun notices Donghyuck’s bright purple hair and makes the connection.

“Oh, you’re Donghyuck,” he remarks.

“Please, Renjun, tell me if I did something wrong. I need to know.”

“Why do you care so much?” Renjun asks. “Don’t worry about it, she’s not mad at you.”

“No, please. Please tell me. I-” Donghyuck starts. How can he admit his crush on you to a stranger right now? He can’t miss his chance. “I-I like y/n. I need to know if I did something wrong. I want to fix it. Please, Renjun.” 

Donghyuck had loved your drawings. He had loved your designs too. And loved you too. He loved how concentrated you focused when designing the layout, how your fingers gracefully pushed hair behind your ears when it fell in your face. He loved how your passion and dedication shined through in everything you did, whether it was your voice in a presentation, or the speed and concentration of your fingers on a keyboard. You were his crush, but also his role model. He couldn’t live with himself if he had made you cry.

Renjun explained your situation, your art, your parents, your self-doubt to Donghyuck. “Shoot your shot, Donghyuck. I think maybe y/n likes you too,” he said before pushing the door open and leaving quickly to hide his growing smile.

Alone in the bathroom, Donghyuck breathes a sigh of relief.

--

The next day in class, Donghyuck slides his backpack on the desk beside you, instead of his usual seat in the back. 

You look up, unsure how to face him. Should you explain why you cried? Or pretend like it didn’t happen?

He slips a folded pink piece of paper onto your desk, nodding at you to open it. 

You unfold the paper to see a doodle of a girl and boy, painting the sky together under some clouds. Amongst the clouds read “Your art is amazing. And you are too.” in a neat script. On the bottom of the paper: “Wanna come with me to the night market on Saturday?”

You look up at Donghyuck, searching his eyes to see if this is some pitiful joke or attempt to amend. Instead, you just see a glazed, lovestruck gaze in his eyes.

“I promise I won’t make you cry this time,” he says.

[iturbide]

*makes grabby hands* gimme protective Claude parents please and thank you (I LOVE the idea of them treating Edelgard's messenger very kindly and then sending them back with a venomous snake for Edelgard)

okay look this was going to be short and then it just stopped being that so please accept this text wall ft. Outsider Perspective on Almyra

The city Chelle’s Almyran escorts guided her through was overwhelming, chaotic, bustling with people who seemed to be constantly shouting over one another.  It made her head ache, and all the more for the dizzying colors and scents of perfume and incense and spices hanging so thick in the noisy air that she could barely breathe.  Enbarr might not have smelled like a rose most of the time, but at least it didn’t leave her feeling like her chest was full of wool every time she inhaled.  But she dutifully followed the guards through the markets and the plazas, up and down a winding maze of streets, making their way (as best she could tell) toward the mesa towering over the city; she’d noticed the wyverns circling overhead when they first arrived, but as they drew closer she could see them appearing and disappearing from somewhere high up on the cliff face, though exactly where they were coming or going from was invisible even when she shaded her eyes against the sun.

It seemed odd that they were going toward the wyvern roost.  “I need to go to the palace,” she repeated insistently, clutching her case slightly tighter.  “I need to speak with Almyra’s leader.”

“Yes, yes,” one of the men sighed, “we heard you the first eight times.”

She frowned, but said no more, drumming her fingers on the graven wood instead.  With every step, the mesa drew closer, the streets wider, and soon enough she could hear the dragons calling overhead, their cries and growls echoing off the crags to her ear…

A final turn, and her trepidation evaporated into awe.  Through the cluttered sprawl of the city, she’d caught no sight of anything even remotely resembling a castle -- but here the rest of the buildings fell away before a grand plaza, deeply graven stones depicting heated battles leading to a grand arch carved directly into the stone of the cliff.  She glanced at the carvings while she walked, picking out images of great knights, wyvern riders, myrmidons, snipers, and far more that she couldn’t identify before they passed beneath the gate and entered the mesa itself.  Crossing the grand foyer, they wound their way up a wide flight of stairs, climbing until the sun vanished entirely, its light replaced by torches burning steadily within their sconces on the wall; by the time they reached the top of the steps, they had turned all the way around, and she spent a moment staring at the grand braziers burning on either side of the wooden doors, each carved with strikingly detailed wyverns in flight.

Her escorts did not so much as knock: instead they each pulled one of the doors open, casting pointed glances at her until she stepped through. 

The room itself had clearly been carved directly into the native stone, just like the stairs and the foyer and the arch now far below them; this room, though, had honeycomb lattices etched through the far wall to allow the sunlight in, casting a warm glow across the brightly colored trappings and tapestries and shining bright across the golden thread adorning the four people at the center of the room. 

None rose when their guest arrived, but only glanced up from where they lounged in a loose half-circle.  Judging by their hair and features, the two men were clearly Almyran, while the women looked dubiously Fódlani: despite their tan complexions, one had far lighter brown hair than any Almyran she’d seen (and green eyes on top of it), while the other could have been a Goneril bastard given her shockingly pink features.  

The older man shifted to beckon her closer, and she realized with a shock that he only had one arm.  “You would be the envoy from Fódlan, yes?” he asked.  “State your business here.”

“A-are you the chief of Almyra?” she asked, carefully shifting the case out of view and trying not to stare at where his empty sleeve had been rolled and pinned just below his shoulder. 

His eyebrows went up.  The brown-haired woman next to him scoffed, while the younger man didn’t bother trying to cover up his snort.  “Wow, the Empire sure did their research,” he muttered, not even bothering to speak under his breath so she might not hear.

“Yes, I am the king of Almyra, Kemal al-Kader,” the older man said at last, gesturing to the woman beside him.  “This is my partner, the queen of Almyra, Adara al-Kader.  I will not ask again: state your business here.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Chelle chirped, scrambling forward and tearing her attention guiltily away from where the man’s right arm should have been to unlatch her messenger’s case.  “My name Chelle Skeates, I’m a messenger from the Adrestian Empire, here on behalf of Empress Edelgard von Hresvelg to deliver a diplomatic treaty for your review and approval.  The Empire--”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think we’ve discussed any treaty with Adrestia before, have we?” the younger man asked, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles while he sprawled back in the sunlight.  “Doesn’t it seem a little strange that Edelgard’s sending a treaty for approval without any kind of discussion beforehand?”

“Empress Edelgard,” Chelle snapped.

“I am quite certain I would have remembered past dealings with Adrestians,” the king agreed.  

“I bet they’d have remembered dealing with you, too,” the younger man grinned. 

 Chelle huffed, “the Empress wished me to relay her deepest respect and admiration to you, the rulers of Almyra, and her hope that our two great nations might establish a peaceful and mutually prosperous rela--”

“Peaceful!” the younger man howled, pounding his fist against his knee.  “I don’t think she knows the meaning of the word!”

“And how,” the pink-haired woman chimed in.

“And just who are you supposed to be?” Chelle demanded, looking between the two. 

“This is Tariq,” the king cut in smoothly, gesturing to the young man.  “He is my advisor -- my right hand, if you will.”

The young man smirked.  “You did that on purpose.”

The king smiled but did not respond; instead, it was the queen who spoke up, gesturing to the young woman at her side.  “And this is Tahmina, my aide and guard.”

“Not that you really need a bodyguard,” the pink-haired woman giggled.  “Your reputation scares off more people than I could with an axe.”

“Yes, well,” Chelle sniffed.  “If I might continue: Empress Edelgard hopes that our two great nations might establish a peaceful and mutually prosperous relationship, and has done all in her power to craft a fair and equitable proposal for your review and approval.  Fódlan’s Throat has been too long held closed by those of blind faith, so--”

“Wow, that old excuse?” Tariq muttered.  “I’m almost surprised she didn’t try harder to butter you up, but...well, I guess I can’t fault her for getting comfortable with the rhetoric that got her where she is.”

“Your majesties, perhaps we could proceed with this in private?” Chelle pleaded.

The king raised a brow again.  “Did I not hear that you are a messenger?  Is it not your duty to carry messages back as well as forth?”

“W-well, yes, but--”

“It is not solely the response to your Empress’ treaty that you will be relaying back, then, is it?” he pointed out.  “It is your mission to deliver all messages, including our words in response to those she sent herself.  The points Tariq makes are sound ones, from what we know of how Fódlan came under your Empress’ rule.  You would do well remembering them when you return to her.”

“So...Tariq speaks for you, then, Your Majesty?” she ventured. 

“Not for me, no.”  The man waved the words away, sharing a brief glance with his advisor.  “But I value his speech, and consider his words when the time comes to choose my own.  That is the purpose of an advisor, is it not?  To advise.”

“It seems more like your advisor is trying to pick a fight with me,” Chelle protested. 

“Not you,” Tariq replied.  “Not really.  My problem is with the person who sent you.  Since I can’t argue with her directly, I just have to pick apart the words she put in your mouth and in your hands.”

“Speaking of.”  The king held out his hand and gestured to Chelle, who obediently opened her case and removed the heavy vellum emblazoned with the gilt crest of the Hresvelg family.  Fanning the pages out before him, the man braced his bearded chin against his fist, paying no mind to the three others who crowded in to see the flowing script.  “Have you read this?”

It took her a moment to understand the words, and it was only when his gaze flicked up to meet hers that she realized the question had been directed to her.  “Oh!  No, sir, Your Majesty, this is the first time I’ve seen it, I swear…”

The answer did not seem to please him.  Instead he made a thin noise, shifting to free his hand and wave her away while his attention returned to the parchment.  “We will need several days to review and prepare our response.  And you have had a long journey: take this time to rest before you set off again.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she mumbled, bowing deeply and backing toward the open doors.  He didn’t acknowledge the address, nor even her departure; her last glimpse of the king was of a one-armed man with traces of silver in his dark hair and neat beard, his head bowed over the papers she had brought and a scowl carved across his face. 

-----

Chelle was used to long missions and short breaks.  Weeks of travel from Enbarr to the far corners of the Adrestian Empire, perhaps a day or two of rest before heading either back or elsewhere.  It was the life she’d come to expect as a messenger. 

Six days.  She was certain this was the most time off she’d had in almost two years on the job, and all because the king had asked for time to prepare a suitable response to Adrestia’s treaty.  The Almyrans were surprisingly considerate hosts, providing not only room and board and meals, but an escort to show her around.  After a few days the chaos of the Almyran city began to feel almost pleasant, though she couldn’t hope to navigate it alone, its sights and scents growing more intriguing the more time she spent there.  Her guide one day had even bought her a trinket from the market: an antler carved in the likeness of a leaping deer, which she described as a totem favored by scouts and couriers for swift journeys and safe passage. 

She thought she might miss this, when she made her trip back to the Locket.  The noise, the bustle, the colors and patterns everywhere she looked...even the constant presence of wyverns no longer surprised her, and she wondered if it would be strange not hearing their occasional keening in the night or the sound of wingbeats overhead as they circled the mesa and its surrounding city.  But if nothing else, she’d have one final memory to take home with her: a grand send-off feast, complete with dancing around fires that blazed nearly as tall as she stood, men and women carousing regardless of how much they’d drunk.  She felt warm and contented watching it all, well-fed and nursing her second cup of spicy-sweet wine…

“Have you been enjoying yourself?”

She jumped, whirling so fast she nearly spilled her drink.  Tariq grinned sidelong at her, swirling his own cup while she sputtered and scrabbled for words.  “Y-y...you!!” 

“Me?” he asked innocently, touching his chest with one hand. 

“What are you doing here!?”

“Checking on you,” he chuckled.  “It’s your last night, and all--”

“After how you tried to make a fool of me in front of the king!?” 

“When did I do that?” he protested, seeming genuinely surprised. 

“I couldn’t get two words out without you making some...some snide comment about it!”

“Well, to be fair, they weren’t your words I was commenting on, they were Edelgard’s--”

“Empress Edelgard,” she corrected. 

“Edelgard’s,” he repeated stubbornly.  “It really wasn’t anything against you.”

“It was...it was so rude!” she huffed, stomping her foot adamantly on the stones. 

“Maybe in the Empire it is, but that’s just how things work here,” he shrugged.  “Gotta get your words in edgewise while you’ve got the chance.”

“So I should have just talked over you?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he agreed.  

“That’s even more rude!”

“Again, maybe in the Empire, not here.”

Fuming, she threw back the last of her wine, shivering as it burned its way down her throat.  “What do you have against Empress Edelgard, anyway?”

“More than you can imagine,” he muttered. 

“Then tell me,” she insisted. 

He looked at her, and she noticed for the first time that despite his clearly Almyran features and complexion, his eyes were a curious shade of green.  “You’re on...what, your second cup?  Third?”

“Second,” she confirmed. 

“Let’s get you another.”

Chelle groaned, stomping off after the man weaving his way effortlessly through the dancers.  She lost him somewhere in the crush of bodies, and finally gave up, squirming her way out to a quieter corner to catch her breath and try to pick him out of the crowd…

Someone tapped her cup with the mouth of a wineskin.  “Sure,” she muttered, holding it out. 

“Good, because ‘no’ wasn’t really an option.”

She jumped, nearly dropping her newly-refilled drink as she whirled on Tariq.  “Where did you go!?” she demanded. 

“To get more wine, like I said?”  He shrugged, topping off her cup and his own before tying the bag and tucking it under his arm.  “So.  You want to know what I have against Edelgard?” 

“Empress Edelgard,” she corrected automatically. 

“You never read that treaty she sent.”

“I was directed to bring it to the rulers of Almyra.  Why would I read it, when I’m not the recipient?”

“Do you want to read it?”

She squinted at him, taking another sip of her drink.  “Is this a trick?”

“No?  Why would I try to trick you?”

“Because you’re rude,” she mumbled.

“I’m telling you, that’s just how it works here,” he chuckled.  “But do you want to read it?”

“...I’m just a courier.  I won’t really know what it says.”

“I can translate it for you,” he grinned.  “It’s what I’ve spent the past four days doing, after all.”

“I can’t speak Almyran, either!”

“Why would it be in Almy--wait, no, not that kind of translation!”  His laughter sounded completely different from the jeering she’d heard when she arrived: it seemed warm and even kind, and she sheepishly took another sip of wine as she watched him.  “The whole thing’s written in Fódlani, no need to worry about that.  I was just getting down to what it really meant, under all the fancy language they used to make it sound official.”

Well...that didn’t sound so bad, really.  “...I guess it could be interesting to see it,” she agreed. 

“Follow me, then.”  He grinned, striding off into the dark -- but this time he avoided the boisterous dance, skirting around the edges of the fire until he found the king and queen laughing and carousing among a group of hardened-looking warriors.  Tariq called something out in Almyran, which caught the older man’s attention; he glanced at Chelle in the next moment, smiling and nodding before returning his attention to the people around him.

From there they left the plaza, passing beneath the arch and into the Almyran palace, up the torchlit stairs...then off down another hallway, rather than into the room she’d first delivered the treaty to; up another narrow set of steps carved into the native stone, down the hall, and through another door that opened on a comfortable, well-lit room occupied by a table surrounded by empty chairs and strewn with open books and scrolls.  Dropping into one of the seats, he gestured to another, waiting for Chelle to sit before fanning the vellum pages out before her; she fidgeted for a moment, glancing at him while he propped his chin in his hand...and finally turning her eyes to the words on the page. 

It became very clear very quickly why he’d spent so long ‘translating,’ as he put it.  Not only was it a long document with dense writing, but the words themselves made her head spin; for a moment she wondered if the wine was to blame, but two cups couldn’t explain how much of her own language made no sense to her.  She was aware of the man sitting next to her, reading the same words she did without apparent struggle...and when she fidgeted and glanced in his direction, he tore his gaze from the page, raising a brow in silent invitation. 

“...please?” she mumbled.

“Of course,” he nodded.  “So, a lot of this stuff at the beginning is trade details -- the Empire’s offering some nice exchange terms on major exports with a slight bias in Almyra’s favor, not enough to raise suspicions but certainly tempting.”  He moved a few pages off to the side, running his fingertip down the parchment.  “Diplomatic terms.  These are balanced, mostly: stuff about equality in the alliance, mutual aid, so on and so on...and then there’s this.”

He moved another page aside and tapped a passage partway down; she leaned in, squinting as though that would help her parse the words better.  “Military alliance,” she read.  “In the event that one of our two nations should come under threat from without or within, the other shall furnish soldiers and armaments suitable for the defense of the endangered territory or to maintain peace therein, adhering to the law of whatever land they have been deployed to protect.”

“Do you know what that means?”  

“That...if something happens to you, we’ll come help, and the other way around?” she ventured. 

“On the surface, that’s what it implies,” he agreed.  “But this is where the danger is.  It looks like nothing to worry about, that we’ll each help each other if something goes wrong...but then there’s that phrase, ‘threat from without or within.’  That means that if there’s civil unrest -- like, say, forcibly conquered territories rebelling to reclaim their independence -- Edelgard could call on Almyra and use this agreement to force us to send soldiers to maintain her control over those territories.  There’s nothing in here about what provisions the Empire would provide to those forces they call in, either: Almyra’s still expected to feed and supply their own forces, even though they’re in Imperial territory enforcing Imperial law.”

“That can’t be right,” Chelle protested, flipping through the rest of the pages.

“I read this whole thing through at least eight times,” he muttered.  “The king and queen went at it at least three, themselves.  If it was in here, one of us would have caught it.”

“Then...then it must have been a mistake.  It was meant to be in there and...maybe a page got left out, it can be noted and addressed in your response…”

“It was intentional.”

“You can’t know that!” she protested. 

“You’re right: I can’t be completely sure.  But I think the implications are pretty clear from this.”  

He set aside a few more pages and tapped another passage, this one near the end of the page, and she leaned in close to read the words.  “Extradition clause: should it become known that entities who pose a threat to the peace or sovereignty of one of our two nations have sought refuge within the other, either the nation housing them will detain and transport them to face trial and punishment within the nation where their crimes were committed, or the offended nation will be granted freedom to enter allied territories for the purposes of tracking and securing the criminal for transport to trial.”  She looked at him again, trying to release some of the tension furrowing her brow.  “What’s so bad about that?  Isn’t it saying that if a criminal tries to get away across the border, they won’t be able to escape?”  She might not have understood all the words, but that seemed like the general message…

“On the surface, yes,” he agreed, “that’s what it implies.  But there’s nothing in here to say what would be considered ‘criminal acts.’  There’s just that thing about ‘posing a threat to the peace and sovereignty of the nation.’  So, for instance: if worshippers of Seiros fled across the border into Almyra seeking asylum, Edelgard could -- theoretically -- declare that their faith makes them enemies of Adrestia, and either force Almyra to round them up and send them back to face trial for the crime of having faith in a religion she hates, or she could use it as an excuse to send Imperial soldiers into Almyra, and they could -- again, theoretically -- round up any other refugees from conquered Fódlan territories on similar charges.”

“How could they do that without some cause for it?”

“They could claim cause simply from the fact that they fled the Empire,” he shrugged.  “If they had nothing to hide or had committed no crimes, why wouldn’t they have stayed?”

“Wouldn’t they need proof?  Or...or wouldn’t they need to say who they’re looking for, and why, when they come in to search?” she insisted. 

“Those conditions might help,” he agreed, “if they were in here.  Which they’re not. Again: after eight reads, I’m pretty sure I’d have spotted it.”

“That’s...it’s not…”

“Possible?” he offered.  “Fair?  Reasonable?”  She shook her head fiercely, setting her mostly full cup aside to avoid spilling it and squeezing her trembling hands together.  “...right?” he suggested.  She nodded, staring again at the words written in such a careful hand, willing them to change even though she knew they wouldn’t.  “Yeah.  It’s not.  It’s dangerous, and it’s all hidden in the middle of this block of text to try and get it past us: the end is just more pleasantries, again biased on Almyra’s favor, like someone was expecting us to check the beginning and the end and get lulled into a false sense of security by the good terms there: they hid all the damning stuff in the middle and banked on it getting glossed over or missed by inattentive diplomats.  My money’s on Hubert setting it up this way: it has his greasy fingerprints all over it.”

“Why?” she choked out. 

“I couldn’t say for sure,” Tariq sighed.  “But I can give you my guess, if you want.”  He waited, and only when she nodded did he draw another breath.  “The Empire conquered Fódlan.  Formerly independent territories, like the Kingdom of Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance, had their freedom stripped away, and more than likely had their autonomy taken with it: even the Alliance, where there was a pro-Imperial faction, fell under the jurisdiction of an Empire-born noble, didn’t it?”  She nodded slightly, biting her lip and tightening her fingers until she began to lose feeling in them.  “Generally, that kind of treatment isn’t likely to win her friends and allies, or endear her to the ones she had.  Unrest isn’t just a possibility in those conquered territories, it’s almost a guarantee -- and after spending five years at war, the Imperial Army’s probably not doing so great: her forces are stretched thin keeping the peace in her forcefully annexed new territories, and she needs help to maintain control over her ‘united’ Fódlan.  So she thought she’d try to get someone on her side to help her in that, give them something she could part with and get what she needed more than anything else: military aid.  The extradition portion is icing on the cake for when she gets things under better control and can divide her attention again.”

“...you’re not going to accept it, are you?” Chelle whispered. 

“Not a chance,” he agreed, patting her back.  “Even if we wanted to, there are too many problems with this treaty as it stands: we’d need to send over a full-fledged diplomatic party to iron out the details to everyone’s satisfaction.  Edelgard sent a messenger -- someone who wouldn’t understand the underlying message of the document she was charged with transporting, and who wouldn’t have the authority to make changes even if the problems were pointed out to her.”

“It’s not my fault!” she cried. 

His hand tightened comfortingly on her shoulder.  “I know.  And I’m not blaming you: you were just doing your job; everybody here understands that.  We blame Edelgard for this, because what she’s implying by doing this -- sending this treaty, worded and constructed this way, with a courier that has no political authority over the document -- is that she thinks this is reasonable and fair, and wants us to accept it as it is.”

Sniffling thickly, Chelle swiped at her blurry eyes.  “Why keep me here so long, then?”

“To give you a break.  You deserved a rest, and we needed to get our response ready.”

“I thought you were just going to say ‘no,” she mumbled. 

“The message they want to send back is a little more...pointed,” he replied.  “...sorry to spoil the party for you.”

“...it’s okay,” she sighed.  “I...didn’t know about this.  It’s a lot to take in.”  He nodded as he rose from his seat, offering a hand to help her up; picking up her cup almost as an afterthought, he made his way back out of the room, closing the doors behind them and starting back the way they’d come.  “...that...extradition clause.  And how it could ‘theoretically’ be used to arrest anyone.  Is...would Tahmina be at risk from it?”

Tariq glanced over at her, quirking one eyebrow.  “Yes,” he agreed.

“Because she’s related to the Gonerils?”

“Something like that,” he chuckled.  “Almyra’s not perfect.  There’s still a lot of anti-Fódlan sentiment around -- there’s a lot of history there, not much of it good -- but I’m doing my best to make it safer here for refugees and asylum seekers.  Edelgard’s ‘United Adrestian Empire’ isn’t helping anyone but her, just like her war: lots of big talk, but in the end it’s the common people who end up suffering for her decisions and her actions.  Even if it’s something small, in the grand scheme of things...I want to help the people who have been hit hardest by all this.  If that means turning down Edelgard’s treaty...well, that’s a small price to pay.”

After spending so much time in the softer lamplight, the bonfires in the plaza nearly blinded her, and she had to rely for a moment on Tariq’s guidance to make sure she didn’t either run into anyone or trip and fall onto a pyre.  Once her vision cleared, he offered her cup back, which she took without much interest.  “Don’t let it get you too down, alright?” he chuckled, giving her shoulder another pat.  “Enjoy the party while it lasts.  Give dancing a try -- I’ll show you the trick to it if you want.”

Chelle made a non-committal noise, lifting her drink in a silent parting gesture while he walked off.  She caught sight of Tahmina in the crowd, watched her wave and call out to Tariq, and saw him beam and hurry to join her in the circle of dancers, seeming entirely carefree in spite of their grave conversation.  How he could bounce back so fast was a mystery to her, like so many other things here in Almyra; she didn’t imagine she’d be in any shape to join the festivities for a while yet. 

But, like Tariq had said: it was her last night here.  Soon enough she would be going back to the Empire -- back home.  And then she could see for herself whether Tariq was right or not about the Empress’ motives. 

Downing the rest of her wine, she put her cup aside and waded into the chaos.  One dance wouldn’t hurt. 

---

Chelle decided it was for the best that she’d stopped at three cups of wine.  That had already given her a hangover the likes of which she’d never experienced before, and in the end Tariq (seeming mostly amused by the whole thing) fetched her something to take the edge off her migraine, which at least got her out of bed in time for a light breakfast before she had to leave.  Her head was still a little sore and fuzzy by the time she made her way up to the room where the Almyran rulers had met her when she first arrived; they were both standing this time, though, and as Tariq took his place at the king’s side Chelle bowed deeply before them.

