#read half of river in one sitting today

[pigeonclaw]

On the one hand, it feels a bit late to be doing an "I'm so insecure because I'm a descendant of Firestar" plotline. You'd think if anyone was gonna deal with that it'd have been Firestar's grandchildren — especially Sparkpelt, since she looks like him — and not one of his great grandchildren born so long after he died.

On the other hand, though, I don't think Flamepaw's insecurities come from nowhere exactly. It would make sense if all of Firestar's descendants had some feeling of pressure sometimes to live up to their ancestry, and if Flamepaw is just feeling it more because he keeps messing up and taking it really hard. He wants his Clanmates to be proud of him and he's failed multiple warrior assessments because he keeps getting too caught up in his own head about it. And because he's obsessed with being descended from two leaders and the deputy, he keeps projecting onto everyone else and assuming they're always thinking about that fact too.

He actually reminds me a lot of his grandpa Bramblestar (back in TNP) in that regard. He's so fixated on his family line and the expectations that come from it that whenever he thinks someone is being unfair towards him, he shifts the blame to his ancestry and to his Clanmates.

Is Flamepaw overreacting? Yes. Is he being kind of ridiculous and unfair? Yes. But I can see how it all makes sense in his little brain.

[octoberautumnbox]

I Got All I Need

Le Sserafim Kim Chaewon (ft. Soloist Jo Yuri & Male Reader)

Categories/warnings: smut, phone sex, masturbation, voyeurism i think, anal, abuse, rough sex, like really really rough sex (kinda)

Word count: 1.6k

a/n: wrote on a whim lol no proofread no beta im sorry anways--

Chaewon lay bored in her bed, having exhausted her SNS feeds and Watch Later playlist. Her members sent all manner of pictures with their families and other friends in the groupchat, and honestly, genuinely, Chaewon was happy for them! And just a teeny bit envious, that's all, cross her heart and hope to die.

Her phone read 6:06 pm, and on her first long weekend off in the year, she had nothing to do. She was getting desperate for some fun. She opened her contacts app and punched in a random number.

"Ah, sorry, Chaewon-ssi," the voice on the other end of the line admitted, "Yena won't be back in Korea until next Friday. I'll let her know you called."

"Hi, this is Eunbi! I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave me a message and I'll get back to you in a jiffy!" Of course she uses an answering machine, Chaewon thought.

"Hi, Unnie!" Chaewon was overjoyed! "Hey Minmin, I was just curious if you were down to eat--" The sound of a bell rang loud in the other side of the phone call. "Oops, I'm really really sorry Unnie. Gotta get back now. Long night ahead of us, they're even killing my character again today! See you soon!"

Looking to her closet, Chaewon's mind was half-set to just put on a warm coat and go out alone. That's a thing people do nowadays, right? Go out and eat by themselves?

Sighing, she went for one last-ditch effort. She knows she won't pick up. She knows that even if she does, she wouldn't want to come out. She knows that if she wants to come out, it'll be shabu-shabu and sitting around by the Han River. "Oh well," Chaewon resigned, "At least I won't be alone."

She scrolled down her contacts and found her name. Tap, tap, tap, and the ringing started. One ring, two, three, and four. Chaewon expected this, so much so that she's not even disappointed.

"H-hello?" Chaewon fought back a gasp! "Hey, hi Yuri! I was going to go out for a bite--"

"Ah, fuck..." Silence filled the phone line for a good few seconds before Yuri's end broke it again. "Shit, th-that's really good."

"Yuri?" "Ffffuck yes, just like that..." Disbelief filled Chaewon's mind. "Sorry," Yuri struggled to whisper, "wh-who is this?"

"It's... It's Chaewo-" "Fuck! Shit, shit, shit, please..."

Chaewon had half a mind to just drop the call then and there, and she should, right? This is one of her best friends in the world. Busy, as they say, with something important.

"Unnie, I'm so sorry, I just have the thickest cock ripping my asshole apart right now, ahhh, oh fuck, OH FUCK!"

Although, as much as Chaewon wants to deny it, dropping the call was out of the question now. She had to know just what exactly was going on.

"Are you okay, Yuri? Do... you need me to call someone?"

"Haahhhhh... Ahh, AHHHH!" Yuri's scream ripped through the phone line, and Chaewon couldn't keep her own free hand from straying anymore.

"Unnie, I... I need y-you... to keep a... a secret," It was hard for Chaewon to decipher what her friend was saying, between every moan and grunt littered across her speech. She couldn't resist, though, that she was paying more attention to them than whatever words could be spilling out of Yuri's mouth.

"I'm... with my... with my boyfriend. He's p-pounding my ass right now..." Chaewon was groping her own ass at that moment, and she could feel herself getting moist.

She heard whispering at the other end. Yuri's voice rang clearer, even if a bit shakier. "He says... if I end the call... he'll tie me up and, and leave me," Yuri's breaths are heavy and laced with exhaustion, "un-until morning. So I'm sorry, but I can't... Mmmmff..."

Chaewon couldn't believe she was getting hot to the sound of her friend getting fucked hard. There was no way pure, sweet, innocent Yuri was like this, right? Absolutely impossible.

And yet, she found her own hand slipping under her panties. She felt her smooth pussy lips, how they were slick against her fingers, and how her insides were starting to burn up.

"Unnie... he's making me tell you..." Chaewon was all ears now, desperate for more.

"I have six inches of cock up my ass... and three ffffingers... in my soaking cunt." Three wouldn't fit, Chaewon thought, so she settled for two inside herself. Her pussy lips parted for them, and Chaewon let out a tiny "mmmh."

"He... he's rubbing my clit, and... AHHH--" Chaewon was palming her own clit as her fingers shoved themselves slowly in and out of her pussy, letting more of her juices out and onto her panties.

"... and he's s-slapping and pinching it, Unnie..." Frustrated and in heat, Chaewon frantically stripped and kicked away both her shorts and panties; they were ruined anyway. She lay comfortably back onto her bed and spread her legs, in prime position for her own missionary fucking, with regrettably nothing more than her left hand.

"And Unnie..." Her former member's deep and heavy breaths occupied the phone line. "P-please... don't let this... change how you see me... God, please, no..."

Chaewon pumped her fingers in and out of her pussy hard now. Her juices were falling all over her bedsheets, and the scent of her sex reaching her nose only spurred her on.

"Yuri... Tell me."

"He... he creampied me, Unnie..." Suddenly, Chaewon's hips lifted off the bed momentarily as she heard this. Her fingers found a good spot as she returned to the bed, and from then on strove to hit it again and again and again.

"More, Yuri-yah... please..." She couldn't hide it anymore, Chaewon was moaning just as loudly now as her beloved friend.

"Th-three times, Unnie... in my ass..." Chaewon's eyes shut tight as her brain locked onto what was being said. "And... six... I think, in my... my pussy... oh- OH GOD!"

Chaewon started grinding against her palm, forcing more pleasure through her crotch. She humped against the air, lifting and dropping her hips in a needy bid for her sweet release.

"FUCK! Unnie, I can't remember-- Shhhhhit, shitshitshitshit... How- how many times he came in my cunt- AHHHH!"

She could hear it so much better now, how her friend's ass slapped against her boyfriend's waist. Yuri's moans rang louder still, pushing her phone's speaker to its limit.

"Unnie, holy fuck, Unnie... Please... don't..." Yuri collected herself for a moment before starting again. "He... he has my-my nipples in clamps, too... It hurts so good, Chaewon-unnie, shit... everything is so good..."

Chaewon struggled against her top, and managed to get all of it up past her chest and under her neck. Her breasts bounced out from under her bra and relaxed. She pinched and squeezed her left nipple as hard as she could, feeling the nub stiffen against her fingertips.

"And I came, Unnie..." Her fingers returned to pleasuring her now-leaking pussy. Chaewon rubbed around her lips to collect more of her slick, before shoving now three of her fingers inside her.

"I came so... so many times. F-fifteen... before I- ahhh- lost c-count." Chaewon found her pace and rhythm again. She pistoned her fingers into and out of her sex as her moans reached the other end of the line too.

"Fuck, Yuri-yah, that sounds so fucking good... I'm close... I'm so close!"

"He's forcing me t-to tell you, Unnie, ahhhhh..."

Chaewon shut her eyes again, wishing, imagining it was her getting the railing of her life. Only now did she realize how big the wet spot on her bed between her legs was.

"I'm... Unnie, I'm... his slut. I'm his ffffuuuckdoll..."

Chaewon was straining herself now, her arm muscles burning with overexertion. She felt her cunt leak so much of her sex all over her hand. She wildly fingered her g-spot, praying that her climax comes soon.

"I'm his pleasure girl, Unnie," Chaewon heard her friend's voice break with sobs between words and moans. "I'm his slutty, hhhorny, p-personal o-onahole..."

At this point, Chaewon was sobbing too. Why couldn't she have a boyfriend like that? Why can't she be the one getting sexually taken advantage of? She even bet she could make Yuri's boyfriend feel worlds better than Yuri ever could.

"I'm his... I'm his slutty fucking cumdump, Unnie! He fucks me raw and creampies my cunt- AHHHHH- and I love when he fills my womb up so much it leaks out of my abused pussy!"

A scream dragged itself across Chaewon's throat, and she made sure both Yuri and her boyfriend heard. Chaewon's arm burned hotter with overfatigue as she was nearly breaking her own pussy with how hard she was pumping. "Fuck, Yuri! Please! I need to cum!"

"Fuck, Unnie, me too! Shit, Unnie, I have to tell you..."

Tears streamed down Chaewon's cheeks now, her crotch and thighs soaked with her slick. She's already lost control of herself and fully gave in to her body's desires, wailing cries and moans that she couldn't even recognize as her own anymore.

"I'm not safe, Unnie! I'm so fucking f-fertile! He's going to make me pregnant! H-he's put- FUCKING SHIT, PLEASE DADDY- He's putting a fucking baby in my womb!!! AAAHHHHHHH!"

"FFFFUCK, YURI! HOLY FUCK I'M CUMMING SO MUCH!!!"

Chaewon's cum sprayed out of her sore cunt in intense streams. Chaewon forcefully pulled her fingers out as her hips convulsed violently, wringing out every last drop of her climax. She kept squirting for what felt like ages, and with every spurt of her girlcum she grew less and less alert.