“Thank you for having me, Your Majesties,” she said.  “It’s been an honor to meet with you, and I’m grateful for your hospitality and your kindness.”

“We are pleased to hear it, and hope that you enjoyed your time here,” the older man nodded.  “We have prepared our response to your Empress, and would have you deliver it upon your return.”

She bowed again, unlatching her case and preparing to take the document...though, when she looked again, she realized that his hand was empty.  The queen held a box, but its lid was open and Chelle could see that there was nothing in that, either, except for some dried grass lining the bottom…

The king looked past her, gesturing to someone in the doorway.  Curious, she turned to see -- and jumped aside as a woman approached, one hand gripping the head of a snake while her other arm supported the rest of its body.  “A horned viper,” the man remarked casually, watching the handler maneuver the serpent into the box his wife held (and Chelle caught a glimpse of rough-textured scales, horn-like growths above its slit eyes, and wicked fangs poised to strike in the instant before the lid snapped closed).  “They hide in sandy places among the rocks and scrub, and their color and pattern make them quite elusive; it took five days to locate and snare this one.  They are also exceptionally deadly: their bite is often fatal, and those that do survive frequently lose the bitten limb.”

She wondered if the king spoke from experience as her gaze flicked unbidden to the empty sleeve pinned at his shoulder.

The queen moved toward her, and it took every ounce of Chelle’s willpower to stand still and let her approach with the snake in its box.  “Don’t worry, you’re not in danger,” the woman chuckled.  “We made sure to give it a good meal, so it shouldn’t cause trouble for you, and the latch has a safety so it won’t open unless someone is trying to get into it.”  She demonstrated without opening the lid (which Chelle was profoundly grateful for), unfolding the double-hinged latch before securing it in place and locking it with a satisfying snap.  It didn’t make her feel terribly much better about handling it, though, especially now that she was close enough to see the fine latticework openings in the lid -- a lovely touch of artistry, to be sure, but clearly functional given the contents; thankfully, the queen didn’t seem to mind when Chelle opened her case and invited her to fit the box inside, securing the clasp herself and gingerly settling it against her side. 

“When you arrived, you came with a message from your Empress to go with her treaty,” the king mused, stroking his neatly trimmed beard.  “We would ask you to deliver words on our behalf, as well.”

“O-of course,” Chelle nodded.  “I’ll be sure to relay them -- what is your message, sir?”

A thin smile cut across his face, and a chill crawled down her spine.  “This box is much like the treaty your messenger carried to us: carefully crafted of fine materials -- and concealing within something fatal to those who would rush to accept on appearances alone.  Yet the viper bites only to hunt or defend itself from harm; your terms stand as proof of how deep your cruelty runs in service to yourself.  We received your messenger, and treated her with the honor and hospitality befitting her service, for we in Almyra bear no ill will toward those who bring such words to us: our grudge is with the one who ordered her to speak them.”

Despite how cool the room was, Chelle could feel sweat pouring down her face as she repeated the words back, aware of every stumble and pause but seeming unable to make her tongue behave...though the king still nodded in apparent satisfaction when she finished.  “Thank you,” he said, resting his fist over his heart as he bowed.  “Should your Empress decide to use a messenger again, rather than speak herself, know you are welcome here.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, sir,” she replied, tripping over the words as she ducked her head.  “A-and thank you again for your hospitality.”  

Turning smartly on her heel, she hurried out the door and down the stairs, keeping a tight grip on her case and trying to convince herself that the snake in it was secure, that she wouldn’t get bitten, that she wasn’t going to die on her way back home--

“You okay?”

Chelle almost tripped on the last few stairs; the hand on her elbow thankfully kept her from falling -- but as soon as she found her balance again she yanked her arm away, glaring over her shoulder at Tariq as he held his hands up in a placating gesture.  “I’m carrying a fucking viper how am I supposed to be ‘okay’!?”

“...that’s a fair point,” he admitted.  “I probably should have warned you about that, huh.”

“You THINK?” she hissed.  Hurrying down the last of the stairs, she stormed toward the arch, her thoughts still reeling over everything that had happened in the past few minutes.  “A snake!  He’s sending a snake back!  Who does that!?”

“Almyrans,” Tariq replied almost cheerfully. 

“With no antidote!”

“Nope.”

“How is this not seen as murder?  Am -- am I party to an assassination attempt?”

“I guess if you don’t warn Edelgard of what it is, then...maybe?”

“Of course I’m going to warn her, what do you take me for!?” Chelle snapped.  “A fucking snake, he’s replying with a...a-and he said it took days to track it down?  Is that why I was waiting here so long?”

“That...may have been the other part of it, yes,” Tariq admitted.

“That means...they had to have sent people out looking the day I arrived!”

“Technically they sent people out looking as soon as they heard an Imperial messenger was coming.  The speech was a nice touch, though, he really outdid himself there--”

“They never intended to consider the treaty?”

“Afraid not.  They’ve got some sizeable grievances against the Empress, so I don’t want to say it was a wasted trip, but...yeah, there was never any chance--”

She whirled around, clutching her case tight as though desperate to keep it sealed shut.  “How are you so calm about this!?”

“Take a breath, Chelle.”  He mimed a few, himself, and she grudgingly followed suit.  “This kind of thing might seem crazy--”

“Because it is,” she insisted.

“...but it’s not uncommon in Almyra.  Especially to get a message across: sending a snake has a lot of implications.”

“This place is insane.”  He’d mentioned anti-Fódlan sentiment, but she never would have expected this. 

“Almyrans feel the same way about all the rules you’ve got in Fódlan,” he chuckled.  “Call it a cultural difference.”

Stepping out into the sunshine beyond the arch, Chelle threw a hand up to shade her eyes as the dull ache in her head spiked; by the time her vision came back into focus, Tariq had walked past her, and stood waiting in the center of the plaza...beside a white wyvern, its ornamented tack shimmering in the light while the dragon tilted its head into the man’s attention.  He grinned at her, gesturing her closer while continuing to scratch the wyvern’s chin with his free hand.  “Need a ride back to the Locket?  Or, well, the outskirts, at least -- I’d rather not have them raining arrows down on us, if I can help it.”

“Is this your wyvern?” she asked, edging closer. 

“She is,” he agreed, rubbing the dragon’s horns while it pressed its head against his chest. 

“I’ve...never seen a white one before.”  She’d only ever heard of one, in fact, and then only as rumors from those who’d been at Derdriu when the Empress marched to the heart of the Alliance…

“They’re rare,” Tariq confirmed, “and here in Almyra they’re considered good luck.  They always end up going to important people because of it: beloved kings, exceptional generals…”

“Then how did an advisor end up with one?” she scoffed. 

“Having the king and queen for parents has perks.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it…”

She’d intended to brush off whatever excuse he made, but as the words sank in she trailed off, staring slack-jawed at him while he continued to lavish affection on the white wyvern.  “You -- you’re a prince?” 

“Technically,” he shrugged. 

“The king introduced you as his advisor!” 

“Well, right now I am: with things as they are now, I can’t achieve what I want, so I didn’t see a point in challenging him for the throne.  My counsel is the most useful thing for Almyra, given the state of things in Fódlan, so...it just seemed like the sensible thing to do.”  Slinging his arm over the dragon’s neck, he turned a cheery smile on Chelle, leaning his weight against the wyvern’s side.  “So: about that ride.”

“...sure,” she agreed.  “Why not?”  It would certainly save her time, after all -- and the less time she had to worry about carrying a snake, the better. 

[owakoblack-portspa]

(Prumano, Spamano Fanfiction) My Last Romano

Disclaimer: this is Hetalia fanfiction. I do not own the characters.

Pairing: Prussia/ South Italy, Spain/ South Italy

Summary:  The time is 1718, during the War of the Spanish Succession. Lovino (South Italy) lives at Anotonio's (Spain) house, but his heart belongs to Gilbert (Prussia).

My Last Romano

 ‘Hola, Gilbert, my dear friend, what brings you here?’ Antonio smiled, sitting on a scarlet divan embroidered with golden flowers, a crimson uniform coat hanging loosely on his shoulders.

 ‘I heard that you were injured in a battle with England. As one of your best friends, I feel fully obliged to pay you a visit.’ Gilbert sank luxuriously into a sofa, stretching both of his arms along the top of the backrest.

 ‘Injured? Me?’ Antonio glanced at his left arm hidden under his uniform, which was heavily bandaged, and then resumed his smile, ‘do you mean this? It was a piece of cake. Never mind me. By the way, there’s a button missing in the front of your coat, have you noticed?’

 ‘What?’ Gilbert looked down to examine his ‘the more stitched the more battered’ coat, only to find out that what Antonio told him was true. ‘How about this?’ he unbuttoned all the buttons in one breath, ‘it’s not that conspicuous now!’

 ‘Bravo! It’s as if there were no button left at all! But then how can your coat withstand wind with all the holes in it? Don’t you feel cold?’

 ‘Never. I am a soldier, no coldness could defeat me, kesesesese!’ Gilbert drummed his own chest smugly.

 At this moment, the heavy gilded door of the magnificent Baroque drawing-room opened, and Lovino entered with an exquisite tea set in his hands. ‘Don’t tell me you’re so busy that you’ve no time to put on clothes properly, you Teutonic asshole.’ Pouting petulantly, he laid down a teacup in front of Gilbert, and turned around to lay another teacup for Antonio who was sitting opposite. ‘Stupid Tonio, if it were not that you had been beaten by the Englishman, and Laura had been gone, I would never have made tea for you of all things, vafanculo!’

 ‘Gracias, Romano mio is always so good to your Hermano Mayor!’ Antonio smiled from ear to ear.

 ‘You are always good to each other!’ Gilbert said enviously.

 A trace of discomfort appeared on Lovino’s young face. With or without purpose, he poured hot tea onto Gilbert’s clothes, leaving instantly an ugly brown stain on it. ‘Dammit!’

 ‘Oh no, Gilbert’s crap clothes is now totally damaged!’ Antonio said matter-of-factly, his emerald eyes simply wide-opened.

 ‘I don’t think a tiny water stain can damage my clothes! Don’t you think so, Fratello?’ Gilbert grinned at Lovino, who lowered down his little dark brown head listlessly.

 ‘Don’t worry! It’s totally fine with me!’ Gilbert tried to comfort the young boy with words.

 After a moment of silence, Lovino continued, ‘I happen to have some trash clothes that might suit you…’ He left the drawing-room, and then returned with a huge uniform coat which was obviously too large for himself.

 ‘Here you are. My work of failure might be unsightly, but it’s a million times better than your damn beggar’s clothes!’ Lovino threw the handmade coat to Gilbert.

 ‘Danke sehr, Fratello!’ Gilbert caught the coat with every bit of gratitude.

 ‘Romano, did you use our curtains to make this?’ Antonio was surprised.

 ‘No way!’ Lovino retorted.

 ‘You should have told your Hermano Mayor earlier, for I can give you money to buy as many clothes as you want! But I’m afraid curtain cloth is not fit for a uniform?’

 ‘Don’t you dare criticize my work, Tonio you idiot!’ Lovino stuck out his tongue.

 ‘I think it’s a piece of good work. I’ll put it on when I get home, kesesesese!’ It could not be too careful for Gilbert to fold up the uniform coat and put it into a sack.

 At night, after Gilbert had gone home, Antonio suddenly dragged Lovino into his own bedroom, closing the door with a loud bang.

 ‘You hurt me, dumb Tonio!’ Lovino said angrily, nursing the red imprint on his delicate wrist caused by the tight grip of the much stronger man.

 ‘What did you just say, my Romano?’ Antonio put on his wonted gentle smile, rolling up his sleeves while advancing slowly towards Lovino, whom was leaning to a gilded florid wall.

 ‘Don’t you get any closer to me, damn you!’ the young boy kept on moving and moving backward until he found himself caught up into a corner, and until the tall man’s long, dark shadow projected on the seemingly thirteen-year-old thin body.

 ‘What did you say? Big Brother didn’t hear you.’ Without any warning, Antonio slapped Lovino heavily in the face, causing the boy to fall down onto the floor.

 There was a burning pain in Lovino’s cheek, and a feat of dizziness came immediately over his head. ‘I said, you hurt me, God damn you, Antonio!’ He had no remaining strength to raise himself up and fight back the tyrant, but could only demonstrate his revolt by roaring—not without tears on his face which were the shameful result from irresistible pain and fear. His little body was trembling as uncontrollably as a thirteen-year-old boy could do.

 ‘Ay, why are you crying? My cute Romano,’ Antonio crouched down, and pretended to wipe tears away from Lovino’s pink, delicate face, only to leave obscure fingerprints on the tender skin, ‘do you know why I slapped you, Romano?’

 ‘Because you are a jealous bastard.’

 ‘It seems I shall teach you a lesson today, Romano. How dare you steal my money to buy cloth for Gilbert’s new uniform?’

 ‘Didn’t you say it was made of curtain cloth?’

 ‘Must I let him know how much heart and soul you’ve put into this uniform? To make him smug beyond himself? I give you a shelter from storm, make you lead a comfortable life without worrying food or clothing, and this is what you give me in return? If it had not been me, you would have been torn up in pieces by those great powers! You would never have a chance to stand against me!’

 ‘I don’t think my life has been any better. I should have submitted to France, instead of you!’

 ‘When half of your territory was conceded, your body was reduced to half of the size too, and France was not half interested in you any more! Of course, I am not a pedophilia either, so I have to wait patiently until you grow up again…but lo,’ the Spaniard held up the weeping Lovino’s pretty chin, and squeezed it with deliberate force, ‘you’re getting more and more beautiful! I could have waited for a longer time before the fruit is totally ripe, but perhaps a bitter sweet taste is not as bad?’

 ‘Don’t touch me, you’re absolutely a pedophilia, cazzo!’ Lovino spit at his suzerain.

 ‘Joder, chingate, Romano!’ Antonio seized Lovino, turned him around, and peeled off the boy’s girdle to tie his slim hands up.

 ‘Release me, you bastard!’ Lovino cried out with terror at the top of his voice, but nobody could help him in the depth of the night and in the depth of a prison—he had been Antonio’s prisoner for centuries.

 ‘Release you? to what degree? ah…let me see if you really are a wanton puto like they said in 1282.’

 The mentioning of the event made Lovino shudder. It had been his nightmare and the reason why he was unable to be with his faithful knight any more–he was no longer pure, no longer his Holy Virgin.

 ‘You still care about him?’ It was always easy for the Spaniard to read the South Italian’s mind, ‘fine, I will fuck you up and mar you until you’ll never think about seeing him ever again, ever.’ He brought from a cabinet a crop to the wincing and whimpering Italian boy, and stripped off the white gauze shirt to reveal the youth’s badly bruised back.

 On the second day, Gilbert put on the brand-new Prussian-blue uniform he had received from Lovino, and strutted all along the way to the magnificent Palacio Real.

 On the walls of the second floor above the grand hall, there were dozens of huge paintings, almost all of them painted by famous artists, except one painting, which was placed between Caravaggio’s John the Baptist and a mahogany window, and this painting caught Gilbert’s attention:

 In the picture was a youth with stunning beauty. He was barely thirteen of age, his short charcoal hair shiny and curly, his huge lime green eyes bright and innocent, and his rosy cheeks slightly puffed up—his expression was so adorable that even the meanest man in the world could not resist from giving him a caress. Beneath his exquisite reedlike neck was a chartreuse embroidered frock coat, which met the colour of the young boy’s eyes; and the dainty buttons were made of sapphires. It seemed as if only a prosperous, loving family could have brought up such an elegant, unstained angel.

 As Gilbert was completely lost in this portrait, Antonio emerged without a sound from his behind.

 ‘Isn’t it marvellous? This painting is entitled My Last Romano.’

 ‘Last?’ Gilbert asked, surprised.

 ‘Exactly. There used to be Tim’s and Laura’s portraits hanging over there,’ Antonio pointed to the empty wall on the other side of the window, ‘but after they have moved out, Romano becomes my sole companion.’

 ‘Natürlich, natürlich.’

 ‘I will never let anyone else have him, because I love him.’ The Spaniard smiled brightly, and drew down the curtains to conceal Lovino’s portrait from the dazzling sunlight outside.

[queenangst]

Just the softest fucking dad might you are capable of. I want to go into wholesome toxic shock.

[Read on AO3]

As Toshinori made his way through Heights Alliance, the rooms came alive with the sound of tapping feet and overlapping voices, swelling into a loud beat that seemed to echo his own heart. Students passed quickly, though a few stopped to talk to him— and everyone who stopped said thank you. Toshinori gave out hugs and squeezed shoulders like nobody’s business, his only specialty besides the whole Symbol of Peace thing. 

“All Might!” 

Iida waved him over, and Toshinori beamed. He fixed Iida’s shirt then folded the boy into a gentle hug. Iida flushed. When Toshinori let go, Iida stepped back, his face still pink, and bowed deeply. 

“Thank you for teaching us,” he said. The words were no less earnest than he was—genuine and honest. Iida smiled faintly, but the corner of his mouth went a little crooked when he spoke again. “Though, ah- All Might, you wouldn’t have happened to see Izuku, would you…?”

Toshinori raised his brows as Iida looked up, hopeful. 

“I haven’t, young Iida,” Toshinori replied carefully. “Are you… looking for him?”

Iida waved a hand at the common room. “Almost everyone’s accounted for,” he explained, pushing up his glasses. “Almost. We’re getting some emergency uniform repairs done—the sole of Ochako’s shoe’s worn through, and Bakugou, ah, tore his sleeve. Half the class is working on it. I haven’t seen Izuku, though, and we have twenty minutes before we must leave, at the latest.” 

Toshinori chuckled. Uraraka was indeed floating mid-air, hair soft around her face. One foot hung down, shoeless. She had a hand latched onto Todoroki’s shoulder as a group of students crowded around, poking haphazardly at a shoe like it was a ticking time bomb. Nearby, Bakugou had his arms crossed and was glaring at everyone; Toshinori realized he could see Bakugou’s arms, which, in context, was not ideal.

“Just make another shoe. Use your Quirk, dammit!”

“We could fix it—”

“Oh! Ochako, just don’t wear shoes, and then it’ll look like it’s on purpose- oh, or we could all not wear shoes!”

Bakugou threw up his hands. Toshinori’s brows went further up. His sleeve had quite the tear. “You’re all dumbasses, the lot of you.”

Iida closed his eyes. The class exploded into good-natured teasing, and a fair amount of yelling— some things hadn’t changed, and this was one of them. Iida marched over and began to direct the rest of the class, arms waving. Toshinori smiled. He’d miss them. Every one of them. It wouldn’t be the same, after this, but the years had taught him about change; and change was coming for the better.

Toshinori slipped past his kids down the hall and made his way to Izuku’s room. He knocked. Knocked again. 

“Young Izuku?”

After counting to ten, Toshinori pushed the door in, peeking through. His face stared back at him; Toshinori stilled, then remembered Izuku’s room was still plastered with— well, him. 

“Young Izuku?” He knocked against the doorframe and looked around. “Are you here?”

Izuku wouldn’t be in any of the other dorms, at least not without reason. Toshinori reached blindly into his pocket and felt his fingers brush over the small gift. Good. It was still there, but now Toshinori could only hope he’d have the chance to give it. 

There was a bang from the bathroom, and then the floor flew open and Izuku’s face appeared. He blinked, eyes innocent.

“Did- oh- um, hi!” Izuku grinned, but the smile faltered after a moment. “Hi, All Might…” 

Toshinori stepped closer. “I was looking for you.” Tipped his head towards the door. “And so are your friends. If you don’t hurry up, young Izuku, you’re going to miss your own graduation.” 

Izuku’s mouth wobbled. He was half-dressed: most of his uniform was on, but his shirt was rumpled, and Toshinori saw no sign of the tie or the blazer. Toshinori’s heart stumbled for a moment. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah!” A beat. “Well, mostly. It’s fine. Did you… did you need me?” 

Izuku blinked rapidly. Toshinori stepped forward fast enough to catch Izuku when he started crying—quiet but present in the wet spot on Toshinori’s shoulder and the shaking body under his hands. 

“What are you crying for?” Toshinori ran a hand through Izuku’s hair. “It’s a happy day, isn’t it?” 

“Everything’s changing,” Izuku mumbled into a mouthful of shirt. “It’s- it’s going to, it’s going to be different.” 

Toshinori paused. Even after the years, he had to carefully consider what to say. 

“Are you scared?”

But Izuku was already shaking his head no. Somehow the question drew a smile out of him; his mouth widened and curled up, and Toshinori felt his heart lift in response. 

“I didn’t think I would ever be here,” Izuku admitted. He lifted an arm up and pressed it over his eyes for a second. “I wanted to so badly, I dreamed of it for- for so long but I- even after getting into U.A. sometimes it was still so hard to think that I could make it. Here.” 

Every now and then, in a spare, dark moment, Toshinori imagined a life without Izuku in it. He passed under a different bridge, took another route; there was no villain; he’d taken up Nighteye’s offer and passed his Quirk to Mirio. There were so many threads, so many different directions, but this was the one universe where Toshinori had managed to take all the right, winding paths to lead him to Izuku. Sometimes, in those daydreams—those nightmares—he never made it at all. 

“I wasn’t sure myself,” Toshinori said, words slow. He curled a thumb under Izuku’s jaw. “But I am… very happy that we’re both here.” 

Izuku sniffed. He understood. “Yeah.” 

“No more crying,” Toshinori told him, “save it for later, alright? You can have my share.” 

“Soon…”

Toshinori cuffed Izuku gently on the head. “You’re not ready.” 

Izuku glanced down at his uniform and flushed. “Yeah- I need to. Yeah.”

“You don’t want to be late,” Toshinori reminded him, “not for this.” 

“My tie—”

Izuku darted into the bathroom and reemerged with his tie and his blazer hanging over his arm. Toshinori considered him; for a while, in the early years, Izuku sometimes looked like he was being swallowed in his uniform. A little too big for him in places. Shoulders hunched in a way that made it seem bigger. Now he filled it—his presence, his certainty. 

Izuku slipped the blazer over his shoulders, then paused when he was holding the tie. Toshinori wondered if they were both thinking of the same memory, a quiet moment in first year when Izuku, nervous, had asked if All Might could teach him to tie his tie correctly. 

Toshinori held an expectant hand out. “Here.” 

Izuku handed over the slip of fabric without a word, bowing his head as Toshinori fit it around his neck. Years of practice put the tie in its place, and Toshinori’s hand stopped, resting on Izuku’s chest. Izuku had been watching him quietly, but now he blinked and gazed back at Toshinori. 

There was a lump in his throat. He couldn’t get the words out— this was the last time… 

“I’m… proud of you,” Toshinori choked out. “You know that.” 

Izuku wrapped a hand around Toshinori’s wrist. Then he bowed as best he could. Followed it with two more.

“Thank you,” he said, “thank you, thank you…”

“You’re going to be a great hero. I can’t wait to see it.” How could he say everything he meant? You have made my life better. You’re going to make so many more lives better. You are going to change the world. 

“I still need you with me,” Izuku said, stepping back. They turned and left the room together, went down the hall. “You know that, right?” 

“To tie all your ties for you?” Toshinori teased. Izuku smiled so hard it looked like it hurt, but Toshinori couldn’t imagine smiling as anything but easy. Izuku glanced sideways at him, eyes bright. 

“And everything else.” 

Toshinori put his arm around Izuku. Later, he knew, there would be crying, and an endless stream of thank you’s and congratulations and you made it, you made it, you have made it. Flowers, fleeting; photographs, lasting. He would commit every second of it to memory. And… everything else. 

The student Izuku would walk in and step out as the pro hero Deku. Toshinori would know him, see every part of him. He would have everything before and everything after.

He’d never imagined himself here, but in sudden clarity Toshinori realized he couldn’t picture himself anywhere else that wasn’t next to Izuku. 

“I’m here,” he said; it was the right thing to say, and Izuku smiled back knowingly. They walked together down the hall, and Toshinori was the most thankful for it.

[sourbat]

Here’s my final magtok of the year, a little something dedicated to my friend, @theywerecars. Your art has been a huge inspiration, and after spending hours just admiring this piece right here, decided I want to try giving a story behind the first image. Thank you for chatting with me, and have a wonderful new year. 

Summary: After a day of shopping and mischief under the sun, Toki and Magnus take a break inside the limo. 