Her eyes were heavy, and her ears were failing her. Her hands dropped to the sides, as did her waist onto the mattress as her climax overwhelmingly resolved. She grew less and less aware of her heart beating out of her chest, and, finally, passed out naked on her cum-soaked bed.

a/n: lmao jesus christ anyways this wasn't the incest smut i was talking abt that's still in the works

[luveline]

hi jadeee!!! :D i read the fic abt poly!marauders with depressed reader and i was wondering if you could do one with aaron? for example r having trouble getting out of bed or doing small tasks and her mental health getting bad again, i don’t know if its just me but i rarely find these kind of fics <3

hi gorgeous i hope this is ok! fem, 1k

“How are you feeling?” Aaron asks, patting his face dry with a towel. 

You rub sleep from your eyes, catching Aaron's eyes in the mirror over his broad shoulders. You offer him a tired sort of smile.

“Come here,” he says. 

You do as he says. Aaron's getting dressed for work, and it's miraculous to have you up and out of bed before him considering how depressed you've been lately. Your abdomen presses to his.

“What are you going to do today?” he asks, wetting a washcloth in the sink. He feels the temperature of the water for a few seconds. 

“Um…” You close your eyes in preparation. “I have to shower. And I want to… make you dinner. So I'll do that.” He brings the washcloth to your face and rubs at your skin gently, little rivers of warm water creeping down your face and neck. “Is my appointment today?” 

“No, sweetheart. It's not until Tuesday.” He cleans your nose, your sleep-crusted lashes. “Why not have a bath? That way you can sit. You could bring your laptop in here and watch a movie.” 

“That…” You run out of steam as he wipes the last stretch of your cheek gently. 

If you can't manage a shower today, Aaron will help when he comes home. He never makes it seem like an obstacle or an imposition to help you through these things, treating it like any other hour of time spent together. “Dinner would be nice. But make sure you set the timer if you use the oven. I'll worry.” 

“Yeah.” 

He passes you your toothbrush and toothpaste. You squeeze it out onto the bristles as he sets about neatening your hair for the day, fingertips gentle on the soft skin of your hairline. You force the toothbrush into your mouth and start out slowly. You feel a disconnect between you and your actions, his touch the only tether, and every brush takes effort you don't have. 

“I didn't say good morning,” he says apologetically, rubbing your shoulders with some loving roughness. “How did you sleep?” 

Sleep is a big blob you don't have words for. “Good morning,” you say through toothpaste, leaning your face into his arm. 

He kisses whatever bit of your face he can reach. “Good morning.” 

“Sorry if I'm dirty.” 

“You aren't honey, you're fine. We just need to keep on top of it.” 

He pulls away to let you finish your half job, offering you a floss pick that you take on automatic but can't force yourself to use. It stays in your hand all the way to the breakfast table, where you get served sliced fruits and toast with chocolate spread. It's the kind with lots of calories, to keep you going if you can't manage your own lunch. Aaron makes you lunch most of the time if you can't do it yourself and leaves it in a tupperware in the fridge, but actually getting up to reheat it is another thing. You usually do it if your stomach aches but not otherwise. Already, you're wanting to go back to bed. Another day of letting him down. 

He gives you your medication divider, sipping at his own mug of coffee. “Jack's coming back tonight. Are you excited?” 

“So excited,” you say honestly. “Did he have a good time at, uh, Mason's?” 

“I think so. They went to Pizza Hut buffet. He said we have to go for his birthday.” He smiles at you from over the lip of his mug, eyes all manner of tender. “He asked if you're still sleeping.” 

“Don't let him worry about me,” you say, half-pleading. 

“No, I won't. You know I won't. He's just noticed you're not feeling your best, but it's not a bad thing. He wants to tuck you in.” 

“He said that?” 

Aaron nods with a smile. “He misses you when he doesn't see you.” 

“I miss him… I'm sorry. About all of this. I really…” You look down at your hands. Toast crumbs cling to your fingers, little white ants that catch hold when you attempt to shake them off. You wipe them in your pants. “I promise I'm trying.” 

He rounds the table. Takes your face into his hand, but doesn't force your head up. “That's not in question,” he says in his dulcet tone. “We want you to feel as good as you can. It doesn't matter how long it takes.” 

“I just want to be better.” I just want this feeling to be over. 

He hums into himself, his big hand a warm, steady thing where it covers your cheek. He's so solid. 

“Listen,” he says, bending to meet your eye. “Today, I only want you to do three things. Do you think you can do that? If you can't, I won't be mad, but I want you to try.” 

“Okay.” 

“Firstly, what you said about dinner? That sounds nice. Being active is good for you.” He measures your reaction. You've schooled your features into a determined seriousness that makes him smile. “Alright. Secondly, you take that nice long bath.” 

Your seriousness falters. “Sorry.” 

“No, no, don't be. It's not like that, sweetheart, I just want you to stay healthy, and to feel good about yourself. That's why I need you to eat lunch too.” 

“Is that the third thing?” 

“No, the third thing is to give me a kiss because I'm about to be late for work.” 

You tip your head up and he kisses you sweetly as always. You let him fawn and fret for a few minutes before he really has to leave, and then it's your fault he's late, calling him back in for a last hug. To be fair to you, it's a hug you really, really need. 

“Call me if you need to,” he says, his cheek against your temple. “I'll come home. I promise.” 

[shiro41]

A bet - Alastor x reader (honey moon edition)

Warnings: tit sucking.

Note: I accidentally deleted the oneshot a few days ago and this was the remaining parts of it and im too lazy to rewrite the whole thing again. The anon that requested this was also deleted 😭 im sorry babes!

The cold droplets of water running down your skin didn't stop you from exposing yourself on the balcony with only a piece of robe covering your figure. It's cold, wintry air ghosting your skin that made you shiver and you wonder why your husband preferred to sit by the balcony with a glass of champagne in hand, reading the news for today. How peculiar of him, reading there as if he's sipping coffee in a morning on a random day by the porch. You suppose you didn't marry a normal person, Alastor has his antics of coming off as unsettling seldom times.

"What's got your attention tonight, love?"

You asked, a hand on the back of his chair. You know dear husband despises physical touches unless initiated first, settling to lean on the wooden material to look over the newspaper at hand.

"Nothing, dear."

The tone of his voice upsets you, it lies with hidden disappointment and untold anger towards the headlines of his reading. Represented in bold writing states a murder recently found by the stream deep within the forest, assuming that he's the one to cut their throat and ascend their soul to heaven or hell.

"It's alright, love. You can always have more."

You reassured, brushing away your hand through his locks that's been a mess since the start of your evening. Albeit the reassurance, a chuckle surfaces from you after. You look at Alastor, a hint of glint in your eyes as you spoke with a tone coated with sickening, sweet, honey.

"Does this mean I won?"

A quick sigh from him and a crumple of the bundles of newspaper later, he turns to you with his foxy eyes and a caress of his thumb across the soft knuckles of your hand. The hearts in his eyes are painfully obvious despite the metaphor used, his affection and extreme lengths of risks for love, devotion for you is undeniably lasting.

"Oh, dear girl, I suppose you are. What do you desire this evening?"

"Why not solve the insatiable desire to have my husband enjoy the rest of our honeymoon together?"

You giggle when he press a quick kiss on your forehead, tender and small yet the warmth that lingered even after he's pulled away from you represented his undying affection. The irritation washed away from his eyes, the same smile he's always seen with still present but the unsettling feeling bought with it was non existent at the moment, instead was replaced with a stroke of love and genuity.

"I shouldn't complain about it then, darling. Still, I should've buried it elsewhere."

He whined, leading you away from the balcony where the cold air constantly fans your freshly washed face and barely covered body. Swiftly, his hand swiped and skillfully set up the gramophone and the disc of his music of choice. Unsurprised when it played the familiar tunes of jazz and romantic melody to match the atmosphere of your situation with Alastor.

"I knew you'd lose the moment i helped you throw it by the river."

You giggle, following his footsteps as the both of you circled the room with a bounce on your pattern. Again with the smile, teeth now disappearing behind his lips as it reached the sparkle in his eyes whilst the both of you dance your night away in a dimly light room situated above ground and away from the bustling city.

"A grave mistake, love."

He swooped down, hands travelling down towards the soft plush of your hips and a little more space used to close the distance between you both until the tip of his nose finds your own.

"I win tonight, Alastor."

You breathed, eyes half lidded until it closed once he sealed his lips with yours. Quickly, the soft music of jazz was muted by your subconscious as you chose to focus on the kiss you share with your husband and further melt into his touches until you fall back to the cushions of the bed behind.

The fall didn't stop and separate the long, passionate kiss, only lengthening it with added dancing tongues and clashing of teeth, barely letting go with a soft bite of the other's lips, pulling them back to another heated kiss.

"I love you, Alastor."

"Nothing can separate me from you, lovely. Even death will not break the curse of our love."

He whispered against your ear, peppering it with gentle kisses and a nip on your earlobe. He growls, low and subtle, only for you to hear. From your jaw to the skin of your neck, he's littered it with kisses and marks, bites of his teeth resembled the fierce affection he has for his wife, only travelling down lower until he's at the valleys of your breasts that's covered with a robe he so quickly removed to see the perky nipples of your chest. A blush coat your cheeks, finding it embarrassing as you watch your husband yet again pepper them with kisses before his lips land onto the hardened buds that awaited his arrival.

"Shall I grant you the pleasure to suckle on these fine breasts of yours, cher?"

He asked, flicking the bud as he twisted the other like a baby playing with their food. A whimper comes out of your mouth, a hand coming to your lips in an attempt to shush your unholy noises. Alastor continues his duties like a hard working employee, indulging himself to warm your nipple with a thick coat of his saliva and suckling motions.

The other wasn't abandoned still, his hand twisted and groped the soft flesh, feeling the way it bounced once he let go and an occassional pull from them results a quiver and a strangled moan from you.

He truly loved the unholy music sang by you, only for his ears to listen to. He wished to savor these moments, heightening his senses to focus on the whines that spews out of your lips and enjoy the taste of your flesh being nipped inbetween his teeth.

Your hand finds its way to your husband's hair, gripping on it as you pull his head closer--deeper, as if burying his face into you until all he can see and hear is the beating of your heart and the blood circulating inside it. With a 'pop', Alastor looks at you through half lidded eyes coated with thick, sinful lust and a hint of admiration towards the beauty that layed beneath him, pussy throbbing underneath the robe, tits coated with saliva, neck littered with bite marks and a flushed face of a goddess. How angelic you must look before him, almost convincing him he's seen a glimpse of heaven's pearly gates without stepping foot on the cloudy surface of the floors.