Rating: M

Warning: gets a little heated 

Causing havoc in the city, buying out stores and watching Toki run amok through shoplifting, skipping lines and threatening to have establishments closed for not meeting his ridiculous demands, had run its course. Summer peaked, and Magnus, though delighted by Toki’s whimsical and destructive tendencies, was tired of the walk, being opposed by the rapturous heat, and failing despite his best efforts, to combat against it. Not even the invitation to be rude, berate the clerks and salesmen by the very faces themselves, nor the endless offering (and refusals) of watches, rings, buckles and whatever fancy Toki selected and placed within Magnus’ view, could restore the energy being drained from an increasingly insufferable, but otherwise satisfying, day.

After sending a hood to fetch a diet soda, Magnus decided to end their little shopping spree by flinging a cube in the direction of a security officer. It earned a chuckle from Toki, but as satiating as it was, Magnus’ patience was wearing thin. Hoods approached, more than willing to take Magnus’ bags off his hands, and when they left the second half of the leveled shopping center, Toki promised he would take Magnus to one last place before calling an end to their spree. The sun beat down on them, a blunt and all encompassing-weapon that took its time breaking Magnus and Toki, until neither could tolerate the harsh rays, the weight of their moist clothing, the interior rubbing the nooks and crannies, and succumbed for an immediate reprieve.

Toki wasted little time calling the gears forward, and within five minutes of waiting, a limousine slowed to a still in front of them, and a klokateer merged from within, ready to take their bags and invite them into the dark, heavenly air-conditioned space within.

Magnus was the first to slip inside, hardly giving the gear a chance to respond to his rudely shoving several bags of clothing, music, art supplies and other assortments into his arms. Toki cheerfully climbed in afterwards, muttering an order to keep the partition closed, and air on full blast until they arrived at whatever restaurant Magnus selected for their dinner.

He was lost in a trance, rolling up his denim sleeves as far as he could without constricting movement, fanning himself and staring immodestly at the stocked minibar at the end of the limo, when he picked up on the last of Toki’s comment before turning and watching the door slam shut.

“Dinner?” he asked, eyes lazily glancing about the limo while Toki crawled forward, giggling and raising his palms upright when the engine roared with new life.

“Yeps!”

“Toki, it’s not even four yet.” Magnus sank into the cushioned seat, head falling back and eyes shutting under the steady, welcomed blast of sweet, cold air.

Still smiling, Toki hurriedly took a seat when there came a knock from the glass partition. “Yeah,” he stated aloud, eyes peering over and sending a curious, if not slightly disapproving look in the direction of the driver’s seat. “So we has plenty of times to thinks about what to gets.”

Magnus supplied no response, letting the cold rush continue to soak his drained core while the vehicle began its trek towards nowhere. What a waste of gas. Were it not for their given location, and the distance and long ride to his place, Magnus might have suggested they just head back home. The mere mention of dinner suggested Toki wanted him to select something nearby, or perhaps an establishment he normally wouldn’t visit so that Toki could continue showering him with treasures and spoils. That had been the entire day thus far, and if Magnus knew Toki, figured the continued theme would persist through the rest of the afternoon and evening. Magnus sighed, feeling the vibrations creep past the rubber soles of his boots, up to his aching feet, and within moments, felt Toki’s presence enter his space. 

He opened his eyes and found Toki sitting on the cushion neighboring his, pale round face as close as he could get it without getting in the way of the cooled air. He met Toki’s inquisitive look with a deadpan, pinked face with a sink of his brows, parting mouth with an all-too thin line that, for most, proved difficult to interpret. 

Then Toki propped up his arms, exposing a cupped glass filled with ice, lemon, and something that looked like iced tea, but most certainly wasn’t.  

He took it, feeling the immediate rise race up his arm from the shocking contrast of the icy wet glass, and his tempered fingers. “Thank you.”

“Needs anything else?” Toki inquired, voice uncharacteristically low.

“Nope.” Magnus took a sip, tasting the smooth alcohol that ignited the back of his mouth and throat. Oh, that was nice bourbon. He attended to another gulp, lids dropping to a squint when the liquid reached his stomach, calming and cooling him down simultaneously. “You?”

“No, ams fine.”

“Sorry about cutting it short.” Magnus stirred his drink, letting the alcohol burn through the single ice cube floating at the center, hoping it would do more to ease the discomfort, instead of merely watering down what was top-shelf bourbon.

“Ams fine,” Toki said, the top half of his body leaning forward to catch Magnus’ stare and show off his bright, cheeky grin before letting the speed of the limo drag him down to the cushion. He fell upon with a practiced grace, arms cradling the back of his head as he hit the extended seat with a flirtatious wink. “Was gettins really warms.”

It was then Magnus became increasingly aware of the number of gifts bestowed upon him, the immediate desire to call forth a vehicle the second Toki registered the hint of displeasure, and the hasty retrieval for a drink, alcoholic be damned. A wondrous flutter coursed through Magnus, and he met the man’s giddiness with a gentle blink, legs uncrossing and lap exposed, back reclining into his seat and allowing opening of his jacket to part further, tasting luscious air and watching a glint of predatory curiosity hinge in Toki’s large eyes. 

“Going to gets a drinks.” Toki muttered as their darkened chariot made a turn. “You wants anothers?”

They passed under something, a building perhaps, that casted a shadow over the limo. When it left, and the red lighting returned, Magnus was sure he could make out the slightest remains of a blush, front teeth rising from nervously biting a tongue.

Amused, Magnus stirred his drink again. “Sure, I’m in the mood,” he answered, staring at Toki turning, back hunched once he reached the mini bar. Magnus snickered at the shine of exposed spine, licked his own lips, and without thinking, tacked on: “What about you?”

Toki’s head popped upright. “Huh?”

“Nothing.” Magnus laughed, raised his glass at Toki’s ignorance, then returned to finishing off the remainder of the bourbon. Oh, it burned just right, and under the air conditioner, kept the warmth nestled in his chest and stomach.

Toki attended to the drink. Magnus watched, complacent, until he remembered all the nice gifts Toki procured for him, and felt a small tinge of guilt. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be, and Magnus knew there was little point in trying to do the math, imagine some grandiose scenario where he could magically repay Toki back for his extravagant expenditures. That ship had sailed ages ago, and though Magnus found himself eyeing the waters, the ship and wondering if he should navigate it once more, was able to push it aside the second Toki reappeared on his left, raising two glasses between them. 

“Thanks for the stuff,” Magnus said, hand reaching outward and lingering over Toki’s, middle and index fingers grazing his appendages with an intended purpose. “Y’know, gifts and all.”

“Nots a problems!” Toki answered, brows creasing and smile straining to maintain some semblance of friendly innocence. “Don’t minds gettins gifts for my bestest pal.”

Magnus huffed. “Right, well, thanks anyways.”

Toki wasn’t offended by his usual standoffish approach. Much like the gifts, there was little point in arguing over something they’d both come to accept as featurettes that, although difficult at times, were ultimately the characteristics that drew them towards one another. No reason for Magnus to be overwhelmed by the sheer enthusiasm that was Toki, nor an excuse for Toki to fumble over less than excited reactions from Magnus, wandering eyes or miniscule smiles.

There was little point in being hung-up over money, age, celebrity status, Dethklok or past misadventures when there were more immediate, pressing matters at hand.

Empty glass resting in a cup holder, Magnus raised his second glass towards the red, tinted light. In his peripheral Toki glowed a vibrant hue of crimson, blood red from the windows casting a shade that brings further attention to the contained, but noticeable craving hiding behind his eyes.

These days, the biggest crux Magnus faced was building a mood, and only because Toki tried so hard to build one it practically turned into a struggle. 

With a sly wink, Magnus watched Toki mirror his action and brought the glass to meet with his. 

“Cheers.” The glasses clinked.

Magnus was positive Toki’s drink was a front, a possible excuse to earn the right to nestle close, place a hand on his lap, rub his leg with firm, but not entirely suggestive rhythm. Hilarious, given how little it would have taken Magnus to let Toki taste, but accepted Toki’s slow approach was just another trait he not-so-discreetly adored, and paid hardly any mind when he felt the temperature around him start to rise.

Midway into his second drink, their ride smoothened, and Toki placed the glass he carried beneath him and began resting on top of Magnus. Then came the exhale, airy, hot desire that tickled and sent a balmy chill, a small hit of adrenaline coursing across Magnus’ neck. He shut his eyes. It felt good, but Toki’s sighs warmed his face, had his heart pumping for more blood, for another increase in the discomfort Magnus worked hard to remove when he settled under the air conditioner… Ok, so maybe he minded a little.

Toki’s hand slid up the front, touched his cooling chest with surprisingly hot fingertips. Today would be the day Toki was careful not to shock him, and instead carefully add on to his weight, wriggle his way nearer and let his hand travel into the shadowed, concealed portions hidden under Magnus’ jacket. A hand drifted across his chest, over his waist and strummed a gentle melody with roughened tips. Like flint colliding against steel, Magnus’ once cool self sparked into a simmer: a small, but prominent flame. Nerves reacted, pumped messages across Magnus’ weary frame to increase the drive, send a clearer message with slightly flushed cheeks and face that burned to touch. The air conditioner fueled him with enough sense to want to respond, crook his neck to the side and invite more affection, but the discomfort in his denim rubbing across his sweaty back, the sore feet and weighed down curls kept him from completely savoring the growing intimacy. The closeness.

Then the driver, for whatever reason, suddenly hit the brakes; Magnus, already positioned at the edge of the seat, slipped and fell off his seat. The cool air vanished, and replacing it was Toki swearing in Norwegian, middle finger poised at the partition before returning to Magnus with a delicate plea. Aside from the startle, there wasn’t anything to fret over, and Toki seemed to pick up on this detail quickly. When Magnus sat himself upright, he already had Toki’s legs blocking each side, and when he backed against the seat, was welcomed with Toki’s large arms pulling him close.   

Now Toki sat at the edge, form arching to meet Magnus, arms enclosing and hanging limp over a shoulder, another under one of his arms before gripping, embracing him and masking his senses in a scorching flame that sank and pooled just below his navel once Toki dipped his head into his hair, nose parting locks, breathing in his scent, and, oh no.

“Wait,” Magnus said, leaning away, but not quite escaping Toki’s hungry grip.  “I, uh–”

He tried moving, but felt the cold shock of the half-filled drink by his side. He drew back, had Toki’s hands trail up his jacket, search and stop when they came across chest hairs. Magnus jolted at the tickle, frown extending when a palm pressed over his flushed, shimmery skin. It melted over him, danced over his rapid heart rate, settled below Magnus’s stomach, raced up his spine and summoned a cold sweat.

Toki returned, mouth agape at heavy, dark hair tumbling over Magnus’ unwilling shoulder. “Ams wrong?”

Magnus watched Toki’s hand remove itself, saw the press of his hair, weighted down from the moisture. Sweat. Body heat. No doubt Toki felt all of this, and yet, another hand continued to drift southward, where things hadn’t yet cooled, and were in the process of coiling, tightening magma rod brimming once a finger traced over the seam. All of this, and Toki holding him in place, legs drawing near, killing space, crushing, entrapping.

Through the distraction, Magnus swallowed. “I’ve been walking all day.” 

Toki’s nose pressed against the back of Magnus’ head. “Yes, ands?” 

“I’m not exactly peaches and roses right now,” Magnus grumbled, face brimming red. “Y’know, fresh?”

Every pore in his body reacted to the confession, which, naturally, made it worse. Toki’s frame blocked any air from hitting him, and Toki’s presence, impassioned sigh, his mouth inhaling spiced scent, musk from a long day of walking, of being under the sun, brought Magnus to a shudder.

With a sigh, Toki yanked Magnus, until his backside was pressed up against the seat and the younger man’s lower abdomen. 

“You smells fines,” Toki whispered into Magnus’ ear, then pursed his lips over the bottom lobe, transitioning into a delicate nip.

Magnus shivered. “Oh.” 

He fell back against the sensation, lids sinking through the cold rush that shot across, tantalized; Toki’s words convincing nerves to relax, recline and submit to playful hands. Legs dragged across the fabric surface. Leather seat moaned, creasing under Toki’s shifting self. A kiss to the jawline burned Magnus, freezing him in place while the alcohol began its work and helped muffle any remaining concerns about sweat or appearances. He raised an arm, met another forceful kiss, a hand undoing the button of his pants, and dropped it, slumping over Toki’s leg.

Toki’s lips removed themselves from Magnus’ jawline. “Tastes fines, too.”

Caught in-between a pant and a tremble, Magnus could only manage another “Oh,” before falling prey to the hand freeing him, exposing him to the warmed limousine, atmosphere thickened with wanton lust. Magnus brought his arm up once more, only to rest his elbow on top of the leg, glistening face against an open palm. He rested against it, and Toki dove inward, face buried in hickory brown locks, inhales turning more vocal, and touches intensifying. 

The limousine drove on, going nowhere in particular, not until Magnus finally gave the word for whatever he was craving. Vibrations quaked underneath, crawled up his tired back which now sank against Toki’s. Desire coupled, doubled the need to be close. A cloudy filter alit, veiled Magnus’ vision as he folded, went limp and relaxed. Muscles twitched, shivered out cold that blanketed the mild blush. Heat bubbled below the belt.

“Oh.”

“Mhmm.” A hand descended through a separated zipper. “Feels fine…”

Eyes shut. Through the darkness, Magnus snickered.

No reason to get flustered over a little heat, a bit of sweat. 

Bigger issues at hand, Magnus thought, emitting a slight moan, head sinking back and bare nape exposed to an onslaught of teeth.

[ticklish-sprout]

The Perfect Pair - Logince

Words: 1,639

Yeah, those were socks alright.

Logan gazed down at the drawer overflowing with socks, a beaming Patton standing behind him proudly. “This is my entire collection! Oh, aside from the ones I’m wearing right now! I’m not sure how many I have, but I think it’s somewhere in the low hundreds?”

Hundreds? “Fascinating,” he murmured, running his hands over the ones with constellation patterns. “You seem to enjoy this little hobby of yours, Patton. I can certainly say I’ve never seen anything like it. What are you wearing now?”

“Oh!” Patton slid off his shoes to show him. “See? It looks like I have little kitty cat paws!” The socks themselves were gray, while the paw prints were a light pink.

Logan nodded. “I see. That is-“

“Pawsome?”

“No.”

He pouted, slowly putting his shoes back on. “You’re being catty today. Something on your mind?”

“That was dreadful.” He turned his attention back to the colorful socks. “Anyways, I may actually get a few of these myself. They are quite...” His breath died in his throat. Were those what he thought they were? No, they couldn’t be. He slowly lifted out a certain pair and blushed, turning them over in his hands. “Actually, I would like to borrow these for a little while.” 

---

Roman was lounging on his bed and staring at the ceiling with a serene smile as he allowed his creative mind to wander, eyes slowly closing. Breaks were the absolute best. No rushing to think up video ideas or deal with a certain someone’s nagging about schedules and deadlines approaching not even that quickly. Just relaxation. 

“Roman.”

His eyes opened and settled on the figure standing in his doorway. Spoke too soon. “Yes, Heisenberg?” he questioned evenly, trying to keep the slight frustration out of his voice. As much as he lo-liked him, now was a time for him to unwind.

“I...” Logan wasn’t sure what to say. “May I come in?”

But he can’t say no to that face. “Sure!” Roman patted the space next to him on the bed, curiosity written across his face when he instead sat down in front of him. “Hi?” He drew his legs up so he could sit criss-crossed. “You never said what you needed.”

He shrugged. “Just wanted to see you.”

Ooh, that sent an arrow straight through his heart. “I’m honored, my precious nerd! I was just relaxing over here, care to join me? Or did you want to talk about something specific?”

“I shall just join you.” Logan enacted the next phase of his plan, which was setting both legs in his lap as casually as possible. He must be so stealthy right now.

He was not stealthy at all right now. Roman raised an eyebrow, noticing he wasn’t wearing his usual shoes as he tended to do at all times. Only socks. “Um,” he began, then quieted. What was he supposed to do? “It’s rare to see you without shoes.” His socks seemed to have something written on the soles. “Are you wearing ones that aren’t plain?”

“Indeed, I wanted to change things up a little today. Nothing too fancy, since the main color is still white. Just a small detail.” He flexed his toes, a light blush spreading across his face. Any time now.

“Let me see!” He lifted both feet to examine them, his smile slowly morphing into a confused frown. The right one read since you are reading this, and the left one tickle my toes with a picture of two tiny feet. Interesting. “Logan, do you even know what is on your socks?”

Logan coughed, glancing away. “I must admit I am not certain, since I borrowed them from Patton. Why?”

Roman’s eyes narrowed. So that’s how he wanted to play this, hmm? “No reason.” He pressed one of his thumbs into the ball of his left foot, smirking at the gasp it produced. “I just have a simple question for you. Are you...ticklish?”

“What?” His toes curled again, trying to catch his thumb between them. “That’s absurd, Roman. I am a being of pure intellect who is not affected by such things. You’ve been spending far too much time with Patton.”

“Right, my mistake.” He pulled his hands away, crossing his arms behind his head and lying back. “Never mind. Let’s just go back to resting or whatever.”

Logan almost squawked indignantly. He did that on purpose, didn’t he?! Frustrated, he leaned forward to poke at his exposed underarms. The prince immediately fought back after a surprised squeal by quickly scribbling his nails over the socked feet, which were luckily still in his lap and just begging for it. 

What followed was a sound sweeter than any music Roman had ever heard in his entire life.

“ROHOHOHOMAN!” Logan couldn’t even try to hold back his reaction, not that he would’ve if he could. It was an amazing feeling and something he should have pursued a lot sooner. Years of avoiding tickle fights in the Mind Palace and pretending he wasn’t ticklish like the others melted away as he laughed freely, and it was pure ecstasy.

“Aw, does the Logical one have tickly feetsies?” Roman teased once he could speak again through his gay thoughts of how cute his friend looked. “Does he? He thought he could hide them from us forever with no one ever finding out and taking swift action? Adorable.” 

He didn’t answer any of the questions directed towards him, instead focusing on the torturous feelings lighting up his nerves and making him want to scream. “YOU AHAHAHAHARE THE WOHOHOHOHORST!”

“I am what?!” he snapped, poking and pinching up and down with no real pattern. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to the person giving you what you wanted!”

Logan tried to glare the best he could. “FAHAHAHAHAHALSEHOOD!”

“And you’re a liar on top of it!” Roman huffed. “I can make this so much worse for you, if you haven’t noticed!” The tickling stopped for a moment so he could understand him better and hear from him directly. “I’ll do it, too.”

Making the most of his break, he contemplated those words. He wasn’t bluffing according to his tone, which was good for him in the long run if he wanted this to keep going. Which he did. Now to just give him a little push. “Bring it on.” “You asked for it!” Deciding to follow what the socks said, all ten of his fingers moved higher to tickle under the wiggly toes. “Ooh, what a reaction!”

Death spot, death spot! “NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!” Logan didn’t mean it, no matter how much it tickled. He didn’t yank his legs away even the slightest bit.

Roman cooed, pulling off the socks and going right for the sensitive skin between his toes. “I should conjure a feather next time!” There would be a next time, right? There had to be with how happy he looked. “Just sawing back and forth so ticklishly-was that a snort I heard?!”

He shook his head, laughter broken up by a second snort. His hands covered his burning face in embarrassment. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”

“Please tickle you more?” He shrugged, pretending he didn’t understand him. “If that’s what your heart so desires! Who am I to refuse such a polite request?” And the tickling went on for several more minutes. Heels, arches, nothing was left un-tickled, with Roman only stopping once Logan tapped his arm frantically. “Breathe,” he reminded him.

Logan did, taking in gasps of air until his cheeks no longer resembled the color of Roman’s sash. Tears of laughter had fallen from his eyes at some point, leaving visible tracks. “Roman,” he began, “that was awful.”

“I’m sure it was, handsome. It’s not like you wanted it so badly you were about to lose your mind.” Roman’s voice was thick with sarcasm. “You can always ask,” he added as an afterthought. Softer.

“You should be aware of how hard that can be.” He rolled his eyes. “I have seen you in your lee moods.” Wait. “What did you just call me?”

Oops. He rubbed the back of his head nervously, not able to come up with anything. “It’s true. I wasn’t lying or whatever.”

“I don’t need you to tell me something I already know.” Logan was smiling now, getting on his knees to be near eye-level with the other Side. “But thank you.”

“God, I love you.” It slipped out before Roman knew what was happening. “Oh. I mean, you’re welcome. That’s totally what I meant to say instead of that.” 

Eyebrows raised in shock, he reached a hand out to gently cup his face and force him to look at him. “You love me in a romantic sense, Roman? Is that what you mean?”

“I know you don’t feel the same,” he blurted out. His eyes squeezed shut as shame washed over his body in waves. “You don’t-don’t feel things, emotions. You-“ A pair of soft lips covered his own, interrupting him mid-sentence. He slowly kissed back and wrapped his arms around his waist, then his eyes opened once the warmth left him. 

“You figured out I wanted to be tickled,” Logan mused, “yet you couldn’t figure out I feel emotions like the rest of you? I love you too, Roman. You are my everything.”

Way to make him feel stupid. “Just kiss me again, nerd.” Roman stuck out his tongue, not expecting his underarms to be targeted like earlier. “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAIT!”

“Wait for what?” His expression was blank as he worked methodically to wreck his new boyfriend(?) into oblivion with every possible technique he had observed over the years. “I do not understand. What am I waiting for?”

“IT TIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHICKLES!” And the whole time he was tickled, Logan’s eyes were shining bright with pure adoration that not even he could hide.

[fashioneditswebsite]

Fashion giant Pierpaolo Piccioli steps down from Valentino

Pierpaolo Piccioli with Valentino brand ambassador Florence Pugh (Alamy/PA) Italian designer Pierpaolo Piccioli leaves a legacy of craftsmanship and a provocative approach to color. Pierpaolo Piccioli is leaving Valentino after 25 years. Valentino named the Italian fashion designer as its sole creative director in 2016. In a statement, Piccioli thanked the people he worked with during his time at Valentino. Italian designer Pierpaolo Piccioli is leaving Valentino (Alamy/PA) "I owe everything to the people I met, worked with, shared dreams with, and created beauty alongside. Together, we built something lasting and immutable - a heritage of love, dreams, beauty, and humanity. Today and forever, I carry it with me." "This is the beauty we've created: life, hope, opportunity, and gratitude. My people, my heart, and my love give you endless possibilities. Mr Valentino and Giancarlo Giammetti trusted me. Thanks to everyone who made this possible. It was an honor to share my journey and dreams with you." Throughout his tenure at Valentino, Piccioli established himself as a giant in the fashion industry. Supermodel Naomi Campbell has become a close friend of the fashion house (Alamy/PA) His collections spanned womenswear, menswear, and couture, emphasizing classic designs. Piccioli championed craftsmanship, telling American art magazine The Gagosian Quarterly in 2023 that this was "the DNA of the brand." Piccioli also made a name for himself with his unique use of color. For the label's autumn/winter 2022 collection, models wore one of two things: an eye-searingly bright shade of fuschia or all black. This shade of pink, Valentino Pink PP, was explicitly made in collaboration between Piccioli and Pantone. It started flooding the red carpets—worn by everyone from Dua Lipa to Drew Barrymore—and became a Valentino signature. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Valentino (@maisonvalentino) In 2022, Valentino's creative director, Piccioli, opened up about his obsession with monochrome colors in an interview with AnOther Magazine. According to him, "Monochrome artists used to paint everything in one color to give visibility to other things." This statement highlights the idea that monochrome colors can serve as a canvas, allowing other elements to stand out and shine. The purpose of delivering different things and emotions varies from person to person. "For me, it's like a black and white picture book, after a chapter, you understand. And you go deeper into surface, the hands, the expression, the emotion. So I wanted to use one colour in order to highlight the idea of fashion as cut, design, silhouette, shape, volumes. Patterns, textures. You're obliged to see more." He's built relationships with prominent brand ambassadors, including The Devil Wears Prada actor Anne Hathaway – who dipped into the label's archives for The Fashion Awards 2023, wearing an ivory gown from the early 1990s – and Dune star Zendaya. Before signing a deal with French luxury brand Louis Vuitton, Zendaya was a regular face on the Valentino front row. She wore a Valentino haute couture creation to the 2022 Oscars and appeared in multiple brand campaigns. Zendaya wore Valentino haute couture to the 2022 Oscars (Alamy/PA) Some of fellow brand ambassador Florence Pugh's most memorable fashion moments have been in Valentino—including the sheer pink gown she wore to the label's couture show in July 2023, which caused a stir because the top was entirely see-through. Furthermore, it is worth noting that Piccioli injected a youthful energy into Valentino by setting up a group of brand ambassadors in 2020 called the Di. Vas – meaning 'Different Values' – including racing driver Lewis Hamilton. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Valentino (@maisonvalentino) It seems like the fashion designer mentioned in the previous statement has been making quite a name for himself in the industry. In fact, last year he was a familiar face at the Met Gala, where he dressed multiple celebrities for the event. One of the most notable outfits was worn by Rihanna, who donned a custom white bridal-inspired cape studded with camellias. Piccioli leaves Valentino on a high. Earlier this month, his most recent womenswear collection at Paris Fashion Week was met with rave reviews, as he presented a subversive all-black collection. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Valentino (@maisonvalentino) Although no official statement has been released about who will succeed Piccioli, rumors have been circulating in the industry. One name mentioned is Alessandro Michele, the previous creative director of Gucci. He left the Italian fashion house at the end of 2022. Piccioli has yet to reveal what he will do next. Read the full article

[chaotichatsune]

Heaven’s Gift

Summary:  Though BlackWarGreymon may have awoken in a strange, foreign world comprised of nothing but Digimon, the dragon-man still possesses all of his memories of a world that he no longer has a part of, and now on this new land, he now has a chance to be a true Digimon. No longer was he alone in a world dominated by humans, where he lacked purpose, but learning to live in a world without them seems strange. But he must learn to live with his unprecedented circumstances, and find a reason for living--and perhaps, find something more.