His hand wandered down, tracing the curves of your body and the beautiful scars that decorated it, sighing with bliss as you whimpered when his hand landed on the prize inbetween your plush thighs, it heated his cold hand, warming it with slick liquids that's been dripping the past minute when your husband's attention was directed to your perky tiddies. Your pussy throbbed with nothing until his fingers encircled the aching organ, begging for his dick to penetrate it.

"Alastor...please...put it in..!"

You whined, looking at him through lidded eyes with cheeks erupting a rosy colour as your mouth nipped and suckle on your fingers.

"Hush, darling. Be patient, the night is still long."

He purred lovingly.

---

It is safe to say that weeks later, when coming home from work, Alastor is greeted with a burnt bun in the oven.

[johnnys-breastmilk]

jump in the line | wally clark x male!reader

a/n — i know i said this was coming ‘soon’ but it was longer than anticipated- reader is AMAB but i don’t believe pronouns are used to address them

words — 5.4k

summary — With summer break in motion, the school feels empty and painfully boring. Luckily, there is a jock in the gym with a good distraction from the boredom.

warnings — smut, 18+ as usual, fingering, top!Wally Clark, bottom!reader, anal sex, ghosts wrapping before tapping

~~~

Wally had two problems—the rain and his loneliness. The rain kept everyone indoors as they didn’t want to come back inside, soaked and inconvenienced by the limited appealing clothing around the school. So a day was made out of it to give everyone a new challenge: find something fun to do inside. The limit was the sky, if you counted that as being the fiberglass tiles on the ceiling. His loneliness came from what he decided to do: shoot hoops in the gymnasium. The other spirits bided their time with more sedentary activities like watching the summer production crew work to cobble together a half-decent school musical for the fall or revisit the library to read the one new book added to the ancient collection, but Wally just couldn’t keep himself still and isolated himself to shoot baskets.

Today was your first rainy day at Split River High in your new life as a ghost. Only a mere seventeen days in and you already felt perfectly capable of being a ghost for the rest of your death because of one fun sentiment—being bored at high school, something that came naturally in a place like this. Charlie claimed that it was better than feeling regretful or upset about it since those feelings only reinforced the fact that you were bound to your roots forever. There was no way to put the school in the past or leave home, no risks to take or life to fail at pursuing. He talked you through the whole spiel, and you had no choice but to listen or fight against the laws of the afterlife. One seemed impossible.

After sitting through everything he had gathered from his time as a ghost, you told him your story. You died in the agricultural room, checking up on the baby chicks during a free period between classes when the wire powering their heat lamp caught fire. The door became blocked by the flames and the windows in the room only opened so far enough to get the chicks out, but they were far too slim of an opening to fit yourself through. It worked well to air out the smoke, but the heat is what caused you to collapse. You never saw your body in the aftermath, only hearing talk of how gruesome it looked as a few cops assessed the scene.

With the Ag-Room shut down until further notice, you were left to wander the hallways without any direction. Though, one sound rang in your ear—the sound of a basketball and squeaking shoes. Now Wally had three problems when he heard the door to the gymnasium open.

As you entered, you looked around at a place you hadn’t seen since before you died. The bleachers stayed inanimate and lacked the community’s spirit for that final game of the season, not being used by anything alive to warrant them looking less depressingly empty. It looked like the same gym you had taken classes in for the past nearly four years, but the jock made it feel new and different. He was a hidden detail among the same people, chalkboards, and desks you spent your entire school life staring at. You approached him, watching the gymnasium become a chamber for his skill to bounce off of. Every time the basketball struck the floor he added just a little more to his established skill set.

“Hey,” you spoke. He caught the ball as it bounced off of the backboard and towards him. The echo in the spacious room sounded the same, but his voice was in your ear.

“Hey, I was practicing my free-throw, but I’ll make room for another person,” he offered. He turned to face you, “And you’re the Fire-Kid, right?”

“Guilty,” you admitted. “I didn’t know I had a nick-name already.”

“It’s unofficial, we can totally change it. There’s a few I thought about—hottie, maybe? Actually, never—never mind. That made more sense when I was thinking it over.” He took a deep breath and extended his hand that wasn’t holding the ball. “Wally.”

“I know,” you said, taking him up on the handshake and giving him your name. His combination of impossibly short athletic shorts, a tank top with the same material as a sweatshirt, and Nike’s paired with socks reaching far up along his shins was almost a dead giveaway that he was from another time, but the name didn’t help much either as you knew it from the stadium outside. Wally pulled his hand back and moved the ball around in his hands like it was an extension of himself—he knew exactly how to hold and manipulate it for his own desire.

“You like animals, huh? Well, I know a little game called ‘horse,’ unless you’re too chicken,” he smirked.

You two approached one of the nets hanging at one end of the gym, “It’s not like I’m doing anything, just remind me of the rules?”

“Okay, so basically, one person shoots from wherever they want, and the other person has to replicate it. If the first person misses the shot, then the second guy can shoot wherever they want. Then, it flips until one person wins.”

“How do you win?”

“Shit, right. If you miss a shot, whether you're the first or second person, you get a letter, usually it goes until it spells out ‘horse.’”

“Okay, I think I get it,” you affirmed.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I’ll teach you as we go.”

It all made sense, given that your last gym class was only months ago at the end of the semester and you had played it then. There was one, and only one, thing that burned in your mind: “What about the loser? Is a letter the only penalty?”

“Let’s make it a little fun,” Wally proposed. You nodded. “Okay, so, every letter earned means the other dude gets to ask a question. It’ll help me come up with a better nick-name, so, the more embarrassing stories you share, the better. I’ll go first.”

“That’s unfair, I’m new to this and pretty much everything else.”

“You’re just mad that I won’t miss,” Wally dribbled the ball as he went some ways away from the net, a distance that you knew you couldn’t match.

“Wally,” you hissed. He kept backing away from the net. “Wally, that’s too far!”

“Nah, I’m just kidding.” He ran up closer to the net and made a shot. As expected by his almost professional and clean form, it sank past the net and smacked against the floor. He retrieved it and passed the ball to you, “Your turn.”

Taking the ball from him, you stood in the same spot he was at—at about the two-point line, judging by the markings on the floor—and hit the ball a few times against the floor to refresh yourself with its feel. The bumps on the ball felt the same as when you had a basketball unit and had acquainted your fingertips with the same rough edge for a whole week. Wasting no more time, you took a leap of faith into the air. Expectedly, the ball hit the rim of the net and bounced off toward Wally. That’s just how your luck had been recently, so you weren’t phased by almost making it in. He caught the ball as it ricocheted toward him.

He clapped at your failure, “And that’s H. Four more to go and I win.”

“Five more to go, and I win.”

“Okay, I like your optimism. But question-time! What did you do… after school?“ It sounded weird for him to talk about it in the past, since only seventeen days ago you would have been talking about future plans.

“The usual: sleep, a lot, and bury myself in homework,” you said as if you would be able to do either again. Could ghosts even sleep? Or was it all feigned for a twinge of normalcy? You would have to ask Wally if you managed to score anything against him.

He still had the ball in his hands, tossing it to you. “Cool, cool. What subject was your favorite?”

“Hey, one question only,” you reminded him.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours? Sorry, I meant—you know. Since I doubt we can go to the ag-room, and because I didn’t mean—yeah.” He looked nervous at his slip-up. It felt like he was overcompensating to hide something else, something with a little more weight than simply a poor choice of words.

“It’s fine,” you assured. Passing the ball to each hand as the conversation went on, your mind wandered until it came up with the most obvious choice. “Let me guess, gym?”

“Nah, history. But I liked all of them,” Wally crossed his arms now that the ball was no longer in his possession.

“Really? You weren’t laser-focused on football?”

He patted your shoulder, “Save that for when you make it in.”

As it would turn out, you did not make a single attempted shot for the next two turns and had to suffer through two more of Wally’s questions. The first time you missed, he asked: “What’s your favorite food?”

“That’s tough. I think I’m gonna say all of the above. Anything that isn’t cafeteria food sounds great right about now. What about you? Got any I-could-live-off-this-forever go-to?”

“Hotdogs, for sure.”

“Why?” This was the first time he didn’t protest a follow-up question and gave you a completely serious answer.

“Uh, well, me and my parents used to go up to my uncle’s apartment near the Camp Randall Stadium. The building was so tall that you didn’t even need seats to watch the game, so we would all sit up on the roof and look down into the stadium whenever the Badgers were playing. They usually had a grill set up so we didn’t have to walk down so many stairs, and that’s where it started.”

“What? Your love for football?”

Wally’s tone leveled out. He wasn’t telling a story anymore, he was recalling a memory, “No, it wasn’t about the field or the game, it was about the people around me. I didn’t really like watching the game, but it was something for us to do as a family. Plus the hotdogs were pretty great.”

After that, Wally seemed to be distracted by something but still managed to make another shot. You, however, couldn’t say the same. It pitifully bounced off the backboard and towards the stacked bleachers.

He snarkily asked while heading to retrieve the ball, “What do you think your chances are of winning?”

This time, you were the one to cross your arms, “That’s what you’re going to waste your question on?”

“I still have two more,” he stated. On his way towards you, he ran a hand through his hair, “We could always play pig, if you’re ready to see the hog.”

“Go for it, unleash the beast,” you encouraged and then, feigned, “I’m so scared.”

“You would’ve lost that one already, so maybe it’s good that we didn’t.”

After accruing three letters in a row without ending Wally’s streak, you finally made a shot from his determined distance. He gained a letter to his name, and you got a ticket to pick at his brain.

“Yeah, finally!” He cheered, coming up behind you and lightly smacking your ass. He sounded sincere, “Good job.”

“I got a good one!”

“Shoot.”

“What do you miss most from your house? If you had to pick anything for them to bring here so that you could use it, what would it be?”

“My homemade fleshlight and maybe my porno mags,” he vacillated. “I got all the quality material right here, though.”

“I’m serious!” You reacted before you could even process his comment. Even if he really thought of you like that, it would have had to be a joke.

“Fine, uh. My medals for all of this stupid shit.” He waved his one arm around to the various sports banners with the graduating classes' athletes front and center, along with several other banners and pennants hanging around that showcased the victories of the Devils and Bandits. Besides his name on the stadium, Wally’s name had been embroidered in a deep blue pennant hanging on the wall he stood facing away from. “It would make it feel like it was worth it a little more, you know?”

You sighed and looked at him with a certain understanding that some of the other students didn’t get. He could see it, and you could see him listening intently as you spoke as if he truly cared, “I do. I have a few F-F-A related things at home that I wish I could see now. My medals, my jacket for being in the after-school club, pictures of me and my friends, all of it. I wish it was here.”