...xX~~~Xx...

Immersed in a place devoid of light. I laid in a world of desolation. I felt muted. There was no touch. No sound. I existed in a world that lacked sensation and physicality. I couldn’t feel anything, my body lacking. I had no form. Anything resembling my previous physique, was absent, as I passively floated in this realm of oblivion.

I soon realized that this reality lacked heat and cold, yet I felt peace. There was no such thing as fear. Just a comfortable place of eternal black. I peered around, and decided to judge my surroundings.

Nothing.

I tried taking in a deep breath, but I felt no air enter my lungs. I was doubtful that I even held the capacity to do so. Wherever I was, in any place of time or space, oxygen wasn’t a necessary part of it. I was certain that I still held consciousness, as I held the capacity to observe my situation. I drifted for what felt was forever, but internally I knew that time did not exist in this pit. If it did, I most certainly didn’t feel it.

I tried to force myself to hear, feel or see anything.

I pushed my consciousness as far as possible, and attempted to connect with anything.

Then I heard a faint voice in the background.

“A BlackWarGreymon?”

What?

I could hear muffled voices, but I couldn’t identify the people behind them.

They sounded panicked.

“Seems so…”

I forced myself to grasp their words, yet everything was still lacking in substance.

“Yeah, he just washed up by the shore!”

A bright light engulfed my vision, drowning out the silence. And suddenly, where there was no sensation, I now felt multiple hands touching me. The prodding pulled me out of my state of unconsciousness, and out of that strange space I remembered waking up in. As soon as I registered that I was alive, I began a fit of hacking and coughing, my lungs demanding for air. Yet, I was on the verge of blinking out once more.

“Bring him to Fuchsia Agate!”

I didn’t want to fall back asleep. A dawning dread took hold of me. I didn’t want to go back to sleep! I wanted to live!

“She’ll know what to do!”

She? Who’s she?

“I don’t want to stay dead!”

I screamed those words in an act of delirium.

“Don’t worry! We’ll bring you to safety!”

I could faintly tell that I was being transferred, just before I blacked out completely.

...xX~~~Xx...

Fuchsia stared at the sky, there was a peculiar feeling in her heart. It was an emotion that confused her, an odd presence seemed to follow her throughout the day, distracting her from her duties. The persistent feeling of urgency that came with the premonitions could not be ignored. The dread that the LordKnightmon experienced gave her a strong impression that whatever was coming was not good. In the back of her mind, it was an omen of bad luck. Though, as strong as these sensations were, she had things to do. The woman decided to return back into her work, taking stock of her surroundings, before she arrived at her station. Here, within her home, the female Digimon would create different medicines. Elixirs, potions, ointments and other assortments of important remedies. The woman procured some of the most potent of cures.

Despite being a knight-based Mega, the female felt more at home in her workshop where she spent days using alchemy to help, not just the denizens of her hometown, but she even imported many of her mixtures to neighboring states. Her ability to create would allow her a place of work, no matter where she went.

Though she came from a long line of potion-makers, with vast secrets of magic that dated far back in her lineage, Fuchsia went above and beyond. Unlike her ancestors, whom rarely shared any of their precious wisdom, the woman was open about sharing her information and knowledge, and even acted as a sage of sorts.

Most of her time, whenever she was not producing medications, she’d be teaching others—children or adults—on the art of brewing, and the art of magic and science. She taught anyone willing to learn on how to treat injuries of any kind. The ancient arts of healing were no longer closely guarded by those that came before her. Fuchsia decided that her talents would not be wasted on secrecy. She had the power. Why hide her abilities, when instead they could be used to heal all of those who require her services? She knew that with her capabilities, she might as well base her legacy on the foundation of what she already knew. Her sole purpose in life was to create a place where everyone could benefit her work.

She picked up her list.

“Ah, yes.” The LordKnightmon mumbled. “I have to make more sleeping potions.”

She picked up a couple of dried herbs, and crushed them into a fine powder using her mortar and pestle. She immersed herself, putting all her attention into her craft, until she heard a scuffle.

Fuchsia placed down her incomplete drink.

“Agate!” screamed a female Flamedramon. “Miss. Agate!”

“Yes?” asked the pink-knight, her voice calm. “What’s the issue?”

“We found a random Greymon at the sea! Can you take a look at him?”

She nodded, and waved a hand towards a spare bed.

The group of men that carried the unconscious Digimon gingerly placed him down, while the Flamedramon watched with great anxiety.

“Flare, don’t worry. This doesn’t look bad at all."

The first thing Fuchsia Agate noticed was the broken armour, where there were multiple cracks surrounding a hole on his chest armor, whatever caused it was strong enough to destroy Chrome Digizoid, yet the wound didn’t look at all fatal. If anything, it was deeply superficial, as it did not affect not the flesh underneath it. As for the armor itself, the damage was beneath minor. There was no data pouring out from that location. Even those greatly lacking in experience, and had no idea what they were doing would know, without a doubt, that the fracture wasn’t an issue and wouldn’t need any treatment.

No data? No danger.

Fuchsia might as well do a full-body examine to see any other anomalies.

And so, she began right away.

She took off the BlackWarGreymon’s Dramon-Killers and checked his pulse.

Normal.

“Miss. Agate?” asked the nervous fire-Digimon. “Is he okay?”

“Yes,” she answered, her voice leveled. “The wound you saw was just a crack in the chest plating. There is no damage whatsoever on that area—or any area for that matter. No need to worry.”

She gave out a big sigh.

“All he needs is rest,” added the LordKnightmon, knowing that Flare needed that affirmation.

“Thank Yggdrasil!” The female Flamedramon rejoiced.

A small, but haggard cough drew their attention towards the black dragon-man.

“I’m…I’m not ready to leave!” the Digimon mumbled, wheezing. “I can’t die!”

Everyone turned to the knocked-out BlackWarGreymon, surprised to hear the man speak at all.

Fuchsia shook her head, already having an answer.

“That’s totally normal. This isn’t the first time a patient said something like that.”

Due to her words, they chose to ignore it.

She did another thorough check, before she began to strip him of his armor.

“Uh,” stammered a Gallantmon. “No offence, Miss. Agate, but shouldn’t it be a man to undress him?” his voice rather timid.

The pink-knight merely chuckled.

“If I were that uncomfortable around men I wouldn’t have this job.”

He frowned, feeling out of place.

“Why?” she asked. “Would you rather have someone else do it?”

Her words had no heat. It was a genuine question. There was no implications of impertinence.

“Yes.”

LordKnightmon stood back, signifying her agreement.

“Once he’s dressed call me. Okay?” she requested, making it clear that it was non-negotiable.

With that said. The LordKnightmon decided to carry on with her previous task, turning back on filling out her orders, continuing what she did best.

Yet, Fuchsia Agate still had feelings of uneasiness.

She chose to ignore the men as they helped the poor BlackWarGreymon into proper clothes.

Once she accomplished her task, she went straight away and asked.

“Will you be staying for dinner?”

It wasn’t an invitation, not really. Though it’d be rude to not ask.

“Nah, my wife’s expecting me.” Answered the same Gallantmon from before.

“Well, like, no offence I do live here so I’ll be staying for dinner.”

“Flare,” she started. “May you help me with preparations? I’ll probably be tending to him, so I would appreciate it if you helped. We’re making your favourite.”

“Lamb stew?” the young Digimon asked, looking downright overjoyed.

“What else would it be?”

“Oh, hell yes!” she beamed, making a beeline into the kitchen.

The men were soon finished dressing the BlackWarGreymon.

“We’re done, Miss. Agate. We will be taking our leave.”

“Before you men go, may one of you be kind enough to give Mrs. Olivia her meds?”

“I’ll do it!” volunteered a young teenaged Digimon. It was a Strikedramon, a Champion-level.

Fuchsia gave him multiple bottles filled with a colourful blue liquid.

“Goodnight, you two!”

With that, the Gallantmon, the WarGreymon, the Cyberdramon and Strikedramon politely waved their goodbyes before leaving the manor.

After their departure, sounds of chopping vegetables were heard from the other room, accompanied by the sounds of humming. After a time, a delicious scent wafted into the room, a tantalizing aroma that made her mouth water. The smell of lamb stew was pleasant. Yet, it was apparent that she was not the only one to admire the smell of home-cooked food. The man, whom was once unconscious woke up with a start.

“Where am I?” he asked, confused, his voice rasp. “And what is that amazing smell?”

Men, she thought, amused. Always thinking about their stomachs. Just like mother said, even the fragrance of enjoyable food could wake up the dead.

“Greetings, stranger. I am Fuchsia Agate, and you are at the Abalone Seas. Do you remember anything?”

He grimaced, his voice grim.

“Yes.”

“Hm,” she nodded, understanding, but was taken aback. She wasn’t expecting him to remember anything. Most people had a case of amnesia when washed up on shore, so learning that he retained memories from his previous life was curious. She was brimming with questions, but believed that this was a conversation for another time. “You can tell us later. Would you care for some food?”

“Uh,” he blushed, embarrassed to ask for help. “That’d be good.”

“Can you walk?” she inquired.

“I don’t know.”

She offered a hand, which he accepted, only for a jolt of electricity to course through them.

The LordKnightmon was stunned, dazed by what just transpired. The BlackWarGreymon stared, his face blank, he lacked the ability to process what had occurred. The both of them then stared at each other, and then it clicked—

“Hey! You guys! Dinner’s ready!”

She almost fell over herself. Fuchsia Agate shook her head, not ready to confront the situation, and chose to pretend that never happened.

“I’ll get you something.”

In an attempt to regain her composure, the woman immediately left, but her mind strayed towards her right hand. I don’t have time to think about this. She mused, doing her best to ignore the heat rushing to her face. I’ll deal with this another time.

She entered into a small, clean kitchen.

Flare was done cooking.

“Here you go!” Flare chimed, giving her a single bowl of warm broth. “This one’s for the BlackWarGreymon—wait! Will he be joining us or something?”

“I’ll give it to him.”

“Cool,” she bowed her head. “I hope he likes it!”

The LordKnightmon grabbed the bowl, gave her thanks, and returned to the BlackWarGreymon, whom had a look on his face, filled with guilt and anger. He saw the female knight, and graciously accepted the soup. He began to eat, but his distant, faraway look concerned her.

“Is it to your liking?”

He only shook his head “yes”, but recognized that he was being discourteous.

“I apologize,” he frowned, his face scrunching up. “I was thinking about my friends.”

“I understand, you must be worried about them.”

He looked down at his meal, his state of distress was explicit. He had no desire to discuss about his past. Fuchsia knew not to pry.

“Would you like a drink? I can make any beverage of your choosing. Tea? Coffee? Maybe even juice?”

“Water’s fine.”

Not much of a talker, is he? She dully noted, accepting this to be his nature.

“Water it is.”

She took the jug that was on the bedside table, picked up a glass and filled it with water.

The BlackWarGreymon drank it all, but took care to not come across as impolite.

“I’m exhausted,” he stated, his voice low.

“I understand,” she answered in turn, and gave him a gentle smile, her healing nature shining through. “You can stay here for the night.”

“Thank you,” was the last thing he said, only for him to doze off.

“Have a pleasant sleep.” The ribboned-warrior said, and flicked off the switch.

Fuchsia decided to end her day by joining Flare for dinner before all the lights went out.

However, the feelings of danger didn’t subside, nor did they leave the LordKnightmon’s mind.

Notes:  In this reality, Digimon have sex/genders, so children are a thing. In this universe, anything below Rookie, are babies, and Champion-levels happen to be teenagers, while Mega-levels are considered full-grown adults. I will be using both Japanese and English names, but I will be using English terminology for things like attacks or weapons.

[classysassy9791]

Everyone would get their happy ending. Even if she wasn’t a part of it.

Pairing: InuKag, MirSan Chapter 1 Word Count: 6,950 Can also be found here

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A torrent of rain fell from the sky and gales that rivaled a whirlwind of destruction tore through the forest, making the trees come alive. Leaves tore from their branches and spiraled to the dreary earth below. The storm raged callously, intent on bringing destruction to everything it touched.

But Kagome didn't care about the water splattering against her cheeks or the way her hair blew wildly in the wind. She didn't even mind the soil that dirtied her knees as she knelt in the wet grass. Her eyes could only stare disbelieving at the object she held in her hand. The Shikon Jewel glowed pure and bright.

The final battle had been fought. And she had finished it.

"Is it over?" her fox demon companion asked, bouncing to sit on her shoulder.

She didn't spare a glance at the kit, instead nodding her head slowly with incredible realization. After everything they had been through, Naraku's reign had come to an end. The only fatality was that of the demon himself, and no one had felt a pang of regret or sorrow. At the same time, though, tears fell from her eyes. They were not borne of pity for him and his evil ways. Instead, she wept for those he had hurt and killed; for those whose very lives had been destroyed due to his desire for power and revenge. Kagome cried for everyone who had fallen victim to his wrath. It didn't seem right that so many had to die from one creature. All because of his greed.

Footsteps fell softly upon the grass as her other companions struggled over to where she knelt. A flash of red caught her gaze and she looked up to be greeted with the amber eyes of her protector. "Inuyasha," she murmured, blinking against the falling rain.

"Come on, Kagome," he said, reaching out a clawed hand to help her stand. "Let's get you back to Kaede's."

She gave in to his command as she stood, immediately finding her place upon his back. Without a word, the heroes slowly made their way back to their safe-house.

. . . 

Sunlight streamed through the treetops and glistened off the small lake, causing a rainbow to sparkle on the surface. The storm from almost a week ago seemed like a bad dream, the aches and pains of battle now faded. Even Kagome's spiritual abilities seemed to have returned completely, originally drained after she shot the fatal arrow that caused Naraku's demise.

But she remained restless, her mind unable to quiet and allow her to enjoy the peace her companions took pleasure in. She had been thinking constantly over the past few days. Being the reincarnation of Kikyou, the sole duty of protecting the Shikon Jewel fell to her shoulders. She had long ago decided that if this day should come, she would rid the jewel from existence – or at least make a pure wish on it so that harmony would prevail over the land.

So, Kagome found herself sitting at the base of the Goshinboku, mulling over what her decision would be. A soft rustling of tree branches brought her attention from the cloudless sky to the direction of the village. Only a moment later did the old priestess appear, rather frazzled to have traveled so far from her hut. "Goodness me, Kagome," she chided upon spotting the girl. "What on earth were ye thinking, dragging an old woman out into the forest?"

She smiled apologetically, watching as her mentor took a seat on one of the tree's large roots. "Sorry, Kaede. This was the only place I could think of that would give us some time alone."

"Aye," she agreed. "Tis a wise decision, with Inuyasha working in the village today. Although, it would not sit well with him if he learned of ye little adventure all alone."

She waved her words aside. "I asked Miroku to keep an eye on him so I could talk to you." Kaede gazed at her expectantly. "It has to do with the fate of the jewel."

Kagome held up the small pink jewel in her hand, letting the old woman catch a glimpse of it. "I see," she murmured. "So ye wish to seek my wisdom as to what ye shall do with it?"

She shrugged. "Sort of. It's more about the wish."

Kaede sighed and looked to the treetops. "When the jewel fell into my sister's possession fifty years ago, I knew little of its origin or the abilities it held. After her demise, I learned it contained great powers beyond my imagination. 'Tis why we were glad it had been burned with her body, to ensure no harm would come from it. But it seems Kikyou's efforts were in vain, for it has been brought back and now lies in yer hands."

Confused, Kagome waited patiently, expecting more of an explanation. When none came, her shoulders slumped in disappointment. "I'm guessing you have no clue as to what I should do?"

"Not in the slightest," Kaede replied honestly. She chuckled at the predicament, but was quickly silenced by the distraught expression on Kagome's face. "What troubles ye, my dear?"

"I think I know what I want to wish for. I'm just not sure if it's the right one."

The old priestess smiled. "Ye heart is pure, Kagome. I'm sure that whatever you choose will bring nothing but good." She patted the girl's knee in closure as she stood, preparing to return to the village. "Be back by sundown. Otherwise Inuyasha will be coming after ye."

Kagome smiled in response, but as soon as Kaede had vanished, gloom dwindled her happy façade. Not for the first time that week did she long for Kikyou to still be alive. A strange notion, considering their history, but Kagome felt lost in being the protector of the jewel. Kikyou had somehow always known what to do, and now Kagome desperately pleaded for her guidance.

. . . 

One more day.

Kagome finally determined that she had the right wish in mind, but it would undoubtedly change everything they knew, so during the trek back to the village, she had decided to give herself a set time in which would allow her to say her final goodbyes. She only had until the following night to say what needed to be said, and to do what needed to be done.

The campfire glowed merrily as everyone chatted quietly around it. Misery stayed far from their minds, replaced by laughter and good nature. Kagome smiled along with them, but even she could feel how aloof she kept herself; she had always been a terrible liar.

Her eyes drew to the half-demon she had unintentionally fallen in love with. His silver hair shined from the fire's glow as shadows were sent around the clearing. The amber intensity of his eyes made her heart race and his permanent scowl inadvertently filled her with delight. As usual, his arms were folded over his chest, Tessaiga propped against the crook of his elbow, as he sat with his attention on the forest, although Kagome was sure he was listening to their conversation.

Kagome's gaze turned to the rest of her companions, marveling in the minute details she knew she would miss. That's if I remember them, she sourly reminded herself. Sango's hair freely swiped at her back as Miroku took her hand in his, rubbing small circles with his thumb over her palm. Marriage had been spoken about earlier in the day, but even as Kagome fussed over the wedding plans and gave her congratulations, a sharp pang to her heart reminded her there would be no happy celebration.

"What's the matter, Kagome?" Shippou asked, propping his hands upon her thighs and looking up at her curiously.

A smile tugged at her lips at her little fox friend. Even young, he always seemed to have a keen eye when it came to details. "I'm fine," she assured softly, trying not to draw attention to her melancholic mood. She rubbed the kit's hair affectionately and gave him a comforting nod.

His bright green eyes seemed hesitant to drop the subject, but he finally gave in with a shrug of his shoulders. She could tell he knew something bothered his surrogate sister, but to him the reason would forever remain a mystery. He galloped back to where Kirara had curled up, and immediately took part in the conversation that passed between his comrades.

Inuyasha didn't miss the exchange Kagome and Shippou shared. He noted the way her hands curled into tight fists and every so often she would bite the inside of her cheek in a nervous habit. Sniffing the air around her, he could smell the anxiety coming off her in waves. He didn't understand it, though. They had just defeated their arch nemesis, and everyone remained in good health. It was a time for celebration.

His eyes flickered over her curiously, trying to pinpoint the source of her affliction. When his gaze landed on the Shikon Jewel hanging by the column of her throat, he swallowed nervously. Although he did his best to hide it, he couldn't deny the dread that had been building in his stomach over the past few days. He couldn't remember when exactly he had decided not to become a full demon with the power of the jewel - it most likely had to do with the times he had transformed into a demon and threatened the lives of his friends. However, he recalled a sense of worry that had bloomed in his chest during their last few battles as they reached closer to Naraku's end.

Inuyasha knew that once Naraku had been defeated, the jewel would be complete. It had never swayed their quest to destroy the half-demon who had caused so many a great deal of pain. But… it also meant that the reason Kagome had been brought to the feudal era, her purpose to be by his side, would vanish. He knew there was always a very real possibility that Kagome would leave them once she had completed her mission.

Could that be the reason why she was so upset?

Feeling someone's gaze on her, Kagome averted her eyes from Miroku and Sango's playful banter and peered up at her half-demon friend. She tilted her head questioningly. "You okay?" she whispered, her brows knitted in concern.

"Keh," was the only reply she received as he turned away.

Kagome frowned, but knew if it held any great importance to him he would tell her eventually. The twosome tuned back into the conversation between their friends and continued to laugh even as the shadows grew darker. Not until the last flicker of flames died down did the warriors begin to feel weary and said their goodnight's, moving into the hut to rest.

The young priestess listened to her companions' deep breathing as they each lulled to sleep, looking up at the ceiling and clutching the jewel in her hand. Please, Kikyou, she silently prayed. Give me strength.

. . . 

Kagome stepped out of Kaede's hut with a yawn and stretched her arms over her head. Her sleep had been restless and dreamless, which she was silently thankful for. She didn't need any help procuring doubt or deepening the dread in her gut. Holding a hand over her brow, she glanced up at the midday sun. It looked like it would be another beautiful day.

"Morning, Kagome," Shippou called, scampering toward her and bouncing into her arms. "You've been asleep for ages."

She shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. I guess I'm still exhausted."

"It's okay. I was playing with my fox magic while you slept." He manifested a ball of blue fire as if to prove his claim.

"I see," she replied with an amused smile. "And where is everyone else?"

He pointed toward the village. "Miroku and Inuyasha went to help fix a roof, Kaede is bringing medicine to someone, and Sango took Kirara to take care of a small demon nearby."

Kagome scrunched up her nose, displeased that all her friends had left without waking her, but it was short-lived as she gazed down at the fox kit's carefree expression. "Well, then," she said, her chipper voice helping to push aside her dark thoughts. "Why don't we hang out, just the two of us?"

The silly grin on his face caused her to laugh as he expressed his delight for her company. He began sprinting toward the well, glancing back every so often to make sure Kagome followed. She chased after him, the wind on her face helping her to momentarily forget the concerns that kept her awake at night.

An hour easily passed as the two surrogate siblings played games. Shippou showed off his fox magic tricks and they shared the crayons she had gifted him as they drew pictures of their friends.

"Look at this one," he announced suddenly through the quiet clearing. He held up his drawing. "Bet you can't guess who this is."

Kagome peered at the picture closely, her eyes scanning over the brown outlines and tanned skin.

"I bet that one's Kouga," she smiled, pointing to the larger figure in the foreground. "And those two behind him are Ginta and Hakkaku." The two wolf demons chased after their leader, desperately trying to keep up with his speed.

"That's right!" he gleefully replied, setting the drawing down and choosing a blank piece of paper to start a new work of art.

The picture she currently worked on consisted of Shippou. His red hair shined like a beacon and his emerald eyes seemed to sparkle. She drew him in a battle stance, a wave of blue fox fire surrounding him; she disdainfully admitted she didn't possess the artistic talent Shippou had when it came to likeness. The drawings splayed out to the left of her consisted of the rest of her companions: Inuyasha with Tessaiga, Sango with Hirakotsu, Miroku with his golden staff, and Kirara in her transformed state.

A lazy breeze swept across the grass and brushed through strands of Kagome's hair. She sighed and set aside her latest completion, placing her crayon back in the box while admiring the small kit laying on his stomach across from her; his tongue sticking out between his lips in concentration as he continued to draw.

"Shippou," she spoke quietly, sitting on her knees with her back against the well.

He didn't look up from his drawing. "Yeah?"

"Come here." She beckoned him to the place beside her, and with a puzzled expression he did as she said. He sat down and felt his stomach churn with a feeling he couldn't identify. "You've grown up quite a bit since we first met you."

"Y-yeah," he agreed with a touch of pink to his cheeks, her observation catching him off guard.

Kagome ruffled his hair affectionately, her smile sad. "You know, you're going to be a great demon someday. You'll probably be deemed protector of a whole village."

His eyes shined from the compliment – too often had she found him looking up to Inuyasha, the half-demon's strength and reputation finally earning him the respect he deserved. "Really?"

"Really." She chuckled. Turning to grab her yellow bag, she dug through it until she found what she was looking for. "I want you to have these."

His eyes peered over the gifts she presented him. "You're giving me all your pocky?" He gawked.

"Yeah," she nodded. "With all the hard fighting you've done, I think you deserve it." She deposited his treasure in his hands. Kagome only gave him treats few and far between; she always lectured him about sweets making him sick if he ate too much at once. So, giving him all of her pocky not only gave him a big responsibility involving his heath, but also meant a great deal of praise.

"Thanks, Kagome!"

Trying to fight back the tears, she gathered the young kit in her arms, holding him close in an embrace. "You're like a little brother to me, Shippou. I want you to be as strong as I know you can be."

His little hands clutched her shirt and his eyes suddenly watered. It sounded as if Kagome planned on leaving, as if she was saying goodbye forever.

"Kagome," he spoke in a quiet, shaky voice. "Are you... gonna leave us?"

She shook her head and brushed the tears from her eyes. "No," she promised. "I'm not going to leave you."

How can I leave, if I never came?

Her words brought a relieved smile to his lips as he jumped off her lap. Quickly collecting his drawings and pocky in his arms, he began the trek back to the village.

"I'm going to show these to my friends!" he said, grin widening at the thought of the village children's reactions.

Kagome watched him leave, taking a moment to gather her thoughts as she wrapped her arms around herself. The wind touched her gently as it blew across the clearing, carrying along the crisp scent of autumn. Colder months would be approaching soon – just like the feeling in her chest; with each subtle goodbye, another layer of ice covered her breaking heart.

. . . 

"Hey, Sango," Kagome called as she stepped through the trees outlining the hot springs.

The slayer, having returned from her demon extermination, turned to face the newcomer with a smile. "Good afternoon, Kagome."

Kagome slid into the steaming pool of water, relishing in the slight burn against her skin. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the smooth rock behind her.

Something in her mood set Sango on edge, and she gazed at her friend curiously. "Is everything all right?"

"Oh, don't be silly. Of course it is." Even Kagome could notice the too-obvious falsity in her words, and knew Sango wouldn't believe her facade. As expected, the slayer frowned and narrowed her eyes. Eager to change the subject away from her somber disposition, she asked, "I was just wondering if you've visited your village recently."

The sudden question rendered Sango speechless. Come to think of it, she hadn't returned home in quite some time; they had been too close to catching up to Naraku and didn't have the luxury to make extra stops. Now that Naraku had been defeated for good, it would give her an opportunity for proper closure since her people had been avenged – and perhaps rebuild the village to its former glory.

"No," she finally answered with a wistful smile. "I suppose not. Perhaps tomorrow would be a good time to go."

"Yeah, tomorrow," Kagome mumbled distractedly, looking up at the clear, blue sky through the treetops. She clenched her jaw as she thought about Kohaku. His life had ultimately been stolen by Naraku and the jewel, leaving Miroku as Sango's only family.

The demon slayer moved closer and tilted her head. "Something's troubling you."

Curse a girl's intuition.

Kagome sighed deeply. "I guess." Her eyes found those of her friend. "I don't know how you do it. You've lost everything: your village, your friends, your family. And yet, you still manage to smile."

Sango hung her head in acknowledgement, but shed no tears. "You're right. The pain of losing those I love will always be a heavy reminder of the past. I won't ever forget my father, or Kohaku, or any of the other villagers. But… instead of dwelling on all that I've lost, I try to be thankful for what I've gained." She lifted her gaze to the priestess. "I have a new place to call home, people whom I can call family, and a man I would lay down my life for."

Kagome nodded sympathetically. She understood where the slayer was coming from, but still found it daunting that someone could shoulder so much. "Speaking of Miroku," she said, turning their conversation in a lighter direction. "How are the wedding plans going?"

Sango rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "I think he's more concerned with having children than he is of making me an honest woman. He's unbelievable."

"Well, his family was cursed for generations. It's no wonder he's eager to continue the lineage," Kagome mentioned. "I think you should cut him some slack."

She smiled. "Yeah. I do love him, but sometimes I wish he was less of a lecher."

"Then he wouldn't be the Miroku we all know and love."

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

Kagome pondered her words for a moment before grinning. "We definitely would've lost out on quite a few humorous situations during our adventures."

"Isn't that the truth," Sango agreed with a dramatic roll of her eyes. A sudden thought caused the humor to fade from her expression, shifting seriously as she turned to fully face Kagome. "While on the subject of love and marriage, how are you and Inuyasha?"

Vulnerable to Sango's impromptu question, Kagome blushed a deep shade of crimson. "W-What do you mean?"

Sango folded her arms over her chest. "You know exactly what I mean. You and Inuyasha have grown closer, especially during the time leading up to the final battle. It's obvious to everyone that you two have feelings for each other."

She winced. "Everyone?"

The slayer scoffed. "You didn't really believe it was a secret, did you? I'm sure I've known since the day I met the both of you. There was always an undeniable chemistry between you two, and there's no doubt Inuyasha cares for you, especially with the way he's so protective."

"Maybe," Kagome replied, turning away, finding the ripples in the water from her movements more interesting.

"No, not maybe," she argued. "It's true. You need to find out how he feels about you. If you don't, you'll never be able to make a decision."

"Decision?"

"Seriously?" Sango deadpanned. "Earth to Kagome. I'm talking about your decision to return to your time on the other side of the well. I'm sure Inuyasha plays a big part in that."

Kagome glanced over her shoulder toward the trees. "Oh, I think I hear Shippou calling," she said, rising to stand.

Sango quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the hot springs. "You're being evasive."

"No, I'm not," Kagome challenged.

"Yes, you are. Kagome, I'm your friend. You can talk to me."

Kagome stared at her for a long moment, musing over Sango's statement, contemplating the speck of doubt that lingered behind reason. She surely had the correct wish in mind – she could feel it in her soul – so why did hesitation appear?

"Do you believe in fate?" she asked quietly, glancing over at the slayer. "I mean, if you're meant to be with someone, fate will bring you together no matter what?"

Sango chuckled. "Yes, I do. My answer to that perverted monk's proposal is proof enough."

She smiled, recalling the day in which Miroku asked Sango to become his wife once their battle with Naraku had come to an end. Everything had been so different then. They were constantly fighting demons, struggling to stay alive after each encounter with one of his incarnations. Now, peace had settled quietly and Kagome knew life would move forward toward a happy ending soon enough. The only problem being, it wasn't the original happily-ever-after they had hoped for.

. . . 

The sun began setting into early evening as the day wound down to an end. Kagome lay back on a grassy knoll, watching the sky while the deep oranges and reds fade to purple. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of the village folk preparing for the night, but they were far enough away not to bother her. Closing her eyes, she drew a breath full of the woodland air, letting the sounds of birds fill her ears, the melody much more welcomed than the traffic noises of her own era. Here, ten minutes seemed like a long time and so the day stretched out like a small eternity.

Kagome had a wealthy understanding that she couldn't stop bad things from happening in the world, even if she knew ahead of time they would occur. Thinking about it only made her more anxious, more fearful, but with the wish she had in mind, she knew she could at least prevent some of the bad from happening. Even at the risk of her own happiness.

In her quiet contemplation, she'd decidedly turned her thoughts elsewhere. She thought about love, the people she cherished, and everything right in her life. She felt like a higher power's whisper drifted through the trees, assuring her she had made the right choice.

The correct path is not always the easiest.

"Kagome?"

She opened her eyes and looked up, seeing Miroku towering over her. "Oh, hey."

"May I join you?" he asked with an amused smile.

She fanned her hand out beside her, offering him a spot of grass, before turning her gaze back toward the sky. They stayed quiet for a while, simply enjoying each other's company and watching as the clouds lazily moved across the expanse of magenta canvas.

"I spoke to Sango," he finally said, folding an arm beneath his head.

Kagome frowned. "About what?"

"She's concerned about you." He peered over at her hesitantly. "She fears you will do something that can't be undone."

Curious, Kagome sat up on her elbows and gazed accusingly at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Miroku sat up, holding his hands out in a manner of peace. "Please, forgive me, I'm only trying to help. With Naraku gone and the jewel in your possession, we understand you have a lot on your mind. Sango is only worried you will make a hasty decision you will later regret. And truthfully, so am I."

"I'm well aware of the weight I have on my shoulders. I understand what my duty is to the jewel and to the future of this world. I don't appreciate you thinking I'm taking this lightly."

"That's not it at all," he assured. "We're your friends, Kagome. We only want to be here to help and support you in whatever you need. Offending you was not my intention."

Honest eyes bore into hers as if trying to convince her he wasn't lying. She silently cursed herself for giving into Sango's open nature earlier. She should've known they were keeping a close eye on her, picking up on her moods and behavior now that the battle was over. But what they didn't understand was that she still had a battle to face. One she had to face alone.

Miroku had always been so genuine and honest, so she wondered why she didn't believe him now. His warm smile begged her to trust him, her heart told her he would never deceive her, but her gut warned her otherwise.

"You want to know what I plan to do," she stated bluntly, calling out his true reason for questioning her alone like this. "You're afraid I'll make a decision that benefits others with no thought of myself. Well, I hate to break it to you, but the wish on the jewel has to be selfless. I'm not allowed to think of my own feelings when it comes to this."

Or yours, for that matter.

His face shifted to one of open concern, brows furrowing. "I understand that. I simply wanted to let you know that you weren't alone in this. We can help you make a decision. We can help protect the jewel as long as it needs to be protected."

Kagome averted her gaze and ran her fingers through the grass. Miroku was a good friend. He encompassed all of the things she didn't know she needed or loved so dearly. He meant so much to her, meant so much to all of those lives he touched. How could she lie to him? How could she pretend as if everything was okay, when in truth, it was the farthest from it?

Now she understood the cold demeanor Kikyou lived with, the constant need to keep everyone at a distance. Her life was no longer her own. It was forever bound to the Shikon Jewel.

"I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet." She sighed, her white lie making her stomach heavy with guilt. "I don't even know what era I want to be in. Back home, I have my mom, and my brother, and my gramps. I have school to finish and friends to catch up with. I have put so much on hold in my life in order to take down Naraku and complete the jewel."

"Do you wish you had never come to this place?" Miroku asked.

"Of course not!" Kagome exclaimed, appalled he would even ask such a thing. "Everyone I've met and everything I've done… I wouldn't change it for the world. I can't imagine living without knowing of my adventures. I wouldn't be me without them."

Miroku sensed there was more to it than that, and patiently waited for her to continue.

Finally, she shook her head. "But this whole thing is so much bigger than me. How can I think of myself and what I want, when there's so much more at stake?"

"Kagome, no one can change the world in a single stroke. However, with each kind deed you've done during your time with us, you've made all the difference to the world. I feel blessed to have known you. You deserve happiness, too." He smiled.

Kagome turned away shyly, blushing at his praise. "Thank you. I just feel as if there's more that I could do."

"What's done is done," he said softly, climbing to his feet. "No one can change the past. We can only work to protect the future from our prior mistakes. Besides, with Naraku gone, I don't foresee anything detrimental happening anytime soon."

"I hope you're right," she mumbled, pulling her knees into her chest.

He held out his hand. "Now, shall we head back to Kaede's for supper?"

Kagome shook her head. "You go on ahead. I'll catch up."

Miroku nodded and took his leave, but a little ways down the hill, he stopped and glanced back at the time-traveling priestess. She sat staring up into the sunset sky, her obsidian hair blowing gently in the breeze. She had a kind of understated beauty. Perhaps it was because she was so disarmingly unaware of her prettiness and flawless, pale skin. She made things simple and easy, helping those around her to relax and be happy with what they had. Perhaps that was what caused her skin to glow. Her inner beauty lit her eyes and softened her features. To be in her company made a person feel that they too were someone, that they had been warmed in summer rays regardless of the season.

However, a sinking feeling formed in the pit of his gut. Not understanding why, Miroku had a sneaking suspicion that her rays wouldn't be there to warm them when the winter months approached. Something in his heart told him that she had made a decision that would change everything. And he knew. He knew that this would be the last time he saw Kagome Higurashi – that fiery young priestess from the future.

Exhaling deeply, and praying his conjecture was wrong, Miroku turned and continued toward Kaede's hut.

. . . 

Long shadows of the evening dissolved into the gathering darkness of nighttime. The air cooled and the cicadas sang. A canopy of luminous stars materialized amongst the ocean of blackness. Some were dull, merely flickering into existence every now and then, but a collection of shimmering stars illuminated the dark, half-moon night. The lake glistened, mirroring the dazzling assemblage of glittering stars and the incandescence from the campfire glowed merrily beside it. Faint wind brushed against the water's surface, the ripples ruffling the stillness, and shattering the reflection of the sky.

Brown eyes turned toward Inuyasha's forest, the place in which this whirlwind of a fairytale began. There Kagome had stumbled upon this other world through an old well and had met her half-demon for the first time, pinned to the Goshinboku.

The woods always looked different at night. Everything had an unfamiliar slant to it, as if the daytime trees and flowers and stones had gone to bed and sent slightly more ominous versions to take their place. The forest became dark and uninviting, but she knew it was the safest place she could ever be.

Kagome sighed, curling her arms around her bent knees and resting her chin upon them. The fire beside her kept away the night chill, but did nothing to aid the cold that beat within her chest. Time had passed by so quickly. She dreaded what would occur in the next hour, but she knew she couldn't avoid it.

She felt like a prodigious courage pushed inside her, demanding her to be brave and strong during this climax. The decision final, she refused to change her mind, trusting that fate would take care of the rest. It had to.

"Kagome?"

Footsteps fell upon the grass and she knew who had come to find her. She took a deep breath and looked up, her gaze falling on amber eyes full of concern.

"Hey, Inuyasha." Kagome smiled meekly.

He sat down beside her, crossing his legs and sliding his hands into his sleeves. He regarded the lake for a moment, ears twitching anxiously upon his head, silver hair shifting in the breeze, brushing lightly against his cheek.

Kagome worried her bottom lip. What would she tell him? What would she say to him during what would most likely be their final conversation?

"What's bugging you?" he asked frankly, sliding his gaze toward her.

"What makes you think something's bothering me?"

He frowned. "I'm not stupid. You've been sad and moody all day."

"It's not a big deal." She shrugged.

"It is a big deal. Naraku is dead. You should be happy."

"I am happy." She smiled. "I'm glad that it's finally over."

Inuyasha's ears flattened against his head, pausing, words suddenly unnecessary. One look in his eyes spoke volumes. Sorrow dwelled in his gaze as clear as if he'd spoken his thoughts and emotions aloud.

"You're going home, aren't you?" He said, finally acknowledging what he'd been dreading. "To your own time."

"What? Is that what you think?" She grimaced.

He turned away. "What else is left for you here? What reason do you have to stay?"

"Inuyasha, I have every reason to stay," she proclaimed, giving a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I have my best friends here. I feel as if I make a difference. Not to mention I have so much more to learn from Kaede."

"Keh, I guess so," he grumbled.

Kagome placed a hand on his shoulder. "Most importantly, I have you."

Dark brows furrowed and his lips parted. He turned wide eyes in her direction. "Me?" he echoed, unsure, even with his sensitive hearing, if he had heard her correctly.

"Of course. You are the most important person in my life. Haven't you realized that?" Kagome giggled.

He frowned, contemplating her words as she scooted closer to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. A heated blush rose in his cheeks as he averted his gaze, embarrassed, as always, by her show of affection.

"I don't ever want to leave here," she continued, looking up at the stars. "This is home for me."

"You mean, you want to stay?"

"Yeah, I do." She lifted her head to look at him. "I want to stay with you, Inuyasha."

"Then, why do you look so sad?" He swallowed, apprehensive.

"Like I said, it doesn't matter. I just want to enjoy tonight," she dismissed.

"All right," he growled, fed up, turning smoldering amber eyes on her. "You're really starting to piss me off."

Surprised, she knitted her brows and shifted away from him. "Inuyasha?"

"All of this talk about wanting to stay, but you still look so damn sad, Kagome. Why? What is making you so upset?"

"Drop it already, would you?" she shouted, jumping to her feet, tears welling in her eyes.

"No," he defiantly refused, standing up beside her and pointing at her accusingly. "Something's up, Kagome. I'm not lettin' you off the hook that easily."

She spun on her heel, ready to run from his barrage of questions, to run from the truth eating her up inside. A clawed hand reached out and grabbed her gently, pulling her toward him. "Damn it, woman! Just talk to me!"

Kagome bit her lip, considering her next move. If she told him the truth, she would never be able to go through with it. He wouldn't let her. So, there was really only one thing left to do, only one thing left to say.

Slowly, she turned to face him. She sniffled and took a deep breath, fingering the glowing pink jewel that hung around the column of her throat. "The Shikon Jewel has caused so much pain," Kagome whispered.

"Is that what this is about?" Inuyasha questioned, releasing her and clenching his hands into fists at his side. "Kagome, you don't have to make a wish. We'll protect it for as long as we need to."

She shook her head vigorously. "No, you don't understand. As long as the jewel exists, there will be pain and suffering. A wish has to be made."

"Then what's the problem?" He frowned.

Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around his waist in an unexpected embrace. Pink dusted his cheeks, his eyes wide with surprise before he hesitantly returned the gesture, holding her firmly against him, still frustrated with her evasive answers.

The tears flowed unchecked down Kagome's cheeks and dripped from her chin into his robe of the fire rat. Too sad to cry out or wail, she just stood there as still as a statue while the magnitude of her loss swept over her. She became lost in the vortex of the moment, and she knew that she would be forever tormented by a past that could not be undone.

Taking a deep breath and drawing forth every ounce of courage she could find, she pulled away and gazed up at him. She took in every detail: the wash of concern showing in his clear, luminous, warm, amber eyes, the tufts of silver dog-ears she loved so much, twitching upon his head, his furrowed black brows and frowning lips. She breathed in his scent, the forest mixed with the charcoal remains of a campfire. She listened as he breathed deeply, feeling his breath tickle her cheek. She felt the warmth of his embrace as he tightened his hold on her.

He happened to be everything she never knew she wanted. He was brash, arrogant, and stubborn, but he became hers. And now it was time to give him up, to trust that fate would one day bring them together again. Her heart accelerated, almost beating right out of her chest as her stomach filled with wild butterflies, and she prayed to every spiritual being that her voice would not escape her.

"Kagome?" he murmured, his eyes questioning.

"I love you," Kagome whispered, her words almost lost in the soft breeze. "I love you, Inuyasha. I have for a long time."

She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard. He seemed at a loss for words, but she'd expected that. He never was one to voice his feelings, and she knew that not long ago he had lost Kikyou. He probably wasn't ready to commit to her.

Smiling, she stepped away, out of his grasp. "I just needed you to know that. I just needed you to understand how much I care for you."

"Kagome, wait," He reached for her, desperation growing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"A wish has to be made," she repeated, clasping her hands around the jewel and holding it to her chest. "This is the way it has to be."

His eyes turned wide, fearful, and he stormed toward her. "Wait, Kagome!"

She closed her eyes, pressed her lips close to the jewel, and whispered, "I wish Naraku had never been born."

For a brief moment, the world stopped spinning. She could feel her blood rushing through her veins as her heart pounded erratically in her ears. Inuyasha's terrified expression stayed with her as he rushed forward, hoping to undo what had already been done. But it was too late.

A flurry of pink light burst forth from the jewel, enshrouding them completely.

[khtrashplatinumstars]

Ch. 3 ☆*~~~*☆

Location: Land of Departure

Lio admitted she had done much better landings in the past but she was in a rush. Stumbling over part of the landscaping she let out a hiss. She figured it would be best to land in the garden, where she had a higher chance of not landing on someone. She also wasn’t certain if the test had even begun yet and it would be kind of a bad thing to interrupt that. She was determined to be a help to her Keyblade Wielders and not a burden as she had to Master Eris.

She was also late since agreeing to train alongside the others Eris had taken every opportunity possible to her ragged. Some days she even went to sleep without dinner on account of the fact that she was too sleepy to even attempt to eat anything. Yet all of that would be a distant memory come after today, since this would be her new home. 

Moving into the castle grand room, the woman stopped seeing only Aqua and Eraqus.

“Lio!” Aqua called rushing over to the other woman, hugging her tightly.

Lio flinched, her tether with the Keyblade Wielders was strong, and she felt fear and dread rushing over Aqua. Like a sea just moments before a tidal wave hit. Lio gently pushed Aqua away before taking the smaller woman’s hands. “Aqua what’s wrong? Is everything all right?”

“Lio,” Eraqus called.

Lio smiled towards the man, “Master Eraqus is everything all right? Did I miss the trails?”

Eraqus nodded, seeing the dejected look on the Luminary’s face, “Have you run into Terra or Ven?”

Lio shook her head, “No, weren’t they here for the test?”

Aqua gripped Lio’s hand tighter, “Terra didn’t pass.”

Lio gasped, she had honestly expected both of them to pass with flying colors, “Oh no, what about you?”

Aqua gave her a sad smile with a nod, only to find Lio’s arms around her.

“Congrates Aqua, oh Master Aqua.” Lio replied. 

“Lio,” Eraqus called again, “We were hoping that they might have gone to assist you with the move.”

“No, I last heard from Terra last night.” She stated, embarrassed to mention that she had cast a spell to talk with the other without none of the master’s knowing. “What was the reason for his failing the test if I might ask?”

“He allowed his Darkness to take over.”

“His Darkness? But...but Terra and Aqua are the nicest people I know. There has to have been some kind of mistake, something must have happen…” Lio stopped as Aqua took her hand, giving it a squeeze. 

“Will you help me find him?” Aqua asked.

Lio nodded, “You don’t even have to ask.”

Eraqus stopped the two young women before they could leave, “Aqua, as you are aware Master Xehanort has gone missing, please looked into the Unverse matter while you also search for Terra.”

“Unverse?” Lio muttered as Aqua agreed leading her out the room. “Aqua what is this Unverse, Master Eris mentioned nothing about it.”

“I’m not entirely certain, Master Eraqus requested that Terra and myself look into it.” Aqua explained. “Master gave it to him as another way to earn his right as a Keyblade Master.”

Lio thought it strange, she wasn’t certain why Eris didn’t mention it prior. It seemed like something the Luminary would have first known about and then informed the others.

“Lio?” Aqua called, as those pink eyes turned to her. “Are you able to feel Terra?”

Lio gasped, “Why didn’t I think of that?” She muttered, as she closed her eyes, searching through space to find him, each of her Wielders had a different color type of ribbon, or perhaps a road would be better to describe it. A type of tether that was shared between them. She found Aqua right away, her tether a beautiful blue, like the ocean reflecting the sun. She next found Ventus, it was fresh green, as their tether hadn’t been connected for long it wavered from time, but should Lio touch it she felt the warm sun on a windy day. She searched for Terra’s, it was normally an orange-brown color, like the sun on the sand, but it held sturdy like a rock. Lately, she noticed it was a little redder when it drew closer to her own heart, but now…

Aqua quickly reached out catching Lio as she stumbled back panting, “Are you all right?”

“Terra’s tether, it’s...it’s dark.”

“Dark? Dark how?”

Lio shook her head trying to place the words, “Someone, something dark is blocking my way to him, and I feel one more, I think it’s Ven.”

Aqua helped Lio steady herself before determine blue eyes turned to the other, “We’d be better if we split up. Since you know where Ven is go to him, we’ll need him to help with Terra. I’ll go to the last place you found Terra.”

Lio nodded, stepping forward, resting her forehead against Aqua, providing her the map to Terra’s trail. “As soon as I get Ven, we’ll come to you.”

Aqua nodded stepping back as she put on her armor, transforming her keyblade. Taking off the same time that Lio had teleported.

??? (Unknown location)

Lio felt the pressure before she even landed, her head was throbbing as it felt like a suddenly every word she had ever spoken was overlapping in her mind. She could hear the sounds of fighting and the screams, hearts being torn apart, friendships and lives torn apart. 

She had read about this place multiple times, she just never thought she would be here so soon. She was standing in a very private personal place. 

The Keyblade Graveyard!

A place where so many Keyblade Wielders fell, where Keyblades rusted and rotted away with no heart to led or guide them. The screams and buzzing in her head wasn’t her own thoughts, it was the final thoughts as friend against friend, family against family, hearts against hearts were forced to battle this meaningless fight. This meaningless war.

Lio reached up, not even noticing that she was crying, moving over to touch the nearest Keyblade, one that looked to once upon a time glimmer bright like the sun, or a star. 

“You poor thing.” She whispered, feeling the final moments of a heart terrified, scared. A young heart.

Her spot as Luminary was created for the sole purpose to never happen again, to never allow those that had goodness in their hearts to stray. To show that love would win, but seeing all of this, it hurt her heart more than anything.

Pushing back her tears, she removed her hand from the Keyblade’s hilt. Only to find something black scurry through the other Keyblades away from her.

“Wa...wait!” Lio called, summoning her own staff, it closely resembled a Kayblade on its own, only standing much longer as she wielded more like a staff than a sword like the others. She followed after the creature, only to realize it was leading her further in and the cries were getting louder and sadder.