“You can always borrow mine. Think of it as the honorary symbol for being stuck here with me and all of the others.” At that moment, an image popped into Wally’s mind that he could have captured in crystal-clear quality with a Polaroid. If only he had brought that to school on his last day. It was of you, with his jacket on and nothing else, grinding up against his leg—maybe rocking back and forth on the toe of his Nike’s or better yet, on his thigh. He would take that picture without hesitation and make it your first official memory at Split River. Now, his fourth problem had arrived in his blue shorts.

“Thanks.” You saw his eyes flick up from the ground to you. The effect of his gratitude lasted mere seconds as the ball came your way and vie sensations of winning reminded you as to who the jock was: your competitor. By some stroke of luck—or maybe a twinge of skill had finally come over you—you were able to make the ball into the basket twice and upstage the jock for a few moments. You got to ask your questions, but he was too busy congratulating you.

“Holy shit,” he marveled. “I know they said you went out hot, but damn! I didn’t think you had that fire in you!”

“Good to know I’m more than detritus.” You tried not to brag or even smile at the fact, just accept that you had him beat with a tied competition.

“Sorry, bad joke?”

“No, I just realized that we both have two letters left.”

“It won’t be that way for long.” Plopping himself onto the floor, he sat with the ball in his lap and his legs crossed to keep it from rolling away. “Quiz me!”

Mirroring him, you sat in the same style with your knees almost touching, “Okay, ever date anyone in high school—uh, here?”

“Nope, but it did allow me and my right hand to get to know each other pretty well. We even introduced lotion later on into the relationship.”

You let out a quick laugh, “Classy, Wally.”

“There was one chick, actually.” He didn’t look away when he said it, locking his soft brown eyes on yours.

You looked back at him, engaged, “Who?”

“That’s your fourth question.”

“Why didn’t you say it when I asked?”

He started to trace patterns over his thighs, breaking the contact your eyes held while he talked about the mysterious girl, “We never really dated or even touched each-other—it was right before the game that we even kissed.”

“Oh.” Oh, it was all you could say.

“I tried to move on from her, and it kind of worked. It took a while, but you’re here.” Wally looked back up again, lifting his whole head to do so.

You stood, “I think it’s my turn.”

“Right, sorry. Too T-M-I?” He tossed the ball up to you. You shook your head and walked over to take your shot.

Standing a decent distance away from the net, you tried to make it attainable for you to make a shot, and a little difficult for the athlete to replicate it. Since your skill was unmatched by his, it didn’t seem like there was a good place that would be hard for him to make it in.

Wally followed and pressed himself into you from behind, and went so far as to make himself level with your ear, “Don’t miss.”

He backed away from you to offer a fighting chance against him, and you took your final shot of the game. The ball veered off to the right with your throw, and he ran to intercept the shot before it hit the ground. He sweeps it up from the floor and jumps in the air to pass it under his leg and make a shot around the basket. It swished effortlessly into the net, and Wally let the victory get to his head.

“And in the match point. . . Clark makes the score!” He jumped around the court with sanguine behavior, everything else—mostly, his necklace—following with him up and down. The ball bounced off to some corner of the room since he didn’t bother to fetch it. “That tie had me worried.”

You approached him once he started to calm down, “Question?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna give it to me?”

“I can, if you want,” he smirked.

“I do.”

“Uh, well.” He placed his hands on his hips, raising one almost immediately after to toy with and twist his necklace, “What’s something you’ve never tried before?”

“I never tried you.” What does he taste like? What does he smell like? “Or sex as a ghost.” What does he feel like? “Or any kind of sex in general.”

“Me neither.” Those two short words filled the small space between your lips. There was still a longing inside of Wally that competition couldn’t beat, as even now, he felt almost no difference towards it. He pulled you in for a kiss, and suddenly, it was gone. He had the confidence—the will—to lead you up to the heightened set of wooden bleachers. Wally guided you by hand, the texture still being rough and imperfect from his blazing glory night, and insisted that you close your eyes.

“I’ve been up here a million times, there’s no need for the show,” you protested.

He sat you down on a random line of benches and continued his antics, ignoring your complaints since he didn’t have anything smart to say back. The wooden planks creating the jagged pattern to form the bleachers were hard and unforgiving with little leeway for a task as delicately chaotic as fucking. Wally somehow made the imperfections surrounding your work, by keeping you spread across one bench while laying on your back. His necklace dangled so close to you that it almost turned to sandalwood oil from the heat. He smelled similarly of the same scent, rich in a tangled aromatic scent of sweat and sweet sandalwood.

All of the new things he got to try were a silver lining along the dark clouds outside. His hands roamed unclaimed places on your body, cupping things that deserved to be fondled and handling things with extra care that didn’t excite your body as much as you expected. Chills from his work never came, and you remained the same cold soul as before. The same could be said for his lip prints, marking your own pair, then moving to the side of your cheek and down your jaw with a softness only seen in the blurry images of a fantasy. Wally kissed like he was kissing for someone else, and not for himself, giving more than he took. He didn’t take skin between his teeth for a hickey but left it impacted with a feeling soaring straight up from his heart. It’s not like a hickey would have lasted long as a ghost, anyways.

“You’re cold,” he said as he leaned down to kiss your neck again.

Wally finished kissing your body seconds later and sat up at the foot-end of where you laid. You tried to spread your legs, letting one dangle off to the next row and bringing the other one closer to give him room between you, but he kept himself situated. He fished for something in the pocket of his insanely small athletic shorts, finding it hard to search through bunched-up fabric that exposed most of his thighs.

You waited for instructions, and as if he could immediately tell, Wally spoke. “Just. . . lay back and finger yourself.”

“Is mind-reading part of the ghost-experience?” You teased.

“Just do it.”

“Okay,” you listen, pulling down the bottoms you died in and the underwear that went with it. Wally tried not to steal a glance as he occupied himself, but couldn’t help it. His jaw goes slack for a moment as he sees you—natural and perfect. He assumed that he would have to put himself on the same playing field, and suspended his search for a little bit to stand up. He shimmied down the deep blue and vibrant white of the school colors to just reveal a combination of pasty skin and dark hair surrounding his cock. He reached down to continue his search. Finally, he pulled a condom from his pocket. “I’m going to try putting this on, if it fits.”

“Where did you even get those?” You hadn’t started preparing yourself for the dead jock, letting his interesting train of thought make you invested in his issues.

“Nurse’s office.” He holds out the packaging for you to look over—it’s a neon purple with different shapes in yellow, reminiscent of the eighties and perfect for the man before you. The size on the wrapper read that it was a bland XL on the cover in white. ”Can you believe they didn’t start handing these out until the nineties?”

Wally stuck the corner between his teeth and pulled, causing the wrapper to tear in two and the condom landed in his hand. He pinched the stuck-out tip of the latex in the center of the disk and pinched the rubber ring. The head of his cock passed the loop successfully but failed to actually get it down his length. In an attempt to make it slide down his cock, he tugged on the rubber band around the opening.

“That’s not how you—here.” You sat upright and your hands fly down to help him. Taking him into your hand, you hold him near the base and wrap your thumb and index finger around a part of his head over the condom’s band. Keeping your fingers around his girth, you slid them down, jerked them back up, and repeated the motion until a thin layer of latex covered most of his dick, reaching just shy of his base. “You keep rolling it down like that until it gets to the bottom. It should be tight with a little bit of give so you can slip it off after.”

Wally wraps his hand around the new layer of latex and marvels at the feeling. “Thanks for the sex-ed lesson, coach.”

“Didn’t they ever teach you that?” You asked, reflecting back on how even now, the school never really prioritized giving kids safe sex lessons. Most of the lessons were about getting any diseases, and what to do when you know you have it. It was all focused on the if’s and never the when’s.

“Nah, it was basically ‘don’t have sex or die.’ Glad I got to do the second one first and the first one now,” he smiled.

His explanation left you puzzled. Safe sex was such a priority during life but became meaningless after death. “Why even bother wearing a condom?”

“I don’t know. Why do we still eat?” He leaned in closer to you, hesitant to loudly state the actions taking place, “Why are we about to. . .”

Normalcy, that must have been what he was trying to get at. “Fair point.”

“I guess I should return the favor?” His hand finds your shoulder at a higher level than preferred and pushed it back until you are entirely laid into the unforgiving benches. They don’t quite capture your width, your shoulders peeking over the edges with legs spread out and dangling over either side, but Wally doesn’t let it stop him from motioning closer to you. Thigh cupped, he lifts a single leg to access your hole easier.

The width of his hand not holding your thigh is felt running along your crack, something that had him hooked as he searched for an opening. His longest finger found it in seconds, and quickly, he lowered the hand wrapped around your thigh to claw at your cheek, tearing it to the side for a deeper presence. Wally sunk a three-pointer’s worth of his finger into your hole, his middle finger up to his knuckle as the rest of his hand held him back. His finger beckoned a moan by raking it up and towards your prostate, then by pulling it in and out and twisting his whole arm to feel the game-night roughened texture of his finger carry on a longing from the night he died. Wally followed the string of motions a few more times until your reactions faded.

“Does that feel good?” He asked, looking for a satisfied answer.

“First time trying it, should. . .” You exhale, “. . . should it feel like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like, just do it again.”

Wally pushed his lengthy digit back in, raising it to the sensitive area, and pressing the pad of his finger to it. He kept it there for a few moments before pulling his hand away, taking his finger with it, and motioning back in less than a second later. His thumb brushes over the valley between your cheeks periodically, and you can’t help but shudder at his touch.

“Are you. . . ready?” The pause his question took made him come off as unsure, and the look he gave you—a quick glance from your eyes back to your ass, where he continued his maneuvers—reinforced it. He thought that he may have done too much, or not done enough, or even found himself on a mediocre middle ground, painfully stuck between the end zones of backing out and finishing the job. To his surprise, he managed to run the one-hundred and twenty yards, because you said yes.

Almost immediately, two hands wrapped around your ankles, and raised your legs with them, exposing your ass without the need for his help. Eventually, they found themselves dangling over his shoulders instead of either side of the bench, and he occupied the space that they restricted him from.

He positioned himself at your entrance, the protective latex coating around his tip greeted you with the feeling of a smooth, somewhat slick surface. Further up, he caught a glimpse of your hesitant demeanor. You couldn’t lie to yourself, or try to hide and play pretend. In the years when he could age, he was given some stunning accolades in categories other than sports. On the surface, a winning smile and eyes that cast a special spotlight on anyone lucky enough to find themselves under him, and down below, a horse cock. Tamed for the moment, but waiting for the paddock to open.