The woman only just managed to dodge as something attacked her from above. Sliding across the ground she was careful of avoiding any damage to the Keyblades around her. Turning to her attack as she gasped with wide eyes. “A keyblade.”

“Hehehe, you’re not looking so good, Luminary.”

“Who are you?” Lio growled refusing to release her guard only to find it tighten as she noticed more of those creatures she was following was suddenly surrounding her. 

“Can’t you tell?”

Lio glared, only to swing as one of those creatures launched at her, pushing it off, followed by two more, Lio barely turned in enough time to block a swing from the helmeted young man before her.

“Aren’t Luminary’s suppose to be stronger than this?” He cackled.

Lio just briefly saw the flash of that seafoam green, “Ve...No!” She barked, as she pushed him away. “You’re not Ventus, who are you?”

The other chuckled standing up straight, tapping his Keyblade against his shoulder, “Why don’t you find out.”

Lio didn’t allow herself to be dragged down to his level, at this point she was outnumbered, as he had these creatures on his side. At this point he was running the show, so by defeating him, the creatures would be helpless. “So be it.” She called, holding out her staff, as it transformed into gauntlets appearing on her forearms.

She rushed the smaller man, pulling back her arm, as she aimed for his head. Expecting his block, she swept out with her right leg, knocking him off his feet. Taking him by the front of his shirt and tossing him over her shoulder away from the Keyblades.

“You’re fast given your size.”

Lio glared, at him, trying to find some way away from the Keyblades, the cries were getting louder now that a fresh blade was on the field and fight was ensuing. So she rushed him again, making sure to narrowly avoid the other as she leads them towards a more open space.

“Poor little Luminary, are you worried that your little boyfriend will turn into someone like me.”

Lio didn’t want to admit it, but that stung, still she pushed him away.

“Let’s see, you have a useless new Master, and your boyfriend is too stupid to pass.”

Lio found that she wasn’t holding her punches anymore.

“Oh did I hit a nerve? Poor little Luminar...what?” The Masked Weilder found himself backed against one of the high cliff sides. At the moment it took for him to turn over his shoulder, Lio was upon him, her right arm pulled back, before punching clear through the face of the cliff side, harsh pink eyes glaring at him. “You missed.”

“Did I?” Lio growled, watching as the left half of his helmet shattered. Only for Lio’s eyes to narrow more, “Who are you and why do you have Ventus’s face!”

“Oh my little brother Venty-Wenty, has two big sisters guarding him. I guess that makes us family.” The young man cackled. “ You’re the Luminary here, you should be able to see it.”

Lio gasped, she was so focused on the battle she suddenly realized, this person was the second half of the tether she couldn’t see connected to Ventus. “How did you tear your heart in two?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Now, now Vantis is that any way to speak to our young Luminary?”

Lio turned, her eyes widen in shock as she stared at the man before, “Master Xehanort?”

“Please Lio, I fear this has gone on far too long.”

“Night night.”

Lio turned hearing Vantis chuckle, only to turn at just the last moment as she felt Xehonart’s Keyblade hilt slam into her head, knocking her out.

[sakuurae]

gaming antics [m]

summary: taeyong has been too distracted by his games lately so you decide to snap him out of it.

❀ pairing: gamer!taeyong & reader insert

❀ includes: smut (fingering, penetration, facial, oral)

❀ wc: 6k

❀ note: Im back! :’) With a new fic about my babe, Taeyong. Haha. I hope you guys like it!

Taeyong had always been an avid gamer.

He would spend hours on end smashing his thumbs all over the game controller while spitting curses to his frustrated friends through a small headset. Those hours sometimes ran into an entire day, and maybe he skipped out on catching a few winks of sleep—to put it short, he was in love with gaming. Since your friendship began with Taeyong you had known how much of a hardcore gamer he was—gaming was how the two of you bonded, so his love for the hobby never really bothered you to begin with.

Not until you started to date him a couple of months ago. He attempted to change his habits and shape himself into a decent boyfriend who could go on multiple dates with you whether they are small breakfast meetups or quick coffee runs. Those lasted for a good while, but he reverted to his original self soon afterwards, almost like the lively dates with you are not as fun as the silly shooter games he spends his life on. He reverted back to the game invested Taeyong—the one that spends more time staring at a flashing screen, furiously pressing on the loose buttons of his controler, than looking at his girlfriend.

You always attempted to talk to him while he took those short breaks. Usually he spent a good five to ten minutes getting water or catching a breath of fresh air outside, but he typically shrugged you off. This time you were going to take a different approach—a very distracting approach.

Two days ago you were lounging on the soft maroon couch in the living room of Taeyong’s stuffy apartment, mindlessly watching television as a simple pastime. It was like watching shows that were a bore would speed up the time in your boyfriend’s current game match. He was cooping himself inside his bedroom, door open since the start of the morning—he wasn’t even holding you when you woke up—and that was the final straw.

You left the apartment after munching on a small breakfast, freshened up and trailed out of his door for the sole purpose of finding something to distract Taeyong from his appalling screen. It was supposed to be a distraction—just enough—like his favorite snacks or two plain movie tickets. Though, you found something that caught your tired eyes way more—and something that would capture his own just as much.

As you walked down the sidewalk with the summer heat beating down on your exposed skin you realized you wanted to bide time. You were well aware that if you returned to Taeyong’s apartment he would still be active on his bed playing video games until the sun will set, so you sauntered the sidewalk, allowing you eyes to roam to familiar parts of the city. That was when you found something that caught your eye.

It was a dainty clothing store on the corner of the block; you never bothered to step one foot inside because the exterior of pastel pink always drew you away. But on that day, you wanted to do all you could to stall time away from Taeyong’s place—stall time from buying a distraction. So you entered.

The scent of perfume and artificial strawberries lingered in the air—far too strong for your liking and it caused your nose to scrunch. Its sweet particles stuck to the thin apparel whether it were to be chiffon or cotton. There was an array of multicolored dresses and folded pastel tees, each looking far too expensive for your simple taste, so you decided to venture deeper into the store. The colors started to vividly pop out more—become more vibrant—the saccharine scent increasing by the step. You allowed your hand to feel the fabric as you dragged it across the metal racks, hands dancing in the soft material. Though, all your movement ceased once you reached the back of the “innocent” clothing store.

Behind the racks and past the towering shelves laid out a not-so-innocent sight before your eyes. Instead of the appealing dresses that were spread throughout the store, charming customers by their pretty pinks and purples, they had a variety of… lingerie. From the purest of white, darkest of black, and deepest of red—each came in silk, satin, or lace. The store maintained its darling vibe, ribbons and bows also available on the shelves in the back, some even adorned the clothing unnecessarily. You gulped, perusing the revealing articles. Jeez, people might as well wear nothing. Though, the clothing did give you an evocative idea.

You considered purchasing one of them—any one of them—because each would appeal to your boyfriend’s eyes, you knew that all too well. Vivid scenarios of Taeyong ogling at your body made you vibrate in excitement; he would ache to place his hands on you and that was all you wanted. To have him strip you of the lace because it got into the way is an imagination that makes your core ache. Finally, you found the premier distraction from that stupid game console of his. You gave it another thought, wondering if you were making the right choice in impulsively purchasing your first set of lingerie. After a mild debate between white satin and black lace you decided to purchase the latter—the one with the arousing garter. You felt impatient, fingers rapidly tapping the counter in hopes that the cashier would speed up. Then, all of a sudden you felt a surge of excitement.

Excitement from what though? Taeyong’s long-awaited attention towards you, or the fact it would lead into something more?

You watched carefully as the cashier bagged your thin, arousing clothing—not the slightest judgement written on their face. They had probably seen more—and you used that fact to calm your nervous jitters. After the cashier finished bagging the revealing apparel with a bright grin, you paid, took the back, and zoomed out of the store.

You held the handle of the pastel pink paper bag close to you, a helpless yet hopeful smile blossoming on your face.

At the moment, you were laying on Taeyong’s couch again with the television flickering its scenic colors. You were dressed in one of his favorite sweatshirts, blue jeans snug around your waist. Oh, and the lingerie you purchased two days ago uncomfortably beneath the outwear. You had bought the lingerie to show it off, but the thing was Taeyong wasn’t giving any time for you to “show it off.” You became impatient, fingertips quickly tapping on the soft cushions of the sofa to zip through time.

“Babe!” you called out to him, irritated.

But there was no response.

You grumbled, petulant, and waited for a few seconds to see if he would respond with at least a loud hum, but there was nothing.

You groaned, “Taeyong!” You raised yourself from the comfort of the sofa with plans to move to his bed.

“Yeah? Give me a second,” he told you, rapid with his attention still deadlocked on the game.

You rolled your eyes and started to trudge down the hall, entering his bedroom with a stern frown. There were flames in your two orbs—flames that Taeyong couldn’t bother to see because he was so invested in gaining one, two, and many more kills within the match. You leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom, a look of annoyance painted on your expression. Your toes were tapping against the hard wooden floor, arms crossed like your fire was being fueled by heated disappointment.

“Okay, okay,” Taeyong let out. You cocked your eyebrow, surprised that he was actually paying attention to you and—

“Alright,” he spat into the microphone of that stupid headset of his, “yeah, I’m going to the west wall right now. Let’s go snipe the-”

“-Taeyong!” you exclaimed with a childish stomp.

The boom of your voice caught him by surprise, causing his body to jolt and fumble the controller out of his clammy palms. The anger that laced your tone swam in his ears and he didn’t bother to hide his character in a safe place within the rebarbative virtual reality, and looked at you with eyes of hesitance. “Y-yes?” he asks, unsure and innocent.

The bottom line: you were mad.

His room wreaked of musk and hints of sweat; thank gods his windows were cracked more than halfway open. Sunlight seeped into his room, lighting up the few fractions of darkness that would soon envelop the perimeter. The sun was setting, ready to fall asleep for the awakening moon. The scent made your nose scrunch—more than the time at the pretty pink store—and you began to walk to him.

You took notice of his appearance: his hair was damp from his recent shower, a loose white tee draped his muscular physique, and his lips were pursed into a pout as if that was his set expression. The frown on your face made him feel like he had committed all the wrong in the world, bottom lip beginning to quiver for he was not prepared to face your wrath.

The look of innocence in his eyes made your expression soften; it was almost impossible for you to express your anger towards your boyfriend. You sighed, and threaded fingers into your hair, grabbing onto his controller. “How do you pause the game?” you asked him, pressing all sorts of unfamiliar buttons on the controller.

“I- well, you can’t pause a live match,” he told you. His eyes trailed to the walls, muttered words of his friends being repeated in his ears, each inquired where he was and why he is idle. He opened his mouth to respond to them, but you took off his headset with care.

“Taeyong-” you tossed the headset to the side- “can you pay attention to me?”

Taeyong’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat, uneasy from the sight of you being… needy. For some reason it was an unexpected sight to Taeyong, something he cannot comprehend. He knew he had been neglecting you for quite some time, but he always assumed it wasn’t that much of a bother to you because you never acted upon it—not until now.

And that was when he realized what he might be doing something wrong.

“Um- sure,” he mumbled, head hanging low as if he was ashamed.

You smiled, a small hint of victory sketching on your face. “Great.”

The game blew a transparent black square to the screen, indicating that the match was over and his team had lost the match they once owned. “You know,” you began, “we haven’t hanged out in a while.”

You used the pad of your index finger to trail from his jawline down to his chin, tilting his head up to lock eyes with your own. Your two orbs were blown with a certain darkness. Lust, want—nothing else but need. Taeyong’s lips parted; no words left his mouth.

“You haven’t talked to me in a while,” you informed with a pout like his own. You rested your two hands on his shoulders, leaning lower by a few inches, and sailed them down his arms so you could grab onto his hands. With his large, sweaty palms in grasp you moved them to your waist, hoping he would get the idea of what you wanted: to have your imaginations come to life.

He was reluctant at first, fingers dancing at your waist as he ran through his jumbled thoughts, and finally he grasped you. “You haven’t touched me in a long time,” you said, voice withering into a whisper. It sounded like your words blended in with the air and the static of the silent speakers.

Taeyong stammered, “I- sorry.” He pulled you closer to him, regret from his actions dawning over him. “It’s just that the game, you know.”

“Is the game more important than me?” you questioned, pouty. “I’m your girlfriend.”

You sat on his lap, straddling his thighs, and he leaned back whilst slowly propping his arms on his mattress. “No…” he trailed off. “I’m sorry it seemed that way.”

You smiled like a vixen, implying the desires in such a simple expression. “You need to make it up to me.”

“With a date?” he inquired, thoughtful in the wrong way.

Your arms tangled with his neck, pulling yourself closer to his physique. You breath twisted with his own, hints of cold mint swirling with cherry candy. “A date?” you repeated, unsure yourself. “Sure,” you playfully giggled, “afterwards.”

“After what?” he asked.

“After this.”

You pressed your lips over his own, catching him entirely by surprise. His eyes widened as your lips danced to the melody of his pounding heartbeat; it did not take long for him to ease into the kiss, and soon, under your electric touch. You coasted your hand to his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his smooth skin before both of your bodies fell onto the soft mattress with a bounce. The kiss did not break—in fact, it deepened. His hands lingered in the air and hovered over your body while he shut his eyes, finding true pleasure in the heated kiss.

His grip found its home at your hips, a firm hold as he attempted to pull you lower over his crotch. You broke away from the desired osculation to catch a quick breath, eyes locking with his own briefly. You smiled at him lively. “What?” he mumbled, cocking an eyebrow upwards.

You were looking at him past the lush curtain of his lashes. “Nothing,” you assured. You pressed your lips into a thin line, patient for the long-awaited moment. You wanted Taeyong to slide his hands underneath your sweatshirt, palms grazing over the smooth of your waist until they meet the thin lace. You giggled to yourself; the thought of Taeyong’s reaction was sure to be risible.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he commented while pulling you closer to him. “What are you laughing about?”

“You’ll find out,” you mumbled over the tender skin of his neck.

Taeyong merely laughed in response, continuing with the session. You peppered kisses on him, catching a whiff of his scent that appeared to be a swirl of cherry and hints of spice. He raked a hand through your locks, lightly tugging on them to catch your attention. “What are you planning?” he inquired.

“A surprise.” You grinned.

Taeyong’s grip tightened on your hips and he used the open chance to flip both him and you over. His head was directly above your own now, body parallel from yours. Your hair splayed out perfectly on the sheets, surprise in your eyes from his unexpected action. He kissed you again; this time it was more messy, sloppy—almost as if his patience ran thin.

You moaned into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as his hands start to linger at the waistband. His palms slid up your body and back down—a simple tease before he sneaked them under the sweatshirt. Majority of Taeyong’s attention was focused into the kiss, feeling the enlivening sensation that he had not felt in quite some time; well, until he felt another fine layer of clothing adorning your body. His eyebrows furrowed together out of confusion as he rubbed circles onto the exquisite fabric, mind slowly placing two and two together.

Once the light bulb flickered on in his mind he broke the kiss within a heartbeat, a puzzled expression awaiting you. It took once glance at your face that now tinged with pink, your eyes looking everywhere but his own, for him to realize it. “Did you go shopping recently?” he asked you with joy.

You nodded your head; it took every fiber of your being to bite back a smile.

“Shopping for me?” he added, pinching onto your lace covered skin. “Is this my surprise?”

“Mhm,” you confirmed, hand playing with the nape of his neck.

“Mind if I see?” he queried, already hiking the sweatshirt up on his wrists. He moved slowly and with care, almost as if you were as fragile as glass itself, until you graced him with a small shake of your head.

He grinned, pecking onto your nose before he raised himself from you. Both of his arms grabbed a hold of his sweatshirt that you looked comfortably clad in and he soon lifted it above your head, tossing it to the side as if it had no value whatsoever. His gaze fell back on you and the lingerie you bought, glints of surprise and excitement twinkling in his eyes. “Whoa,” he said with a shaky breath.

Taeyong gulped, face flushed with the deepest shade of cherry as he took in your dashing appearance. The lace you chose appeared so delicate; he felt as if it would tear with his light touch. A few ribbons crossed over your chest, some on the side to keep the revealing apparel together, and Taeyong felt an urge to tug on the bows to reveal your whole body. His gaze casted downwards by the inch, almost as if he was perusing the intricate patterned lace on your physique. Then, the fun came to an abrupt halt when he noticed that your jeans covered the rest of the tantalizing surprise.

His fingers immediately began to toy with the button and zipper of your jeans, gaining a sudden rush to rid yourself of the article that was fueled by desperation. You lifted your hips off the mattress, aiding his process of tugging your jeans off your legs and tossing them to the side. You moved your body to the center of his bed, sheets resting directly underneath your barely naked body like a royal cushion. “Holy shit,” he muttered, absolutely astonished.

You enjoyed the way he was gawking at you; it was a moment that had not occurred in a while, and it felt amazing to have his attention. You fixed the free strands of your hair, moving them into place while he remained uneasy. His pants was suddenly growing tighter; his large member was becoming hard, increasing in its size within the confinements of his jeans. His mouth was agape, eyes blown wide from the shock caused by you.

The thin lace barely rested around your waist, dainty fabric dangling barely to cover your womanhood. A silk onyx ribbon trailed from the lingerie’s corset down over the curvature of your ass, soon connecting with the garter to hold up the stockings.

He began to make his way towards you again, movements desultory as he crawled on his bed to have himself on top of you again. His palm snaked around your waist as he sneaked a peek at the valley of your breasts, mouth watering at the elegant sight. “You look perfect,” he told you, loving the lace that adorned your body.

“I bought it for you,” you whispered, tilting his chin up so you could meet his eyes.

Taeyong grinned and placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. The moment proceeded when you mimicked the same movements he did: you slid your hands underneath the flimsy white tee of his, lifting it over his head to strip him of the pesky article. His toned body was revealed within an instant: the gorgeous shade of his skin, brief outline of incoming abs—it was all flawless, and, to be honest, it made you crave for more.

“It might be ruined in a moment,” he told you, voice low to an agitating whisper. Taeyong hooked a finger under the thin lace, toying with it momentarily as his eyes perused the splendor that was your breasts. He appeared reluctant and as if he was waiting for your cue to continue; whether or not he should rip the lace off your frame or not.

Though, once you and Taeyong lock gazes that filled to the brim of voracity his two palms slid under the only openings of the lingerie, hiking it on his wrists as he came closer to your chest. The ribbons ran taut, stretching from Taeyong’s relentless movement, and soon Taeyong undid the bows, the zip of the ribbon coming undone the only noise that was audible alongside your steady breath.

Taeyong struggled for a few seconds, the rising inclination of excitement kindling his flame of fervor. He needed to taste you—now. And so he kept it loosely wrapped around your body, enough for the soft material to slide off with further movement, and his mouth instantly attached itself onto your erecting nipple. His hands were playing with the underside of your breasts, giving them frequent squeezes and showing them with enough love—the love that appeared to be missed.

His hands appeared to work magic on your body; whether they were feather-light touches on your thigh or cursory kisses of passion. With the pleasure of him as a whole, you coaxed under his touch; and soon, you were the one who wanted to taste him.

Taeyong gave your breasts a tight squeeze, massaging them in a perfect circle as he took a slight breath. Your fingers sailed to the sheets and twisted the thin layers into a whirl, head sinking deeper into the lush pillows on his bed. You inhaled a sharp breath, the moan silenced by the heavy air until he took one of your hard buds into his teeth, grazing it with zeal.

“Ah, T-Taeyong…” you uttered, eyes clamping shut.

You felt him smirk onto your skin, the music that was your lust-infused voice bring him to his own edge. One of his hands devotedly snaked down your torso and slid right under the lingerie with ease. You loosened your grasp and peeled the remnants of the light material off your skin to give more room to Taeyong and his expert actions.

Two of his digits slid up and down your soaking womanhood, your clit in between the diminutive gap. You gasped, mind turning into a daze and vision beginning to blur. Rather than struggling, you allowed yourself to become lost in the sensation that Taeyong was graciously providing you with. It did not take long for him to slide one digit into your core—merely testing the waters—before he continued with three slow pumps. On the fourth his digit pulled out to the tip and, with much skill, he prodded a second finger.

Your hand flew to your mouth to shield a cry; the enticing sensation of your boyfriend’s mouth and fingers working wonders on your body was overwhelming in every sense. His digits drove in and out of you with desire and excitement, sometimes curling in the most mesmeric way possible. He lifted himself off of you, eyes giving the signal of captivation by the image of you beneath him. Sweat was starting to accumulate on your forehead, much like his own, and you were a panting mess from the work of his expert digits alone.

You propped yourself on your elbows with the last fragments of your strength, heavy eyelids that felt like they have been locked for eons struggling to open themselves to your boyfriend. His fingers were still onset to bring you the your high heaven, and an impermanent look of his digits driving into you made an eruption of a delightful heat burst within your chest.

You felt yourself coming close to the edge: your mind was a whirlwind and breaths extremely unsteady. There was a tauten feeling in your stomach, almost as if your insides were twisting together the further the moment escalated. “Taeyong,” you breathed, “I-I’m getting close.”

He cocked an eyebrow upwards. “Are you?” he asked friskily. The devilish grin that crossed his face made you doubt the intent behind his words, almost as if there was something malicious twinging within.

You took too long to respond to him—both his impatience and your own rant thin—and he slipped his fingers out of you and popped the digits into his mouth. He made sure to lock eyes with you as his tongue peeped out of his doll-like lips, the wet muscle swirling around his own fingers that were coated with your need. Taeyong found contentment and satisfaction from your divine taste; he can no longer fight the compulsion that was being drawn from between his thighs.

He took off his pants, along with his briefs, quickly and they soon met the floor. His solid member sprung against his lower abdomen, the tip of his cock an angry red and leaking with his own desire. It was enthralling to you: finally seeing your boyfriend in his whole glory after months. You attempted to pull yourself off your position on his bed, eager to take his impressive length into your mouth for a fraction of the savor, but he presses you back down to the bed.

“You seem to want a taste,” he commented lewdly.

You nodded your head, desperation present in your veins. “I do…” you admitted. There was something explicitly raunchy behind your two simple words, for they confirmed Taeyong’s assumptions and caused a thousand of hopeful, impure imaginations to rise in his mind.

“You can wait, right?” he asked, feigning uncertainty. An idea crossed his thought clouds; he wanted to see how far he can push it. And your desperation aided it more than you ever would have thought.

You shook your head like an angered child. “No, I… I want a taste now.”

Taeyong chuckled, a rhapsody to your ears, as he wrapped his hand around his hard dick slowly. He started from the base and dragged up his grip with gentle care, and then allowed his thumb to circle over his leaking slit to spread the stickiness around his head. He jerked off his aching member slowly, preparing himself for the main course. You watched with the opposite of delight, pouty and hopeless; that was, until you felt the tip of his dick run up your soaked core and back down—a succulent tease.

You swallowed your breath, eyes downcasted to his cock as you awaited for the impact. Slowly but surely, Taeyong slid himself inside of you. “You’ll still get a taste,” he muttered, almost incomprehensible.

You were about to question his comment; that was until he filled you with his cock, delectation rising soon afterwards. You spat a curse or two from the sensation, the pleasure carrying up your body in light tingles. Taeyong kept himself propped up above you with his elbows on either side of your body, his head hanging low from the pleasure, also, being too much for him to handle. He had held himself back for so long within the duration of your arrival—and it was even harder with the lasting image of you dressed in extravagant lace invading his mind. To be inside of you once more was a feeling he had not felt for a while—just as much as you—and it felt like a seventh heaven to be reunited with one of the wonders in the world.

He began to thrust in and out of you with a steady pace, fear of moving with recklessness and haste, but with enough energy to keep your senses keen. Your mind already felt as if it has hit the highest state of a euphoric excitement, but Taeyong appeared to push you further. It was an absolute frenzy to have him drive his wanted cock in and out of you; each of your flames were being kindled with elation, raptures of delight soon to occur.

His sweat started to drip from his temples, the pearls falling onto your own exposed, perspiration-coated skin. A look of raw jubilancy was sketched all over his face, much like your own, and you then allowed yourself to dive into the needed feeling. You shut your eyes and allowed Taeyong to work his charm.

His member, without effort, slid into you all the way and filled you to the brim, and slipped out of your womanhood to the raging tip of his cock. The feeling of elation extended, but it wasn’t enough for you to release—yet. The slow process continued for a good few minutes, then there was a brief pause. The head of his dick remained rested at your entrance for quite some time, almost as if he faced a mild war in his mind—nonetheless, he rammed back into you. This time, with an angry force.

The impact of his cock ramming inside of your pussy sent you a few more inches higher on the bed; a loud, luscious moan ripped from your throat as well. Taeyong smiled as if he had won the grand prize, and repeated the same awaited action. Thus, he earned the same response; alongside, your cries for your boyfriend only raised its volume. Every second with Taeyong moving inside of you was absolutely thrilling, and he added onto the perfect delectation by pressing his lips to your neck. He sucked marks of love onto your skin, almost like each one was a silent apology about his behavior. It did not take long for your skin to become a masterpiece of crimson and violet hues—created by yours truly, Taeyong.

“T-Taeyong,” you uttered, barely. “I really- agh- am g-getting… ah!”

Taeyong only smirked at your inability to form sentences, your mind far too jumbled in its own bliss to think coherently. He thrusted himself into you harder, faster, reaching his own release with yours. “Do you need to come?” he asked you.

You nodded your head frantically, desperately without words, and the reacted with one last austere thrust. His tip was at your soaked hole and he took a deep breath before his hips harshly rolled back into you. You cried, delighted, and it sounded as if you attempted to scream out his name—but you just could not.

That was the final piece of the puzzle to complete the moment; you hit the fervent cloud nine, mind transported into the wild fantasy that reached your body as well. Your hands clawed at the sheets and flew around Taeyong’s body. His body gained light scratches and your arms looped around his neck as you held onto him for dear life.

As your mind remained in its heaven you felt yourself spill each fraction of your need all over your pussy. Taeyong slowed down his thrusts and moved with fragility to aid you until your mind came back to earth, and that your body returned to reality. The extended moan that emitted from your mouth swam in his ears; and he absolutely loved it.

It took a few more smooth, secure rolls of his hips for you to return. Your chest was heaving for air, baby hairs sticking to your sweat coated forehead—you looked completely fucked out, and he loved it enough to tuck the picture in the depths of his memory.

Taeyong fluidly pulled out of you, solid member rested in between the gap of his thumb and forefinger as he steadied his new position. He shifted himself above you, legs inching on the bed closer to your head and you felt the crimson tip of his length hit the bottom of your chin. You raised yourself, head tilting upwards and mouth falling wide open once you catch onto your boyfriend’s provocative actions. You fluttered your serene eyelids open, vision hazy as you attempted to focus.

The last image you caught of Taeyong, prior to him spilling his load inside of your mouth, is a devil-like smirk that played with his lips. He jerked his wrist quickly a few times, grip tightening around his aching length with every pump up and compact slide downwards. “Agh,” he groaned, eyebrows furrowing themselves together.  “Open up,” he demanded. “Y-you said you wanted a taste, right?”

Sweat proceeded to drip down his temples; his skin became damp from the entire session. He steadied his leaking cock by your mouth, eyes barely able to keep themselves open as he attempted to watch you swallow him and his load.

“Ah,” you voiced, impatient.

Taeyong hushed you by sliding the head of his hard dick over your petal-like lips, the tip resting at the edge of your parting. Completely aware of what you wanted, he stopped pumping himself to let you take over. He barely had a hold of his own cock that twinged; within moments, he emptied his cum inside of your mouth.

It came in spurts, the splashing ivory and milky texture; it coated your mouth and gained a thick layer over your tongue that then bathed in the salty wetness. Everything became messy: some landed on your chin and dripped down to your neck, a few drops even fell down your cheeks. He moved away for a split second; though, a split second was all you needed to swallow what he emptied inside of your cavern before you reached your head over to his cock once more. You took the tip in your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head and tongue flicking over the salty slit. Your taste buds were met with a burst of saltine as you milked him dry and relished in the exquisite taste that came from his need.

“F-fuck,” he uttered, his head throwing back. His eyes clamped shut from the light contact of your lips around his sensitive member, a groan lodging in his chest.

Taeyong’s hands flew to your hair once more to give it a few gentle tugs. “B-baby, I- stop, I’m too sensitive-”

With one last dip to the base, your nose hitting his lower abdomen, Taeyong bent over and released a miniature cry—one that was a clear signal that this moment alone was far too much for him to handle.

You released him with a pop, a bright grin gracing your face as you licked the outline of your lips slowly; your half-open eyes locked with his that are completely clouded, both minds in a grey daze of raw lust. Taeyong gulped, unsure of what to say. The way you looked beneath him was an image he would love to etch in the quilt of his memory—and so he did. Your tongue peeked out from your mouth to lick the remnants of his wetness, and it was quickly followed up with two of your fingers swiping over the dribbles that remained on your face. You eyed the pearl-like stickiness for a heartbeat right before you slid your two digits in your mouth, delighted by the sensation.

“S-shit,” he cursed. “You look so hot doing that, baby.”

Taeyong lowered himself next to you, being completely drained. He planted a kiss on your forehead, fragments of fatigue already creeping back to his body. You turned your body to face him, love replacing the lust that was once limpid in your own two orbs. You grabbed onto his hand and gained a firm grasp that he tried to return back. You kissed his nose softly. “What about that date you wanted to go on afterwards?” you asked him, sweat-coated limbs already tangling with his own.

“We can do it later—when I wake up from a nap, probably,” he informed you. “I want to be there when you’re picking out lingerie.”

“Oh?” You cocked an eyebrow up, voice raising into a childlike excitement. “You liked what you saw?”

Taeyong smirked. “I always like what I see.”

“More than your game?” you questioned, forehead touching his own.

He paused, humming in thought. “I’d miss out on a lot if I fell in love with my video games.”

You rolled your eyes. “You act like you’re not in love with them now. I had to find a distraction.”

“But I love you more,” he pressed, holding your hand tighter, “and if it means for things like… today to happen again, then you should know my choice.”

“So…” you trailed off, another idea surfacing in your mind. “How does tomorrow sound?”

[rhapsody-under-pressure]

Moonlight Magic pt 5

“No, no it’s like this.” Brian explained, taking out his wand and waving it in the required motion. John stared in his direction, not truly looking at anything and seeming to prefer watching paint dry. The little cactus in front of them immediately flourished, it’s bright pink flowers decorating it while a healthy shade of green spread from top to bottom. Even once the plant’s health was restored, John barely looked at it, still staring blankly at the wall opposite of them.

“Hey! You wanna pass or not?” Brian asked, snapping his fingers in front of John’s face.

“God, I just don’t care! I couldn’t care less about plants!” He groaned, leaning back in his chair and letting out a loud sigh. “I’m never going to bloody use this! And whatever her name is doesn’t exactly make this interesting!”

“You got two years-”

“Yeah great but I could actually be focusing on something helpful! God I’d rather be in potions, least I can use that later on.”

“I thought you wanted to work with animals.” Brian commented.

“Well yeah! I can use potions on animals. Or using them to help others or…” He drifted off, looking down at the table and shrugging. “It’s ridiculous, forget it.” John muttered.

“Hey helping others with that isn’t ridiculous. Though, knowing you, you’d use it on a hippogriff before a human.”

“So? They don’t complain as much.” John paused for a second. “It’s just…What if there was some other way to help Fred out.”

The solemn look on John’s face returned. Even yesterday after their chat that morning, he’d been so much quieter around them, even though he had said he was perfectly fine with what they had told him. And yet, his attitude only showed the exact opposite.

“I mean, there are people out there right now trying to do something. Believe me, I want to help more too. But I don’t know anything about making new potions or anything nor do I really know what happens with...them when they come out…” Brian admitted. As much as he hated saying it, he didn’t want to know what happened, how it looked, or how it acted. He had enough of the latter three years ago. Like Freddie would even allow him to know about it anyway.

“Isn’t pretty in the slightest.” John told him. “I’ve only seen drawings of it and what people always say happens but really, it’s just looks painful, let alone what it actually feels like. Really, the only thing we know about it is that it hurts. It’s gotta kill Fred to go through it by himself…” He began, something reigniting in his eyes and he turned around to his bag that sat next to them. Brian leaned forward a bit, watching him rummage through his book all while whispering excitedly under his breath.

“I read it among those books Jenk gave me. Something about protecting oneself from a werewolf.” He said while rushing through the pages of a book he himself hadn’t ever seen. “See! Right there! ‘Werewolves, while extremely dangerous, and possibly lethal, to humans, are of little to no harm to other species. Its sole purpose is to spread the curse via its nasty bite to other humans. This is why many wizards who are often attacked by werewolves have few, if any, other injuries to their bodies minus the bite. Only in rare instances does the beast intend to kill or continue attacking after biting its victim.’”

“Okay and please explain why that’s helpful? What do I just toss some bunnies in there?”

“What’re you, daft? One of us just has to become an animagus!” John exclaimed happily. “It might help him. Though he, well, can’t control himself, the company might help him out a bit. And one of us would be right there to help in the morning!”

Brian merely scoffed at the idea. It’d be impossible to do so. Like the school or ministry would allow a student to ever become one, especially if it dealt with keeping a werewolf company. They’d never let him do it and it was ridiculous for John to even fathom the idea.

“No.” He told him bluntly. “John you’ve any idea how dangerous that is!? Just cause animals aren’t as susceptible to being bitten doesn’t mean they’re invulnerable. Besides, you think the ministry’s gonna allow one of us to do that?”

“They don’t have to know. There’s plenty of books on becoming one-”

“Yes, and there’s hundreds of steps to follow and thousands of ways it could go wrong- disastrously wrong.” Brian told him. A saddened look instantly formed on John’s face, John folding up his book and sighing softly, prompting Brian to instinctively place his hand on his shoulder. “I know you wanna help but right now all we’ve got is that room to lock it up in.”

“Yeah, the room you two won’t even bother to show me.” John growled.

“John, you only found out yesterday.”

“Lemme see it still!” He begged. “Hardly anyone’s here! Would you rather do it with everyone else bustling around here?”

He opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the right words to refute John’s plead. No matter how anyone wanted to put it, Brian couldn’t get rid of that pit in his stomach. It just felt…wrong. Like he was betraying some governmental secret to an enemy. That room had been known to only he and Freddie since their third year and the chance of someone else finding it always left the chance for them to find out what really happened in there.

“Do you think I’ll let someone know about it?” John asked accusingly, his own betrayal appearing on his face.

“No! No, of course not! It’s just…”

“C’mon Bri. It’s a quick thing and I’m gonna have to know how to get in there, aren’t I?”

Each argument was just breaking him more and more. How could he say no? In reality, there wasn’t any reason to say no. And yet, he still didn’t want to. Of course he trusted John and he knew no one else in this school was going to find out. So why was he so nervous about showing him?

Yet his conscious couldn’t fight back anymore. He agreed and sat up, John instantly leaping up from his seat and dashing down the stairs and waiting right by the exit of his house. Brian forced a nervous smile, his own guilt continuing to gnaw at his rational while he led John down the corridor and out into the tower. It felt horrendously wrong for him to go near that room again, especially without Freddie being anywhere near the room, or inside the room. John’s own excited and curious expression wasn’t helping either. How could someone look so eager to see that hellish room? Was it some sick interest of his to see something that ravaged? The mere idea made the small pit of anger grow.

They climbed down the final set of stairs, Brian already following the path that had been ingrained into his mind after doing this so many times. His feet led themselves, John following close behind and almost copying his every movement, as though he had to do everything exactly as he did.

And then came the hallway. Nothing was out of the ordinary. No other students, no teachers, not even a stray rat scuttling across the stone floor. The large window sat at the end of the hall, the grey clouds stretched across the sky while the snow continued to fall down onto the frozen blanket that sat on top of the grounds. Not an ounce of darkness sat in the sky and the impending night was hours away, making it feel even more wrong for them to be anywhere near this area.

“It’s down the hall.” Brian told him bluntly, annoyance seeping into every word as they approached the area. John looked towards the wall, his grey eyes studying it for any abnormalities so he would know where it could possibly be.

“Just…picture a room. Any room you want. After that, all you have to do is-” He began walking up and down the area, Brian now desperately trying to come up with a room in time. “-Walk back and forth three times.”

Just like that, a wooden door appeared on the wall. John jumped back but immediately drew closer, dragging his hands across the wood and looking back towards him. Brian’s stomach dropped as he took out his wand, cautiously opening it up and heading inside. Even before he opened the door, he could imagine what was strewn across it.

Upon opening it, John rushed ahead, instantly freezing as soon as he laid eyes on the scene. It was just as Brian remembered it and it brought back the sick feeling he had gotten that morning. The only difference was the lack of Freddie curled up in the corner, his whole body slack across the floor and blood gushing out of each visible wound. But the blood stains, ruined décor, and tufts of fur still remained.

“He’s…Stuck in here?” John asked softly. “It looks…Different.”

“What’d you expect? A prison?” Brian asked bitterly, knowing full well how many times he had made it look like a cage.

John’s face went white as he turned away from him. He continued to look around the mangled room, kneeling down and timidly reaching out to a rather large clump of fur. The phantom touch of that beast’s fur ran along the tips of his fingers, the loud thud of it crashing against the ground sounding from behind him. His grip around his wand tightened, his body preparing itself for some form of attack.

“S…Surely you don’t…” John began, sorrow starting to lace his eyes as he sat down, jumping as his hand touched a patch of dry blood.

“We gotta. It’s not this exact one every time…” He said. “I try to make it different each time.”

“Wouldn’t it break out? I mean, glass isn’t too hard to-”

“Enchanted.”

“And you can’t have no windows. It might kill him if he skips a moon.” John told him, forcing himself back on his feet and walking over to the windows, trailing his hands across the glass and staring out to the grounds. He himself could truly only focus on the marks in the wall near the glass while John continued to take everything in at once.

“Have you ever…Seen anything?”

“No. Really only heard a b-bit…” Brian admitted, forcing back any resurfacing memories. “I don’t want to either.” he said, turning away from John’s curious and worried expression.

He took a seat near one of the cleaner parts of the room, falling back against the wall and sliding down until he hit the ground. John continued to look around, his odd curiosity bustling beneath the concern in his grey eyes.

“Tsk…To think this place is heaven compared to what we gotta do at home…” Brian began, this comment now earning John’s attention. “Lock it up in our old shack at my house and toss so many charms onto it while keeping our families quiet so they don’t get hurt.” He buried his face in his hands, every muscle in his body tensing up at the sheer thought of having to do all that again. “Freddie wouldn’t forgive himself…He couldn’t live with himself if he hurt anything…”

That terrible thought filled his mind, Brian using every ounce of strength he had to push it right to the back of his mind, trying desperately to control his expression to keep it as neutral as possible. Something lit up on John’s face, causing him to cautiously walk over and take a seat next to him. He watched as he picked up another bloody tuft of fur, rolling it around in his fingers and letting it fall to the ground, immediately wiping away any possible blood that stuck to his fingers.

“I just want him safe…” Brian said softly. “And I couldn’t even do that! He’s the…the best thing in my life. The best person I could ever have come across.” His heart skipped a beat. “You should’ve seen him when we first met. I’d tripped on a loose tile on the way to class and he helped me up.” He scoffed and let a small grin make its way up onto his face. “I was just enamored with him…” All that filled his mind now were those lovely images of Freddie baring that wide smile of his, one that he really only let show when it was just the two of them, his brandy eyes beaming with that wild energy of his or that brazen light sneaking up onto his face as he’d act like some pompous queen, talking in his eloquent voice that grabbed his attention, no matter what it was that he’d tell him.

“Trust me…I know the feeling. It’s really only been a year but Roger’s just…absolutely wonderful. God knows he’s an insolent brat at times…But he’s just…So wonderful. Been like that since we met on the train here and he let me sit in his compartment. He was right pissed when I didn’t get in Gryffindor…” John gave a quick laugh. “But he kept it up. Using any opportunity he had to come see me or try to get to know me.”

“And then you nearly had him in tears for an hour when you said you’d go to Hogsmede with him last Valentine’s Day. He came right up to me shouting ‘He said yes!’ for a whole minute and went right on about you for the whole hour.”

“Really?” John asked, his eyes growing softer as a relaxed smile grew across his face. “He puts on such a show at times-”

“Oh God Freddie’s like that too! Sassy little shit he can be out in public but you just get all soft around him and he melts in your hand.”

“Jesus Roger’s just like that! Puts on his little cheeky attitude but soon as he’s with us or just me he’s a big softie.” He paused and sighed softly. “It’s really cute…”

Brian snickered softly, leaning forward and looking out towards the window. Snow was slowly falling, almost every flake visible as it drifted down to the earth. Those warm feeling began to heat up, that fierce fire for revenge and the steel plated protection taking its place. He wanted to be back on that night and take the dammed thing’s life. It’d be the best thing anyway. Whoever was infected wouldn’t spread that curse anymore and Freddie wouldn’t be petrified of running into that one ever again.

“He nearly died.” Brian stated, John staring right at him, Brian’s own gaze growing harder. Brian inhaled deeply, his clothes feeling like they were growing damper and damper again while he used every ounce of his strength to lug his partner back to the castle. “T-they’re not meant to k-kill…So why did it try to do so with Freddie? H-he shouldn’t have b-been b-bitten…let alone nearly killed.”

He gave a helpless look towards John, hoping he’d give some kind of answer to one of the countless questions that lurked at the back of his mind. How come it was him? What did he do to deserve this? All Freddie wanted was a night with him…And he nearly died because of it. Even now he looked so close to death every month because of it. Why? What on earth did he do to deserve this sort of life?

“He c-could’ve died…H-he could’ve died that night. They’re not meant to bloody kill anyone! So why did it keep hurting him?!” He growled, unable to shake away the constant bombardment of hideous images from that night. Just how close he had been to losing him and what might’ve happened afterwards. Everyone would blame him. They had every right to do so anyway. He didn’t help and they’d blame him now if word ever got out.

“Well…There’s an idea that they only do that because they’ve been deprived of a human for so long. So they just get too excited and-”

“And that’s why he could’ve died!? Because that ruddy creature couldn’t go bite itself and whine about not getting to attack an innocent child! He was thirteen John! Adults barely know how to deal with this! Let alone a thirteen-year-old! Even now we don’t know what to do! I won’t know what to do if I ever run out of herbs or if he attacks himself to near death! I won’t know what to do if I ever get hurt! Hell if I ever get bit by it, Freddie’s-” He cut his sentence off, not wanting to think of what he would ever do if he ever infected him.

Tears finally welled up in his eyes, the building pressure that had been growing since John mentioned this room finally making him snap. He hated breaking down because of this. He refused to do so in front of Freddie. He could not be the weak one. Not now, not ever. And yet there he was, breaking down in front of John who had no idea what the hell to do because he’d only just been thrown into this whole mess. Now he was throwing all of this crap right at him, expecting him to know what the hell to do when even he didn’t know after dealing with it for years.

“I can’t lose him…I just can’t, John…He tries so hard to stay strong through all this, like it’s not affecting him. But you’ve seen him. He just gets so empty when it has to happen. There’s none of that energy or feistiness. He’s so subdued and quiet…It’s awful to have to watch a-and just…He tries to act strong, he tries so hard. He doesn’t talk about it and doesn’t whine about it unless it just happened or he’s scared because he might hurt one of us.” He looked back at John who was still looking for the right thing to say. “He’s so scared of hurting us. Not just if he ever…infects us but if this secret ever gets out to the rest of the world. We’d take a giant hit from everyone out there because we’re involved in harboring one of them at this school. Parents would be furious; our families wouldn’t be the same…I might lose him. My parents wouldn’t let me be with him anymore…” His words finally stopped coming out, a few choked out noises taking their place as he tried wiping away the pool of tears that hung at the corner of his eyes. The noises fell apart and dissolved into complete sobbing. To think he’d nearly lost him once. He just couldn’t come near that again, not because of this stupid, unfair thing.

“You won’t lose him. Bri c’mon now. You’ve lasted this long! That’s gotta be something!” John tried, grabbing his arm to try and shake him out of his hysteria.

“It’s like you gotta wake up every morning, wondering if it’s the last day your lives are gonna be the same. Every single day it’s like that…Even you just finding out threw everything off. Anyone else and we’d probably be thrown right in front of the headmaster or the Ministry. Hell Roger would flip if he found out.”

“I doubt that would-”

“Oh come off it John!” He snapped. “You know what he thinks of those things. He hates them far more than the average person! He’d probably kill it on sight if he didn’t see him beforehand…”

“Roger wouldn’t do that. He might just hurt it but he’s incapable of killing anything. It’s just not in him…”

Anyone with functioning ears could hear the stress John was placing in each and every word that came out of his mouth but Brian just couldn’t accept anything he was saying. He knew what’d happen if Roger laid eyes on any of those things, especially if someone’s life was in danger. If he ever saw John near one…Someone wasn’t making it out of there alive.

“I know him. You know him. He’s not going to kill anything. Even a werewolf.”

He had heard everything John had said, but they all dissolved into some incoherent babbling that he wouldn’t be able to remember, let alone believe. John’s refusal to accept what would happen just made him sicker. Out of all the people in their group, John should be the one who knew about Roger. Even in class he was said to act so different whenever they spoke about these creatures. If he ever saw one…

Yet that was the exact reaction everyone would have. Fear or anger. That’s it. No one would straight up walk to one and pet it like it was some domesticated dog. They’d hide or run away. Most might even try to kill it the instant they saw it, giving little or no thought to the fact that that beast was a human almost all the time. Would they go and throw a curse at a normal wolf or human? No. They bloody wouldn’t. If it was a human, they’d try and help. If it was a wolf, they’d leave it be. Both could attack them and kill them but it was the idea that they’d be infected themselves that drove them off. No one needed to kill it…But so many would.

“Sometimes I wonder if it was better to let him go that night…” Brian finally whispered.

“Brian!”

“What if it was? What if he did die that night…We’d be sad and miss him…He wouldn’t suffer or-”

“Brian!” John started, shaking him out of his daze. “Listen to me. That wouldn’t help at all. Him living here is always better than him dying that young. You wouldn’t have accepted it and damn it all if Freddie gave in the instant he found out. It takes so much to bloody break him and it takes a lot to break you too. Don’t let it be this.”

Fog began to cover his mind as he tried to keep every dastardly thought out of it. No matter what they weren’t going to be safe. He couldn’t lose him…The mere thought nearly made his heart stop. But maybe if he had let him go back then it’d be easier now and…No, it wouldn’t be. They’d just be crushed and he could only begin to imagine if Roger knew what had killed one of his closest friends.

“John please…” He began, giving a grim look around the room, not wanting to be around any of it now. “Can we get out of here? I don’t want anyone to find us coming out of here.”

Hurt spread across John’s face, not giving another argument and stood right up, holding out his hand to help him get up. Brian gladly took it, his head pounding furiously, causing the room to spin around him. He held his ground, keeping his eyes shut as much as he could while he and John made their way out of the room. As they approached the door, Brian released John’s hand, looking ahead as a volatile urge began to rush through his body.

“You wait outside.” He ordered, giving him a harsh stare to silence any further back talk. He said nothing and walked out, Brian knowing he had gotten his seriousness. He yanked his wand out of his pocket, his grip tightening around it as he turned around and stared at the room in front of him.

“Incendio.” He growled under his breath, watching the jet of orange flames shoot out of the tip of his wand and instantly hitting the carpet in front of him. Heat hit his face as the fire began setting everything in front of him alight. Scarlet, blazing reds and oranges, and the cooler slashes of gold curled and spread rapidly across the room, latching onto anything that wasn’t stone, making quick work of burning it to a black crisp.

He so wanted to let it burn. To let every ounce of powerful magic in this room to finally go up in smoke so that he wouldn’t ever have to trap Freddie in here again. So that he would never have to imagine the pain he went through because he’d broken his oath to protect him from harm. And yet, he couldn’t. He couldn’t let it go on for any longer. Once smoke began to cloud the ceiling and made his breathing grow steadily more difficult, he sighed, giving in and flicking his hand around, putting the rest of his focus into casting the required charm. Clear water shot from the tip, Brian trying to let it spread as far as possible to silence every trace of fire. Flames sizzled and cried under the gushing water that crashed over it, the heat plummeting until the room felt cold and damp once more, the only remnants being the small clouds of smoke and the charred floor and walls, leaving nothing left but the stone that resided beneath the carpet.

…

“Did you show him?”

Brian and John looked over at Freddie, who was toying around with the remaining chicken on his plate. A half-eaten bread roll sat to the side, the butter still continuing to melt against the still warm inside and a few bits of braised carrots were still at the edge of the plate, the sweet coating still clinging to the corner of Freddie’s mouth.

“Yeah…” John answered for him. “Showed me how to get in and what to do before.” He said, cutting off any further explanation about what had happened.

“And?”

“Didn’t know what I’d expect. Certainly wasn’t what I thought but, well, definitely does work.”

Freddie gave a painful smile, shrugging soon after and taking another bite of the chicken at the end of his fork. John continued to wolf down the rest of his meal, happily taking another scoop of stuffing from the bowl in front of them even though there was still some on his plate. He felt Freddie’s hand on his leg a second later, the gentle touch feeling oddly comforting and making his muscles relax.

“Bri, dear, why’s your cloak burned?” Freddie asked, Brian glancing down and seeing a rough, grey patch sitting near the edge. The memory flickered to life, all the fire surrounding the room and just how good it felt to see everything melt and turn to ash, vanishing from sight so he would never have to see it ever again.