“Just try, uh, try to take it all.” He winced at his own words and let a sarcastic “sorry” slip from his lips.

A sudden pain rapidly stemmed from his entry—one from the depths of your subconscious knowing that the feeling is new and likely dangerously addictive, and the other coming from the actual source as his size stretches you out much more than a finger’s width. His skin is rough on yours when he settled in, but there was one thing that surprised you as he bottoms out with little left to give. With his hips pressed against yours, you took a sharp breath in.

“You good?” He asked, drawing his touch back. Wally fights to place a hand on you, keeping them hovered over your figure for a sense of distanced reassurance.

“You’re cold,” you spat out.

“I’m used to hearing the opposite.”

“And you’re big.” It came out sounding like a single word.

Wally looked relieved, using the opportunity to get into the rhythm of making jokes, “Yeah, I’m used to hearing that.”

You try to laugh through some of the pain. “No you’re not.”

“I’m not,” he admitted with a stupid smile on his face. His voice was hoarse once his hands started to creep over you.

His hands held on to your figure, those words of his distracting you from the pain of his first movement. Just as his charm had worked its way back into the atmosphere surrounding you, his desire to fuck had also found its way in. And that’s exactly what he did. His stance stayed relatively the same—Nike blazers stuck in place and used them to pivot forward, thrusting himself more into you than he already was. His hips melded to supple ass-fat. As he slipped into a tempo with swaying hips, he heard the smacking that came from the quick collision of your ass and him. It sounded like the percussion beat supporting the ensemble of moans falling from his mouth.

Wally’s motions caused you to rock back and forth along the bench, shifting on the smooth plank. His routine shortens to quick plap, plap, plaps against you, unlike the longer blows he had given you moments prior. His breathing stepped up into larger huffs and draws of breath that pierced the air.

There was one thing you noticed about Wally while the room was only filled with those noises. He acts like he’s almost at a loss for words—unusually quiet when the notions of sex finally kick in, feelings and all. Wally’s communication during it centered around noises and acts over his verbal personality. He grunts and barely speaks, crying words and praises with abandon midway through. He took a hand from your love handles to run it through his hair, and then it fell on your leg. His hand was warm—almost slick—from the heat building around the both of you.

Your gaze floated from his hand falling on the leg going over his shoulder to his face; he looked like he was breaking a sweat. He noticed you looking at him directly, and his soft eyes looked animalistic as he doubled over you. He brought your legs closer to your chest, curling you in on yourself. He got so close that you could feel his breath ruminating against your skin.

“Am I—” he breathes, “—still cold?”

His breath isn’t and his skin almost looked like it was glowing, like he could be alive. You shake your head in response, the bundles and knots of pleasure in your stomach making it hard for a few words to come out.

With his new leverage, he fucked you harder, pressing as deep as he could go. His face contorted and stretched without the worry of wrinkles when he became overcome with pleasure.

Wally came, pressing himself into you one final time as his release sprayed all over the inside of his condom. Drops of release splatter over your torso in brief, irregular spurts. They seem to disappear seconds later, leaving no trace of anything that had happened. When Wally pulled himself out of you, you could feel the friction and intimacy quickly vanish. His dick still looked hard, but there was no aftermath. No trace of anything that had happened. His condom wasn’t filled or stretched out at the tip with a pool of come; it was as if he never fucked you. But you still retained the memory and the experience.

Even your own fatigue from being on the receiving end of his pounding lasted mere minutes. Still, you leaned your head back and turned to peer around the gym, taking a breather. The balls hanging around in nooks and corners of the room returned to the carts that they had never left, and everything was back in its original place on the unaltered, metaphysical level. The other spirits could never know, and they would never know, thanks to the universe's ways.

Wally took note of you looking around the gym, “You know, I think that next time, we should be a lot messier. Wouldn’t be our problem to clean, would it?”

[floydstruly]

i know it’s been too long.

synopsis: it’s cold, much too cold for a student from Royal Sword Academy—so Floyd figures out a solution that benefits the both of you.

cw. nothing! Yay! It’s just pure fluff >__< not proof read though also! No use of y/n or any mention of name I hate using that so umm not really warning free but still! Whatever!

note. someone give me a request or talk to me in my inbox I’m so bored

pairing: floyd x gn!reader

Winter break is just a week away but even so, it is needlessly gloomy today, clouds shroud the tops of the school and the rain falls down relentlessly, the class is all but silent as your teacher forces you to sit down, lecturing you on the past monarchies–princes, princesses, kings, queens.

You're sure if Floyd was attending Royal Sword Academy with you, he’d be bored half to death. You jot a couple notes down with your ink pen, in the corner of your page is a doodle of what is your best attempt at an eel–or more like Floyd.

Oh, that’s right. You sit up straighter and shudder at the sound of his name in your mind, you promised that you would go and see him during winter break. The thought of going to Night Raven College by yourself, with no entourage or teachers or friends terrifies you.

You think of all the eyes that will follow you around the halls and rude remarks you will receive–it scares you enough to listen to the professor. You immerse yourself in the lecture, trying to keep your mind away from all the possible things that could happen over the break.

Maybe it’ll be worth it if you get to be with your boyfriend, but still, hopefully winter break doesn’t come soon.

No one is around.

You can hear little woodland creatures chittering and the echoes of laughter amidst the snow. The plants are covered in a thin, fragile layer of frost–once green, but now, all wilted and lifeless from the relentless weather. The snowfall flutters down in a serene, peaceful way; like powder, covering the once barren rival campus in a pure white.

Along with the winter season comes the cold, crisp air that continuously nips at you, your skin red with what is reminiscent of blush. You should’ve worn a layer more–you feel as though you will freeze over the longer you spend outside.

You can’t help but admire the spectacle, although it may not be anything special, it reminds you of your home, which doesn’t seem so far away anymore. As you reluctantly trek through the snow and towards the college, it crunches down under your weight.

A cold breeze passes by as you walk, you shiver, burying your face into the scarf Floyd gifted you not so long ago. It craves itself with the image of an eel, wrapping around your neck and comforting your loneliness with what is reminiscent of him. You take a breath in, it still smells like him, sort of like fresh river water.

It’s hard to remember the last time you’ve seen him.

“Shrimpy!” A shrill, excited voice calls out to you when you poke your head into the Monstro Lounge curiously.

That’s right, it’s been at least four months since you’ve last heard that voice in person. Knowing the contempt that Night Raven students have for the ‘pissy and pauper’, you’ve never once tried to venture too far outside of Royal Sword Academy, let alone think about it with the exception of school events.

That’s what you look forward to most–because those are the only times you see Floyd, really.

You can feel a couple watchful eyes on you and your uniform as white as snow, completely untarnished and the face of perfection. You adjust your clothes under the weight of their gaze nervously, you’re starting to think that maybe you shouldn’t have come to spend the holiday with Floyd.

“See? Told yah this was a good idea, they like you already!” You’re not sure that ‘like’ was the right word, maybe something more akin to disdain or loathing. He smiles and waves his hand to beckon to follow him, his rows of pearly, sharp teeth only add to your unease.

You oblige, allowing yourself to be whisked away by merman.

The heart of the fireplace beats against the two of you, slowly chasing away the remains of the harsh winter cold. Floyd is sprawled against the velvety couch in the VIP lounge, his head rested soundly on your lap. You sit stiffly in place and push his hair aside to allow yourself to admire his features more closely.

You’re all alone again, but it feels much more welcoming now.

His fingers find their way under your eel-like scarf, you shudder at the touch of his skin against yours–fingertips pressing against your ever increasing pulse. It’s a foreign, his hands are cool. But you don’t try to swat his hand away, instead, you sigh and press the palm of his closer to your neck.

“You cold?” He asks, shifting his body, sitting up and pushing the scarf away from your neck. You nod quietly in response, underneath the soft, woolly fabric, he manages to make you grin for a moment–melting the confines of your enclosed heart.

He unravels the scarf and tosses it on the dirty floor, exposing your neck to the open air–it doesn’t help at all, but you can’t help but laugh. It takes a moment and comes out gradually, first, as a snicker, then into a giggle, and lastly, into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, “did I help?”

“No,” you shake your head, your smile finally reaches your eyes, “can I have my scarf back? That just made me colder.”

“You don’t need that stupid thing, you have me.” He buries his head into your neck in place of the scarf, his arms around your waist in a constrictive embrace. It doesn’t help either, he is cold blooded after all. You can feel his teeth nip at your skin, just as the air did outside not so long ago. But it’s much more pleasant.

“Stupid?” you ask as you return the hug, “you gave that to me.”

“You have the real Floyd right here! You can have it back after winter break, just pay attention to me for now, I missed you lots.”

For some odd reason, it feels a lot warmer now.

“Yeah, don’t worry, you’ll be seeing me more often.”

Maybe, you can ignore all the hate filled stares if it means just a moment longer with Floyd.

“I missed you too.”

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today we have a Valentine's Day fic rec list! All of these fics involve Valentine's Day in some way or have a Valentine's Day vibe. We had a very short version of this rec list that we posted many years ago, but as you can see, there have been a ton of amazing Valentine's Day-related fics posted since then. Happy reading!

1) The Valentine's Day Special | Explicit | 1,322 words

Every year on Valentine's Day Harry and Louis spend the whole day participating in whatever kinks they want. This means February 14th is one of their favorite days of the year.

2) Valentine's Day | Explicit | 1,900 words

Louis and Harry are excited for Valentine's Day and can barely make it back to the hotel room.

3) All The Love | Explicit | 2,118 words

Harry smiles warmly when he sees the room with the makeshift dining table, coffee mugs for wine glasses, and a couple lit scented candles scattered across the room. He fills an empty glass and places the flowers in it, setting it on Louis’s bedside table. His smile grows even more fond when he sits across from Louis, seeing the meal his boy has prepared. They’ve only been officially dating for about a month and a half, but things couldn’t be going any better. “What’s this?” Harry asks, nodding in the direction of the dishes in front of him. “Chicken stuffed with mozzarella wrapped in Parma ham with a side of mash,” Louis says full of pride. “My little chef,” the curly haired boy grins, leaning over the table to press a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek before taking a bite. “This is really good baby.”

4) Red Pants | Mature | 2,463 words

One shot in which fem Louis wears his tight little red pants to school on Valentine’s Day, and discovers he has a secret admirer.

5) Love Me Like You Do | Not Rated | 3,964 words