“Accident with a potion. Some spilled and caught it.”

“Explains why you reek of smoke. Jesus you look like you were playing with dragons.”

“Now that’d be something I’d pay to do! You ever see one up close!?” John exclaimed, his eyes bustling with excitement. “They’re absolutely marvelous to watch!”

“And you’d be burned to a crisp in a second.” Freddie replied.

“Nonsense! They’re like every other animal when they’re scared.” Something else flashed across John’s eyes, but it vanished a second later. “Just gotta know what’s scaring them and you can help any of them.”

“You try telling that to Kettleburn. Poor guy’s already lost a limb because of animals.” Brian continued, only for John to scoff at his response.

“He said that was when he was younger. Hippogriffs get like that from time to time.” John finished, adding a proud smirk at them before returning to his meal.

God we’ve another Scamander here don’t we. Brian thought as he began finishing his own meal. Freddie reached out in front of him, grabbing another roll of bread and scoffing it down like it was the first thing he’d eaten in months. He took a moment to wipe away the remaining food that hung around his mouth and leaned over, adding a quick peck on his cheek and earning a hearty laugh from his partner.

“Someone’s being cuddly.” Freddie commented, wiping up the remaining gravy from his plate with one last piece of bread, eating it in one go. Before anyone could respond, Freddie lunged at him and pinned him down against the seats, giggling playfully as he leaned down and planted his mouth right against his. Warmth rushed through his body, forcing back the mortification that had arisen for just a split second. He moved his hand up behind Freddie, laying them against his back while he placed his own atop his chest.

“Oh c’mon guys, have some kind of decency.” John said, from above, Freddie not daring to pull away just yet.

Brian joined in, wanting to savor the fleeting moment for just a few more seconds before someone else caught them. He pulled him closer, hearing him hum softly against his collarbone. Neither wanted to let go, and who could blame him for not wanting to? At that moment, he couldn’t care about anything. Freddie’s touch seemed to alleviate every ailment that plagued his thoughts and brought a beautiful light into his mind that touched the very culmination of his soul. Peace, serenity, love…Everything began to gather strength once more. Until, as expected, something tore it away.

“May! Bulsara! Get off each other now!”

Even with the harsh shout from McGonagall, both didn’t rush to part. It felt far too nice to have him pressed up against him and he truly missed it. He missed tranquility and how much time they had spent together. Now it just felt like they were distant and it petrified him for any of that once powerful spark to die off because they just had no time.

Once they did separate, Brian’s mind kept working while his body wanted to just nestle up to Freddie in their room with some music in the background, nothing and no one to bother them with any nonsense or news that would take their mind of the other. They needed to be somewhere hardly anyone could get into, besides that accursed room. A light formed in his mind, Brian unable to hold back the smile that instantly spread across his face once it began to settle into place.

“What’re you thinking about Bri?” John asked after he downed his juice.

“Nothing. Just what I might do later on.”

His eyes flashed over to Freddie, a dejected shadow passing over his face. Oh don’t worry love…He thought softly, hoping he could read his thoughts for just a few seconds. It’ll just be us, no one else. He promised silently, reaching over and grabbing his hand. Freddie jumped in his spot, looking down and giving a soft smirk before leaning over and wrapping his arms around his waist, humming softly while he toyed around with the edge of his cloak. A movement caught the edge of his eye, Brian adding a quick look towards John, whose own face was growing sad with longing.

“Hey, Roger’ll be back soon. I bet he’s sending another letter out.” Brian said.

“Yeah, yeah he probably is he but…I dunno I just, miss him.” He whispered sadly. “It’s hard knowing he’s not here. I just hope he’s alright.”

“Why wouldn’t he be, dear?” Freddie asked out of curiosity.

John scoffed, now looking down. “Nothing…I’m just being paranoid, aren’t I?”

“No, not at all.” Freddie replied, sitting up and looking at him with worry, Brian’s own concern starting to grow.

John didn’t even need to say it. The memory hit him like a brick. When John did finally talk, Freddie’s face fell, guilt spreading over his face.

“Thirtieth is almost here. I like being with him when it comes ‘round.” He answered. “He always goes to the grave and I gotta remind him that he couldn’t do anything to help. He was only seven. Even adults can’t…” He cut himself off, immediately taking his eyes off the both of them. Freddie sighed heavily, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

“You can send him a letter. How ‘bout that? We’ll come if you want.” Freddie suggested, Brian adding a hopeful nod afterwards.

“Thanks…I dunno if Rosie would wanna fly-”

“Oh fuck that! You know she’s a strong enough owl to handle the cold. Plus, Roger’ll help her out once she gets there. He loves that thing just as much as he loves Zephyr.” Freddie exclaimed, jumping up from his seat and smiling widely. “Oooh, we should send him something! John, dear, you’ve anything to send him? Something from Hogsmede? Or-”

“Don’t worry. I got him a broomstick and an additional care kit back when I went to Diagon Alley in August. Sent it to his house before he left so his parents could wrap it. Cost nearly every galleon I had but I know he loved it. God the guy loves brooms…”

“Should write a song about it.” Brian remarked.

“But a letter does sound nice…” John resumed. “Quick little thing would be nice.” His face fell once more. “God I wish I could be there…”

“Sometimes you just can’t be.” Brian reminded him. “Doesn’t mean you sit back and do nothing. You always do what you can.”

John hummed in response, getting up from his spot. Freddie instantly rushed ahead, grabbing John’s cloak and tugging him out of the lunchroom, Brian being forced to dash after the pair, John now too stunned to even speak after Freddie’s sudden burst of energy. They all ran across the castle until ending up outside and near the stairs of the Owlery. Brian nearly collapsed onto the stone steps while John was clinging to Freddie for support, the originator of this whole thing standing proudly and looking at them like they were the crazy ones for not being able to keep up.

“Now that was nothing! Come on you slowpokes, every second is precious!” Freddie berated, leaning down and yanking himself up from the steps.

“Fre-Freddie! We just…just ran across t-the entire…bloody campus! Give…Give us a…second…” Brian managed, still trying his best to breathe.

Freddie rolled his eyes, kicking his leg up against the wall to the Owlery. By the time both had regained their breath, Freddie was impatiently tapping his foot against the stone and staring them down.

“C’mon then.” He said in a much softer tone.

Owls hooting and screeching hit them as soon as they opened the door, dozens of large eyes turning their way and watching them as they walked in. Only a second later did many just return to looking around, sleeping, eating, or cleaning themselves. John walked forward, looking around for his little barred owl, who was already flying down from up high to land on the windowsill, her little leg stretched out and ready for his parcel or letter.

“Anyone got paper?”

Unexpectedly, and surprisingly, it was Freddie who had the spare sheet and quill, to which John just shook his head and took out a pen, Brian snickering at the time when he had pulled it out in front of Roger and had to spend ten minutes explaining pens to him. He laid the parchment out on the little table that sat in the middle of the room, Rosie flying over and sitting next to him, nibbling at his ear while hooting happily. Brian tried to look over John’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of what he might be writing, only to have Freddie grab his sleeve and pull him back, shaking his head dismissively and motioning to stand next to him.

Freddie laid his head against his arm, pressing against him like some cuddly cat, to which Brian began to stroke his back, hearing him hum softly.

“I miss you…” He whispered.

“I miss you too.” He said back, unable to hold back a smile once he moved even closer.

“I’m glad it’s a holiday. Get to spend some time out of classes.” Freddie began, his eyes moving over to John. “What’d you think happened this time?”

“Probably the same thing. You know what they’re like. Poor bloke probably didn’t want to deal with it again.”

“Hmph…” Freddie huffed. “Lousy prats. I’m surprised Roger hasn’t socked them in the jaw yet.”

“He probably would’ve but John doesn’t want him to. It’d make it worse.”

God I’d probably punch them. Brian thought bitterly, adding a worried glance John’s way as he continued writing his letter. Freddie pushed himself even closer, leaning the side of his face against his chest and shutting his eyes. He couldn’t help but shut his own, tightening his own hold around Freddie and savoring the peaceful atmosphere for those few seconds that it existed. Only when Rosie gave a loud cry did Brian open his eyes, turning his attention over to John who was wrapping up his letter with a loose piece of string and tying it to his little owl’s leg. Her wings flapped excitedly, chittering in her high-pitched voice.

“Get it to Rog as soon as you can.” John instructed, his little owl turning and flying out the window in a second. John absentmindedly walked over to the window, laying his hands on the stone windowsill and staring out at the sky, rays of sunlight hitting his small face and turning his eyes into a bright silver.

“Hey, he’ll get it. He’s tough anyway, he’ll be okay…” Freddie told him, John not moving his gaze away from the sky.

Freddie didn’t wait for a response. He let go of him and walked over, laying his hand on the center of John’s back, the touch still not moving his eyes away from the sky. His body seemed to go weak, yet he forced himself to stand tall and fight back any of the rising emotions and turned to face Freddie. Neither of them spoke but even Brian knew what they were both saying. Freddie motioned towards the door, John nodding and following. Brian followed behind each of them, shutting the door and heading down steps.

“C’mon John, it’s okay.” Brian told him softly, seeing him look behind him with a concerned expression.

“Yeah…Yeah I know. It’s just…I miss him, that’s all.” He replied, his eyes starting to shine even more with the collection of tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

“Hey, that guy’s one of the toughest out of all of us.”

“It’s not that!” John barked, an uncharacteristic anger spreading across his face as he spun around, his hands curled into fists at his sides. Freddie snapped into attention and turned around, moving forward to try and help, only for John to storm past him and down the steps, vanishing from sight within seconds. Brian lunged forward, Freddie reaching out to stop him, only to be pushed back and nearly falling over from the force.

“Brian dear, don’t.” Freddie said, looking behind him in the direction John had ran. “Let him calm down. He’s going through a lot right now.”

“But-”

“Brian.” Freddie repeated, now looking him right in the eye and breaking him instantly. Brian let his arms fall to his side as he looked down at the ground.

“I just wanted to help.”

Freddie gave him a grim stare. “You can’t do that with everyone…You just can’t do that…”

…

Neither had seen John for the rest of the day. Wherever he had run off to had to be well hidden for no one else had seen him either, though there hadn’t exactly been many students to ask. Once it had been dinner, they gave up, knowing something bad must’ve been bothering him if it meant he wasn’t showing up to the last meal of the day. And yet, for Freddie, it was nice not having John there. It was so nice to just have some time between him and Brian without the impending worry of someone interrupting them. While he was still a tad bit sullen, he knew he was starting to get back to his better mood once he got some food in him. Again he took his usual seat laying against Brian’s lap, moving his hand away from him only to grab another bit of his dinner.

“And then I said to him ‘I’ll buy your silence for the rest of the year!’ and all he did was just march right off!” Freddie exclaimed “Just walked right away like I wasn’t worth his bloody time! God the nerve of some people!” Freddie then pulled a smirk. “I still won though. Last time anyone wants to comment on what I’m wearing.”

He lifted one of his legs into the air, tossing his head back and shutting his eyes, laying one of his hands on top of his chest, trying to pull his most regal face. “I could dress like a queen if I had money! Good lord imagine going somewhere with galleons upon galleons to spend! Be absolutely marvelous!”

“We wouldn’t get out for ten hours knowing you!”

“Precisely!” Freddie continued, shooting up and throwing both hands up into the air. “It’d be splendid! Plus, I could get you some shirts without buttons since you have no idea how to button them all up! Hm…Then again I don’t mind the view.”

“Don’t you bloody start again.” Brian groaned, adding a quick look around to make sure no one was watching this time around.

“Hm, don’t be so prude darling.” Freddie purred against the side of his face, moving even closer and laying both hands on his leg. He added a playful bite at the back of his jaw, snickering as he felt Brian’s face instantly heat up. “It’s cute when you’re shy.”

Despite what he wanted to do, Freddie refrained and pulled away, finishing up the last bit of his meal before pushing away the golden platter. His eyes moved down towards the middle of Brian’s cloak, the idea only having a second to truly manifest in his head before he reached out and yanked his wand out of its pocket. Brian turned towards him, nearly choking on his pumpkin juice. He instantly reached out, his hand swiping at the air as Freddie jumped back, wiggling the wand around between his pointer finger and thumb and baring a playful grin.

“Come and get it Bri.” He teased, jumping back again as Brian lashed out again.

“Why you-” He began, Freddie catching that smile on his face before he fought it back.

“Gotta be quicker than that!”

He leapt off the chairs and landed on the ground, not even giving a glance back to see if Brian was chasing him, his loud footsteps answering that question for him. They both dashed out of the main hall, Freddie making sure to keep ahead of his boyfriend to avoid capture. He rounded the nearest corner, hurrying down the corridor and finally taking a peek behind him, seeing Brian desperately trying to keep up with him. You’d think he’d be quicker with those long legs. Freddie vanished around the next right, dashing up the stairs and pausing at the top, sticking his tongue out just as soon as Brian got to the end of the stairs.

“Now I can’t be that fast, can I?” He taunted, whirling around and climbing up the last set of stairs towards the north tower.

This time around, his own speed began to diminish, forcing him to slow his pace ever so slightly. Brian’s approach sounded from behind him as he reached the door to the Ravenclaw house. The eagle sprang to life, giving its little riddle and Freddie having just enough time to answer it before hurrying inside. He turned and helped the door close even faster, grinning wildly at Brian’s stunned expression as he rushed towards the door.

Before Brian could get inside, he headed up the stairs and into their dorm, shutting the door behind him and looking around the empty room. Where to hide…Where to-oh! Just as the sound of Brian’s marching up the stairs sounded through the wooden door, Freddie stuck his wand down his trousers, hiding it on top of his left thigh.

“Come and catch me big boy.” Freddie continued, leaping on top of his bed just as Brian lunged for him.

Unfortunately, the bed wasn’t as sturdy as the floor was. Freddie took one last jump back on top of it and instantly lost his balance, falling right down onto the mattress with a loud thud, his body rising up once more before falling still. He tried to get back up, but Brian was on him in an instant, placing one of his legs atop his waist and pinning both his hands down to the bed.

“Alright, where’d you hide it?” He asked, fighting back his smirk to try and keep his serious charade going.

“Gotta look around. Bet you’ll like the hiding spot.” He answered, lifting his waist up ever so slightly.

A light Freddie hadn’t seen in so long shined inside of Brian’s gaze, making him instinctively bite down on his lip. Without another word, Brian planted his mouth on top of his, letting go of his wrists and latching onto his clothes. Their heavy breathing filled the room, soon mixing with the sound of shuffling clothes. His hand grabbed at Brian’s cloak, tearing it right off of him and letting it fall to the ground while he wriggled out of his own. He felt his hand land on top of his leg, running up along the wand that had gotten him into his current position. Yet he knew Brian didn’t care at this point, for he just quickly went back to undressing him.

It was only when he removed his shirt did something unsettling started to churn around within his stomach. Stop it stop it stop it. He ordered, trying to get himself back into the moment. But the touches and sounds were starting to lose their effect. He tried his best to try and cover his chest back up, not wanting all the new scars to be seen again. His attempt failed instantly, for Brian thought he was just being playful and easily pushed his arm aside, placing his splayed hand on top of his chest and running it across every single white line. Once his hand grabbed the back of his legs in an attempt to really get started, Freddie pulled himself away, getting as much of himself out from underneath his lover as he could. Brian sat up, concern seeping into his eyes once more as Freddie reached out and grabbed a pillow, covering himself back up as much as he could.

“I’m sorry…” He whispered. He grabbed the wand out from underneath his trousers and held it out, Brian taking it and laying it on top of his nightstand. “I thought I’d be ready but-”

“Fred, we’ve done it before-”

“Yeah and we were both fully clothed in a fucking dungeon. Besides, we didn’t really do anything. Jerking each other off is different then-”

He silenced him with another kiss, gently cupping the side of his face. Brian instantly returned to running his hands across his body, Freddie groaning uncomfortably as he tried doing so again.

“Brian stop it.” He said with a much sterner voice, guilt tightening his stomach as he pulled away once again. He looked back at him, shutting his eyes and turning away once he saw that lost look upon his face again. I just can’t…

A cold touch hit his hand, Brian’s own interlocking with his. When he opened his eyes again, he saw something new light up Brian’s face. He opened his mouth to question it, only to have Brian shush him. For a moment, his curiosity beat out his guilt. He lifted him up from the bed, grabbing his shirt from the mattress and holding it out to him.

“Follow me.” He told him once he got his shirt back on.

He cocked his eyebrow at him, Brian giving no further explanation but still holding out his hand for him to take. The two of them left the room again, Freddie still holding onto his hand while they made their way out of the dormitory, down the stairs, and back out into the main part of the castle. They continued down towards Brian’s selected corridor, Freddie desperately hoping they weren’t going towards the room.

Yet his confusion continued when they paused in front of the bewildered statue, Brian looking a bit to the left before leading him in that direction. He gave the required password, Freddie watching the door creak open and Brian lead him inside.

The unnaturally golden glow of the bathroom hit him instantly, making his eyes squint at its brightness. In front of him lied the monstrous “bathtub” with its rows of golden taps sparkling beneath the light. He gave a grim look towards the sinks before Brian tugged at his hand. Brian finally let go of it, stepping back and turning the two of the faucets, the water filling up three-quarters of the tub in a matter of a few seconds. Wisps of steam curled off the surface, Brian taking the time to turn another tap that spilled out a light purple water, filling the room with a delicate lily scent. He stared at it, watching the purple spirals swirl around inside of the water, the flowery scent pleasing his senses.

“Brian why-” He began, cutting himself off once he caught sight of his now undressed boyfriend. His face went dark, Brian’s own obvious embarrassment hiding beneath his forced confidence. He didn’t even get to ask anything else before Brian leapt into the tub, the water splashing everywhere, including himself. While the floor dried instantly, he was still left drenched in the water.

Once Brian resurfaced, he couldn’t help but give into his smile that he’d been forcing back. Seeing Brian without his curls looked so wrong, like seeing a dog meow. He swam over to the side closest to him, laying his arm against the border and then placing his face against his arm.

“Wanna join me?” He asked. “I know lily’s your favorite.”

“Is this just another excuse to see me naked?” Freddie asked, this time with a smile.

“Hmm…Maybe.” He admitted. “Then again, who wouldn’t wanna see that?”

“You dog!” Freddie shouted, leaning down to splash some of the water into Brian’s face.

“I mean it though!” Brian retorted, keeping his own smile going. “I love it…”

Shame returned to his stomach, Freddie avoiding Brian’s hopeful stare for a few seconds. He won’t see anything. You’ll be underwater. It’ll be fun too. He told himself, adding a quick glance towards Brian. He gritted his teeth, trying to follow that sliver of determination that had grown because of his boyfriend.

“I can change it if you like. I know you adore those pink bubbles.”

“Just don’t look for a second, okay?” He asked, seeing his face fall, but he gladly obliged and went back under. He inhaled deeply and began taking off his outfit, keeping his own eyes shut while he removed his shirt. His skin prickled, every hair standing on end. It felt like a million eyes were on him, invisible whispers echoing around him now that he didn’t have his shirt to hide his scars. The feeling only worsened when he moved south, Freddie now clinging onto the little bit of determination inside of him once he removed his trousers and undergarments. Those invisible whispers instantly turned into gasps of horror, Freddie wishing his could just hide away or at least cover everything back up. Lasers shot from those invisible eyes, landing right on that giant scar upon his leg, forcing his heart back up into his throat as he leaned forward ever so slightly and tried to desperately cover as much of him as he could.

“Am I allowed to look now?” Brian asked playfully, Freddie prying his eyes open and seeing him still facing the other way. He couldn’t find a response. Before he could risk Brian turning around, he leapt into the water. The shock from hitting the water vanished within a few seconds, Freddie now venturing a glance at his surroundings, only to find them being blurred by the lavender water around him. He made his way back up, taking in a large gasp of air once he broke through the surface. That lovely, flowery scent hit him as soon as he resurfaced, the scent bringing a small smile to his face.

“Now that’s a sight.”

Embarrassment flooded his face as he shrunk down below the water as much as he could, leaving just enough of his face above the water so he could breathe through his nose. Concern returned to Brian’s face as he made his way over, Freddie still trying to keep his attention from the neck up. He still couldn’t get over the fact that this was all Brian’s doing. All of this was something he should’ve concocted and yet the roles were completely reversed. Brian, his Brian, actually showing confidence for once! It would be like the sun turning green. Yet he handled it with such an awkward grace that Freddie couldn’t help but watch him try to be alluring and brave.

He watched as he lifted his hand out from the water and held it out. “Don’t worry, I won’t look if you want.” He told him.

He recoiled from Brian’s reach, still keeping his arms tightly wrapped around him. However, Brian kept his hand out, his eyes silently imploring him to at least take it. It’s alright. They whispered as he beckoned him once more. Freddie did take it this time, looking up at him as he straightened himself up until he was at his full height.

“Got my favorite view back.”

He grunted in response, his body feeling sicker by the moment. Dammit Freddie just stop. You’ve dealt with worse…This shouldn’t be that bloody hard.

“I mean it. I love seeing you. Every part of you.”

“Now that just sounds like another reason to see me naked.” He told him.

“And as I said, who wouldn’t? You’re like a…” He paused, his face turning bright red as he fumbled for some kind of comparison. “Like a flower among rows of…dead grass?”

“Charming.” He replied, splashing another bit of water into his face.

He fell back into the water, soaking his hair again and coming back up only to see Brian’s own embarrassment climbing back onto his face. Freddie swam over, adding a quick shove at Brian’s waist and watching him lose his balance and fumble around in the water.

“What was-”

“You’re not the best romantic dear.” Freddie admitted. “But God it’s cute when you try.”

“Sorry I’m not Mr. Suave but-”

“I never need you to be. I’ll take that end for you.” He said.

“You do have some great ideas.”

Freddie’s face fell in an instant. “Yeah…Like a moonlit view of the forest for our anniversary.”

He sunk under the water before he could see Brian’s reaction. His eyes fell shut as he swam to the edge of the tub, leaning forward onto the border and staring at the illustrious designs along the wall. Water splashed from behind him, Brian’s thin fingers on his shoulder coming just a second after. He sighed and leaned forward even more so, continuing to keep himself from looking at his boyfriend.

“Freddie…You didn’t know…Hell you couldn’t have known! All you were doing was trying to make it a romantic night. I should’ve been out there with you from the start so that we could be together that whole time.”

A silent growl arose in his throat, Freddie’s thoughts continuing to bombard him with everything he wanted to say. Stop blaming your damn self! It’s no one’s fault but my own and I will not stand to see you suffer because I fucked up! But he stayed silent, giving a soft sigh in response.

“That’s the past though. We’ve come a long way from there.” Brian continued, now bringing his other hand up to hold him closer. He sighed once again as he ran his hand across his damp chest and buried his head against his neck.

They stayed silent for a few moments, Freddie savoring the gentle touch of his boyfriend against him. He focused on nothing more than the soft breathing against his ear and the occasional lapping of the water against the sides of the tub. I just don’t want to anymore…

“I’m so tired of being afraid Bri…” He finally said. “I want to go further.” He managed to turn himself around so he could finally face his boyfriend. “I don’t want to be petrified of every moon. I don’t want to have nightmares anymore. I don’t want any more attacks. I just…Wanna move on…”

Freddie again looked away, but Brian reached under his face and lifted it upward so he would look at him again. He nearly melted at that beautiful, hazel gaze of his. Every bit of concern and love that was etched into it only made him more unstable that he had been that whole night.

“And we will. I promised that I’d do anything to protect you and I swear I’ll be there so you won’t have to deal with it anymore. I have absolutely no idea how the hell we’ll get there, but I know we will.”

His body finally collapsed into Brian’s; yet this time no tears came. He just wanted to hold him, hold him and never ever let go. How on earth did he find someone like that? Everyone else would’ve left him if they found out he had this. But Brian stayed. For some unknown reason, he stayed. Not only that, he kept him safe from anything that might have caused him harm. He wished he knew that he would do that for him but there had yet to be a time when he could even begin to repay him.

Until that time came, however, Freddie could only focus on the fact that Brian was still there with him. It made him beyond happy that he was and all he could do now was just hold on and not let go. He relished in every second that he sat there pressed up against his body and every beat of Brian’s heart.

“Thank you…”

“For what?”

Freddie looked up at him, giving a small smirk his way. “You know what…”

“Oh Freddie…Come on now, you know that-”

“Shut it. I mean it. I’m so happy you’re mine.”

Brian did indeed fall quiet. The two of them fell back against the opposing edge of the tub, sitting atop the seats underwater. Freddie nestled himself against Brian’s body, watching out of the corner of his eye as Brian studied his body. And for the first time in ages, he didn’t mind.