Louis is all in if Harry is, and Paris seems like the perfect place to ask

6) Lagrangian Point | Explicit | 4,055 words

They find each other again the night of Valentine's Day.

7) I've Loved You Three Summers Now Honey, But I Want 'Em All | Mature | 4,216 words

The restaurant was small and bright, soft colors filled the walls and tables and fairy lights hung from everywhere. From what Harry had read, the food wasn’t overly expensive but it was still comparable to what you would get at one of the more expensive places. If Harry could he would take Louis to the biggest most expensive and extravagant restaurants to do what he planned to tonight, but this would do. After being led to their table Harry nervously tapped his jacket pocket, sighing in relief when he felt the small box still there. Tonight was the night. He couldn’t wait till it was time to surprise Louis with all the gifts he got for him. Then finally the big surprise.

8) Reckless Serenade | Explicit | 4,446 words

Note: This fic features Girl Direction.

Harry's Google search history may or may not look like 'my girlfriend doesn't know we're dating.'

9) Dancing In The Moonlight | Explicit | 4,587 words

Louis’ fuck buddy gets a date for Valentine’s day and he discovers that denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.

10) Keep Your Head Down And Make It To Me | Not Rated | 4,643 words

“You know, if I hadn’t been so stupid 8 years ago, we could’ve been doing this for 8 long years. My sincere apologies,” “Maybe, but now I get to enjoy this moment even more because it’s been 8 years and I’ve never stopped wanting to kiss you ever since,” Louis admits, a light blush surfacing upon his face. “I love you,” Harry repeats. Louis beams at him. Literally beams. “I love you, Harry.”

11) Cherries In The Snow | Mature | 5,151 words

It’s Valentine’s Day, and Harry is not in the mood. So naturally, Louis lets Harry paint his body with kiss marks to make him feel better.

12) Be Mine, Little Valentine | Explicit | 7,435 words

All Louis wants is to find someone who’ll love all of him. There’s just one tiny complication.

13) Indecent Proposal | Explicit | 8,445 words

The one where Louis and Harry reminisce the ups and downs of a relationship that once was, imagining themselves as the happy couple celebrating in front of them, and decide that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be too bad to relive their relationship one more time.

14) Let Me Be Your Good Night | Explicit | 10,517 words

Cupping one hand over his fist and holding them to his chest, Harry’s nose scrunches hopefully, “Would you want to get a drink before calling it a night?” Louis stares at him. “I know you’re probably tired, it’s just—” Harry sighs, wiggling his hands around nervously. “We’re both going to be alone after this and I really enjoyed talking to you, so maybe this is a little pathetic, but I could use the company?” “I, uh,” he stalls, weighing his options: either go home, have a wank, then bathe the night off, or talk more with the affable sweetheart while sharing a drink or two. Easy. “I’d like that. Sure.”

15) Better Than Words | Explicit | 11,321 words

Note: This fic is the second part of a series.

Harry and Louis have an argument while at the doctors to check on their baby. Then they celebrate Harry’s birthday and Valentine’s Day in their own way.

16) Kiss Me Once, Kiss Me Twice | Mature | 13,487 words

You’re a fucking brat, you know that,” Harry muttered through clenched teeth, bones already burning with the pure desire and hatred mixing in his body. It was an intoxicating rush of adrenaline and something else that probably came with fucking Louis Tomlinson. He squeezed his neck just a little tighter. “I can’t stand it.” Their lips were brushing against each other, just moving with the ragged movements of their mouths and harsh breathing. “You’re a lying piece of shit dickhead,” Louis muttered right back. That was all he did, challenge and nag. He loved to have the last word and Harry let him because he used all his energy to fuck him mindless.

17) Lead Me To Paradise | Explicit | 14,615 words

No one told Harry that a paramedic could be this pretty.

18) James The Pimp | Mature | 28,255 words

Everybody, please welcome my other good mate and Harry Styles’ Valentine Date, Louis Tomlinson!” 'Kill My Mind' played as the dusty-haired singer walked onto stage from the opposite side that Harry entered. “Thanks for having me, James.” Louis’ light voice carried well as he hugged James. With the grin still plastered to his cheeks, he looked around the bulkier man at Harry politely. “But, uh, I’m a tad bit confused. As lovely as Harry here is, you should probably both know I’m, er, into women.” There was a hint of awkward hesitation in his words. He likely thought Harry wasn’t straight and didn’t want to offend him, which Harry appreciated, even if he knew he had to say his next line despite it being utterly untrue. “The same goes to you, Louis, but I am as well.” James waved a hand flippantly. “Pish posh. Who really cares about that anyhow? Come along, boys. This is my show, so if I say you are each other’s Valentines, then you are each other’s Valentines. Now act like it!”

19) Cupid’s Chokehold | Explicit | 35,326 words

Louis is a Cupid who tries to match up Niall and Harry. It doesn’t work out as planned.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[builtbybrokenbells]

Fade Into You

A particularly bad day leaves y/n yearning for nothing other than the comfort of her boyfriend, Danny. Without question, he comes to the rescue where need be and makes sure she knows just how loved she is. With his help, she begins to see that bad days don’t last forever, especially with a boyfriend like him by her side.

listen while reading: fade into you - mazzy star

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: not too much for this one! bad day angst, mentions of depression/anxiety, swearing, smidgen of drinking, mostly just fluff!! sorry if i miss any!

hey, so this is a short little draft i kind of rewrote today. no smut in this one, just fluff. I’ve been having a particularly rough time the last few days, so it’s kind of a pick-me-up, i guess. boyfriend danny fucks me up fr. drew some inspo from one of my fav sad songs, cause it’s got such a variety of interpretations. also this is very poorly edited and probably not the best, so please forgive me. as always, hope you enjoy, please be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🫶🏻

~

The morning came like a river of discomfort. When your eyes focused for the first time after a long nights rest, you were met with an empty space next to you in bed. The sight sent a wave of disappointment washing over you. Many mornings ago, you’d become certain that there was no better sight than waking to your boyfriend sleeping soundly. Days where he was gone before you were always miserable, and this one was shaping up to be as such. You didn’t have time to dwell on his absence; the next thing to catch your attention was the sun shining just a little too brightly in the sky. Once you clued in to the unusual scene, a jolt of panic ran through you. You you reached for your phone to check the time, but you were quite aware of what you were going to discover. While your thumb prodded the screen, trying to awaken it, you were already swinging your legs over the side of the mattress to get up.

Your screen displayed the time as 8:30; an hour later than you were supposed to be waking up. Your alarm hadn’t gone off, and you only had a half an hour to get ready and drive to work. There was enough time to brush your teeth and wash your face, and in your rush, you managed to make a big enough cup of coffee to get you started in lieu of breakfast. As hungry as you were, you knew you’d need the caffeine more than anything. By the time you were out the door, you had maybe ten minutes to get to your job, and even that was a generous time frame. It was a miserable way to start a Friday, you concluded. No joy for the weekend was present, just annoyance at how the morning had begun.

The drive was a blur; you pushed the boundaries of the speed limit the entire time, laser focused on the clock as if your staring would change the time. Between slow drivers and stop lights, there was no way you could avoid being late. When you pulled into your parking spot, the vehicle was barely in park before you were gathering your things and jumping out. In reality, you weren’t dramatically late, but you knew your boss all too well to think you could get away with missing even a few minutes of work. As you placed your items on your desk, your worry was solidified when your name was called from the door of your office.

“Y/n, you know we don’t tolerate this kind of behaviour.” He said, a disapproving tone very apparent.

“I know, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” You said, logging into your computer as you sat down.

“Next time I’ll have to write it up. I’ll let you go with a warning.”

“Thank you.” You looked up over your laptop, managing a small smile.

“I don’t want to have to dock your pay, but I will if this becomes a regular issue.” He explained, leaving you to sit with the information. He closed the door behind him as he walked out.

“Dick,” you mumbled, taking a sip out of your mug.

They morning dragged on without much interruption, filled mostly with mind-numbing reports and the occasional email filtering through your inbox. You couldn’t seem to shake yourself from the poor mood, finding it growing worse with each second that passed. By the time noon rolled around, you were all but focused on work, and your stomach was begging you for a bite to eat. You grabbed your phone and keys, making your way outside for a minute of freedom. You hoped the hour would allow you to rid yourself of the cloud of darkness that was looming over your head.

You climbed into your car and checked your phone, but you were met with another staggering disappointment. No text messages were received from the one person you’d hoped to hear from, so you clicked on his contact. Instead of waiting on a word from him, you called him, first. The phone rang for a moment, leaving you wondering if he was going to answer. As you listened to the dial tone, anxiety bubbled in your chest, fearing that you were interrupting something important. Just as you were getting ready to hang up, his cheery voice filled the stale air.

“Hi, beautiful.” Danny greeted. You could hear the smile in his words. His cheery tone eased your worry of him not wanting to talk to you. As ridiculous as the fear was, your brain wouldn’t give it up. You were constantly nervous that you were interrupting, or being a burden, and days like this one only made your brain scream it even louder.

“Hi,” You sighed, feeling your lips upturn into a little grin. It was the first time you’d done anything but frown all day. You slipped your car keys into the ignition, allowing your call to connect to the Bluetooth feature. “I miss you.” You said, unable to hold the confession back.

“I miss you,” He replied, sincerity dripping from his tone. “You okay?” He knew you well enough to tell your mood just from the tone of voice. He was nothing if not attentive, and always willing to listen if you wanted to air out your thoughts.

“No.” You were honest. “I was late to work. Slept in.” You explained as you pulled out of the parking lot. He knew all too well how you felt about your boss, not needing to ask about his reaction. “I think it’s just another one of those days,” you mumbled. He gave a hum of understanding, also aware of how much your bad days could affect you. “Any chance you can meet me for lunch? I know it’s a long shot, but I could really use a hug.” You felt guilty for even asking, but you couldn’t help it. He was your comfort person, and he always seemed to make the bad feelings go away.

“I’m sorry, baby. I would if I could, but we’re at the studio right now. We have a meeting right after we finish up, too.” He sounded sad for having to turn you down, almost making you feel even worse for asking. You hated when was upset, and knowing that he was upset on behalf of how you were feeling didn’t make it any better.

“That’s okay,” you knew it was a big ask, and you also knew he would absolutely be on his way if the situation allowed it. “I’m okay with just hearing your voice.”

“Promise I’ll make it up to you tonight?” He asked, hopeful.

“Don’t have to make it up to me.” You laughed. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’ll bring home dinner, and we can do whatever you want.” He told you, not willing to bargain.

“Okay.” You conceded, pulling into a cafe you frequented.

“I’m sorry I was gone before you woke up. We wanted to get here early so we could get as much done as possible.”

“I know, you don’t have to apologize, baby.” You repeated your earlier reassurance, hating the fact that he always felt like he had to apologize, even when there was nothing to apologize for. You never wanted him to feel remorseful over things he couldn’t control. He put so much effort into you and your happiness, but for some reason it seemed like he felt the need to give even more. “As long as I get you all to myself tonight, I don’t care.” You parked, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“You can always have that, bug. I’m all yours, remember?” He assured you. You smiled at the words, eternally grateful to have someone as kind as him.

“I’m gonna go eat, I won’t keep you any longer. I love you.”

“I love you, baby. I can’t wait to see you later.” The sincerity was thick in his tone, wanting you to know he meant it. “I hope your afternoon goes better than the morning.”

“I can’t wait either, and I hope you have a good day, too.” You smiled. You two uttered a small goodbye, ending the call without another word.

You went into the small shop, thankful for the short line. You gazed up at the menu, pondering what to get. As you stared, your mind drifted off to the boy you’d just been on the phone with. He was your rock, your best friend, and the love of your life; the only thing that gave you true motivation to get through the shitty days. The bad days didn’t come often, but when they did, they were horrid. It was never a just minor incident that caused a disturbance, it always seemed to be written in the stars that everything that could go bad, went badly. When the cashier called you over to order, you settled on another coffee and a sandwich.

After you paid, you made sure to leave a nice tip, hoping that the universe would send some good karma back your way. You moved over to the waiting area, pulling your phone from your pocket to pass the time. When you clicked it on, you immediately relaxed at the sight of your screensaver. It was a picture Sam had sneakily taken of you and Danny; you were looking off in the distance, completely taken off guard when your boyfriend had snuck up behind you and pulled you into a hug. His lips were pressed to your cheek and you were caught in a shriek of laughter. It was your favourite photo to ever exist, and it always made your day better when you saw it.

You’d been dating Danny for a few years now, having moved in together just about a year prior. It had been nothing short of fantastic, aside from the times he was travelling for his career in music. The big home was a bit lonely without him, but you were more than happy to watch him live his dream. There was rarely an argument, and your life was completely filled with love. Still, that didn’t rid your life of days like today, where you couldn’t find it in yourself to see the brighter side of things. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the world that could. Bad days were normal, and everyone had them, but it always felt like yours were catastrophic. They were the type of bad days that made you want to crawl into bed and never leave, plagued with the kind of misery that ached all over and settled deep in your bones.

Danny was like a ray of light, the only aura that could penetrate the cloud of emotion you found yourself caught in. He was well aware he couldn’t solve the issues, but was completely content with just guiding you through it. He did a fantastic job, showering you with love and support. He always quick with positive affirmations in argument to your insecurities, and if words couldn’t help, he was happy to hold you all night if it meant you would feel better. He was beyond anything you ever could have hoped for in a partner, and you were incredibly lucky to have him. At the same time, it sucked that he was the only thing that could truly help you in your bad times, because that meant you had to suffer through until you could see his smiling face. You were sure now that he was aware of the mood you were in, he’d use every spare second of time to send you messages reminding you of how much he adored you.

The barista called your name for the order, catching your attention. You have a half-assed smile and a thank you, reaching out to grab your drink. When you wrapped your hands around it and pulled it towards you, the force from your fingers knocked the poorly secured lid off. The flimsy cardboard cup collapsed inwards, spilling the contents down the front of you. You hissed at the heat from the liquid, closing your eyes at the burning sensation. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” The barista blurted out, scrambling for napkins. She handed them across the counter and you grabbed them, dabbing at your clothes. Thankfully, they were black, so the liquid wouldn’t stain them.

“No, it’s okay. It’s not your fault.” You assured her.

“I should have checked the lid.” She sighed. “I’ll get you another one.” She told you before bustling away. You cleaned yourself up as best you could, knowing the thin paper napkins weren’t much of a help. You prayed you had a change of clothes in your car, but didn’t hold onto too much hope. You never seemed to have that type of luck in your life. When your replacement drink was safely in your hand, you mumbled another thank you and quickly bustled out the door to avoid any further embarrassment.

You scavenged your backseat for any other clothes, but you were quickly met with disappointment. You got in the drivers seat, fighting back tears, realizing that the day was not going to get any better. As you drove back to work, your skin was tingling with residual pain, and you wished for nothing more than to just go home. You walked back inside with your head down and your lunch in your hands, praying nobody would stop you and try to spark a conversation. When you got to your office, you closed the door behind you and collapsed into your chair, defeated from the days events. You noticed that your phone was vibrating in your pocket again, and your stomach was still growling with violent hunger.

As you began to eat, you read over the texts you’d received. The first was from Danny, telling you how much he loved you in addition to a plethora of hearts. The rest were from his bandmates, all along the same lines of them wishing you a good day and telling you they missed you. Danny had likely told them you were having a bad day, urging them to show you some love, too. They were nothing short of your best friends, and they always wanted to play a helping hand in making you feel better, so they obliged without issue. You replied to all of them as you ate, finding yourself giving a few genuine smiles at their uplifting words.

When your break finished, you returned to work with a steady eye on the time, praying for 5 o’clock to come faster. The afternoon dragged on much like the morning, still feeling like every minute was passing slower and slower. Eventually, when four thirty hit, you started to pack up your bag in anticipation to leave. Five minutes before your shift was through, you logged out of your accounts and gathered your things. Just as you were starting to shut your computer down, a knock sounded on your door. “Come in.” You called. Soon after, the door swung open and your boss appeared with a stack of files. You tried your best to push a smile out to cover up your grimace.

“It’s your turn to do the month-end report.” He said, placing the papers on your desk. You were certain you had done it not too long ago, leading you to believe this was his punishment for you coming in late. You sucked in a breath through your gritted teeth, nodding in response.

“Okay, I’ll get it done Monday.” You said, grabbing the files and placing them in your desk.

“Perfect. See you Monday at nine!” He made sure to emphasize the time before leaving you to yourself. You grumbled a slur of curses before locking your desk drawers and throwing your office keys in your purse. You stood, double checking that you had everything before heading out of the building.

It was raining, now. The grey clouds in the sky had a striking resemblance to your mood. You unlocked your car and threw your stuff on the passenger seat as you climbed in. When you turned the key in the ignition, the engine turned over, but didn’t start. You felt your stomach sink, immediately trying it once more, but you were met with the same result. You let your hand fall with force against the steering wheel, letting out a short-lived scream. The tears you managed to hold back earlier made their way out with a new found force. You fell back into the seat, closing your eyes while you tried to regain yourself.

After a moment, you pulled out your phone and called Danny again. This time, he answered much faster. “Hey, baby, you on your way home?”

“No,” you tried to keep your voice steady, but he could tell you were crying just from the single word.

“What’s wrong?”

“Car won’t start.” You mumbled. “Think the battery’s dead.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m on my way home, not far from you, actually. I think I have some cables in the back.” He explained. You let out a sigh of relief, wiping away tears. Although it was a pointless effort, because they were falling faster than you could keep up with. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” You sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you saying sorry for, bug?” You felt overwhelmed at his never-ending kindness, feeling deep down that you weren’t deserving of it.

“Making you stop, bothering you all day, being sad.” You gave a small, humourless chuckle as you listed the inconveniences.

“Don’t think any of that is deserving of an apology. Having to stop only means I get to see you, sooner. And, you haven’t been bothering me at all.” You could almost hear the frown in his voice, although his tone was comforting. “You never bother me. You’re my favourite thing in the whole world.”

“I just want to go home and go to bed.” You said, feeling another wave of sobs wash over you. You were distraught enough that you couldn’t even respond to his sweet words. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“I know, bug. I’m pulling in, now. Can you see me?” You looked to the entry of the parking lot, and sure enough, he was there. He pulled up beside you, giving you a goofy smile and a wave. You couldn’t help but laugh through the tears. The sight of him alone was enough to ease the hurt. He rolled his passenger window down, prompting you to roll yours down, too. He ended the call before he spoke. “Hello, beautiful. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hi,” you greeted, sending him a smile. He climbed out of his vehicle, walking over to your window. He reached in, immediately wiping the tears away from your face.

“No need to cry over a dead battery. Easy fix.” He assured you. He leaned in, giving you a quick kiss. You felt the dread fizzle away, immediately feeling better at the small gesture. “You smell like coffee.” He noted.

“Long story.” You sighed, taking in the sight of him. He was in a cut off t-shirt and jeans, and his hair was pulled back into a bun. He looked tired, but had a permanent smile stuck on his lips. He was gorgeous, even in the simplicity. You thought it would be impossible for someone to be more beautiful than him.

“Care to share?” He asked as he opened the back door of his car. He pulled out a set of jumper cables in triumph, turning to show you. His proud expression was adorable, sending a flood of warmth straight to your heart. His willingness to help was overwhelming in the best possible way. You’d never met someone who cared for you so much, let alone someone who seemed so happy to do so.

“Spilled my drink all over me at the cafe earlier.” You told him, watching him move to the hood of his car. He lifted it, propping it up. He walked over and did the same to yours.

“You’re supposed to drink it, not wear it, silly.” He made a lighthearted pass. “Did it burn you?”

“It hurt, but I don’t think it left any marks or anything. Don’t really feel it, now.” He connected the cables carefully, making sure they were on in the right spots.

“Well that’s good at least, bug. Try starting it now.” He took a step back. You turned the keys over, and the engine sputtered for a moment, but eventually started. You let out a sigh of relief. He removed the cables and threw them back in his car. You left yours running, but got out to join him. “See? Easy fix. Should charge itself on the drive home.” He hummed, holding his arms out to you. You practically fell into them, holding on to him as if your life depended on it. You didn’t care about the rain, just about finally being able to hug him. Everything felt okay when he was holding you. He placed a kiss on the top of your head, gently rubbing his palm over your back.

“You’re the best, Danny. Thank you so much.” You said, fully meaning it. He was the best, you were certain of it. “I love you.” You mumbled, words muffled due to your face being pressed into his chest.

“You’re welcome, baby. I love you, too.” He didn’t let you go until you were ready. Eventually you pulled back, looking up at him with nothing but adoration in your eyes. “I picked up dinner. Your favourite.” He gave a smile, reaching up and brushing your hair from your face. He cupped your cheek in his large hand, causing you to instinctively lean into the touch.

“You’re too good to me.” You closed your eyes, savouring the feeling of his skin on yours.

“As if,” he let out a playful scoff. “Get in, you’re gonna get sick if you stand out in the rain for too long.” He said. You gave a nod, reluctantly pulling back from him. He leaned down, giving you one last kiss before opening your car door for you. “I’ll see you at home.” He said as he closed the door behind you. “Drive safe.”

“You, too. Thank you again.” He waved you off, not willing to accept a thank you for such a small service. He waited for you to pull out and leave before getting back into his vehicle.

The drive home was much better than the rest of your day. Knowing you would get to spend the rest of the night alone with Danny was enough of a consolation for the days suffering. The idea alone was even able to put you in good spirits, finding yourself able to sing along with a few songs on the radio. When you reached your shared home, you parked and hopped out, eager to get inside and get your coffee-stained clothes off. You weren’t even in the house before Danny was driving in, too. You waited for him to join you, watching him as he collected his things. “You threw a hitch in my plan.” He laughed, peeking at you over the roof of his car. You raised an eyebrow as an inquiry. “My big romantic gesture relied on me being home before you.” He explained. You noticed a tinge of red plaster across his cheeks. He pulled out a bouquet of flowers and a little stuffed animal. A box of chocolates was hidden behind the bear, too.

“Danny,” You scolded, feeling your eyes brim with tears again. Although, they were happy ones, this time. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to, baby. It’s not much, but I hope it helps a little bit.” You walked over to him, straining a bit to place a kiss to his cheek. Even with your heels on, he was still a little too tall to reach. “You deserve it. I, uh, got your favourite wine, too. I figured it’s Friday, so…” the dreaded tears ran down your face again, making him nervous that he may have done the wrong thing. “I’m sorry, was it stupid? I just wanted to cheer you up.”

“No! No, I just… I appreciate you. You’re too good to me.” You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand, trying to compose yourself again.

“I don’t think I could ever be too good to you. You deserve the world.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours.

“Thank you so much.” You said as he pulled away.

“You’re welcome, bug. Here,” he handed you the flowers and the bear. You took them, looking over them in gratitude. He grabbed the bag of takeout and the bottle of wine, closing the door with his foot. You both made your way inside, kicking your shoes off and going straight to the kitchen. He placed everything he was carrying on the table and grabbed the stuff from your hands. “Go take a shower, I’ll take care of everything else.” You gave him a soft smile, taking the opportunity to pull him into another hug.

“You’re the best.” You told him, making sure your poor mood didn’t cloud your appreciation.

“Only for you.” He whispered. You almost laughed at the statement.

“Whatever,” you pulled back, looking up at his smiling face. “You’re a ray of sunshine no matter where you go. You know that.”

“Yeah, but I shine the brightest for you.” He reminded. He lifted your chin with his index finger, leaning down for one more kiss before you left.

After you showered, you changed into one of Danny’s t-shirts and a pair of your most comfortable old pyjama pants that you’d word almost to destruction. When you joined him back downstairs, he’d put the flowers in a vase turned all of the lights off. In the living room, you could hear the soft hum of the record player. You followed the sound, seeing him sitting on the couch with the coffee table pulled close. The takeout containers were resting atop of it, with two glasses of wine accompanying them. He had changed, too, now only in a pair of sweatpants. His hair was still tied back, giving you a full view of his face. He’d even lit a few candles around the room, giving some low light after he’d closed the curtains. His lips upturned into a smile at the sight of you

“Come here,” he held his hand out to you. You obliged to his request with no hesitation, joining him on the couch. “Feel better?”

“Much,” You assured him.

“We’ve got the whole night to do whatever you want. We got what we needed done at the studio, today, so we have all day tomorrow, too.” Your heart warmed at his statement, realizing you could spend all day wrapped up in each other. You were eager to get as much time with him as possible, already preparing for the next time he’d have to go on tour.

You two ate in almost silence, enjoying the food and each others company. When you were both full, you took the takeout containers and stored the leftovers in the fridge. You returned and saw that Danny had readjusted himself on the couch, leaning into the arm with his legs strewn across it lengthwise. You changed the record before sitting down, finding home between his legs and resting your back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. You relaxed into his hold, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his shoulder. He snaked his hands under your shirt, letting them rest on your stomach. There was no hidden implication, just the desire to feel closer to you.

You slipped your hands on top of his, intertwining your fingers. After a moment, he leaned down, placing a kiss to your cheek. He kept his head down, resting his face on yours. You laughed at the action, leaning into him a bit more. The warmth of his skin felt nice on yours, inviting you into him even further. “I love you more than words, bug.” He hummed. The small things he did were worth more than the entire world, to you. His small gestures and loving words never left any room for doubt, and he loved you better than anyone that came before him. You were sure that nobody would come after him, either. You felt quite confident in saying he was the love of your life, and you’d be damned if you let him get away.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” You replied, feeling his arms squeeze you a little bit tighter.

“Bet you it’s not even close to how much I love you.” He smiled.

“I’m sorry my bad days get so bad.” You whispered. “I know it’s hard to deal with, and I know you’re too nice to tell me.”

“I don’t think you’re hard to deal with at all. I don’t know who made you believe that, because it’s always been a pleasure to love you, even on your bad days. Means you’re comfortable enough to show me all of you, and that’s what I want.” He explained. If it was possible to love him any more, at the sound of his words, you did. He always seemed to know exactly what to say. “You’re human. You’re allowed to be sad, or angry, or whatever you want to feel whenever you want to feel it. When I asked you to be my girlfriend, I didn’t just want to date you for the good times. That would be selfish. I signed up for all of it, the bad days, the sick days, the boring ones, and the really good ones. You take care of me when I’m grumpy, too.” You chuckled.

“As if you’re ever grumpy.”

“You take care of me in all sorts of ways. Don’t discredit yourself.” He said, loosening his grip and reaching over for his wine glass. “I don’t ever want you to feel guilty for being upset. Taking care of you is my favourite thing to do.” The conversation died down, and the wine was coming to an end, too. You were both slightly tipsy; your cheeks rosy and you were both growing more handsy by the second. With enough time, the fog of misery seemed to dissipate as well. It was part of his charm; just knowing he existed was enough to put a smile on your face. Danny was the exception to every bad mood and miserable day. His love was stronger than any horrible thought or emotion your brain could conspire, and it always seemed to chase them away.

You stood, making a move to change the record which had slowed to a stop. You flashed him a cover, silently asking for approval. He gave a hum of affirmation, appreciating your choice. You replaced the record that was already on with the new one, carefully slipping it back in its sleeve. You touched the needle to the vinyl, waiting a second for the music to start. When it did, Danny stood and walked over to you. He held out a hand, resulting in a quizzical look from you.

“Dance with me.” He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You rolled your eyes, but a smile was growing on your lips. You took his hand, allowing him to carefully twirl you around. He pulled you into him, his hand finding your hip. You brought your arms up to his neck, both of you swaying in time to the music.

“I can’t dance.” You giggled, but he already knew that.

“Me, either.” He laughed, but you knew that, too.

“Four left feet and a bottle of wine don’t mix, Danny.” You explained.

“What’s life without a little risk?” He asked, bracing his arm on your lower back as he pulled you into him and dipped you down towards the floor. You let out a chorus of giggles as he did so, having no fear that he would drop you. If there was one thing you knew about Danny, it was that he’d protect you with his life. If you were falling, he’d always catch you. If he couldn’t, he’d fall, too, just so you wouldn’t have to do it alone. He leaned down and kissed you, holding the position for a moment. He parted from you only slightly, just to give you a grin.

“How romantic.” You poked fun. “You trying to seduce me?”

“Depends,” he said “is it working?”

“Mmm, you’re almost there.” He leaned down, placing a kiss on your exposed neck. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, realizing that there was nothing that could compare. “Better.” He pulled you back upright, making sure you were steady on your feet. He guided your chin upwards with his finger and brought you into another kiss, one where the only thing he had to focus on was you. You let one of your hands fall on his bicep and the other on the back of his neck, bringing him impossibly closer. The wine was clouding your head, enhancing every touch. His hands fell to your hips, pulling you towards him once more. When you parted, you were both breathless and had stars dancing in your eyes.

You watched him for a moment, immersed in his aura. Even the air around him radiated with comfort. He was perfect. He was everything. Unfathomably caring, attentive, and more loving than you ever believed a person could be. You felt extremely blessed to be able to share your life with him, and you were eternally grateful to have someone who was so willing to love you, even when it didn’t serve him any benefit. “What are you thinking about?” He asked, hands still holding you close to him.

“You,” you admitted, giving him a small smile. “I’m always thinking about you.”

“That’s strange,” he hummed, looking quite pensive. “‘Cause I’m always thinking about you, too.”

“That is weird.” You agreed. “You think we should start dating, or something?” You asked, pretending to be bashful about the question.

“Yeah, I think that would be pretty cool.” He nodded. “Should we, like, hold hands or something?” He asked, as if the idea was blasphemous. You shrugged, eventually nodding back at him.

“That would be pretty cool,” you mimicked his statement. In response, he let one hand fall from your hip, extending it out to you. You slipped yours into his, intertwining your fingers. “I love you.” You whispered, a grin eating away at your face. The childish nature of the situation reflected on the purity of the adoration he had for you.

“I love you, bug.” He leaned down, placing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry you had a rough day.”

“It’s okay. You always make it better.” He wrapped his arm around you, holding you with all of the love he could muster within him.

“That’s all I want to do. I’d be more than alright if I spent the rest of my life making you happy.”

“You wouldn’t have to try very hard. Happy is the only thing I know how to feel, when I’m with you.” You laid your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes, completely overtaken with comfort. You were certain that if you got to spend the rest of your life loving him, it would be the happiest lifetime you could live.

[slippinmickeys]

Thank you for the Proof of Life prompt this morning! You've mentioned a wedding band and a wedding (I think??) in one of today's prompts. Um...Could you maybe write the wedding? Please?? I get if its too fluffy an ask, but I'm on my kneeeees I love this universe so much I want to live in it

1. She sits against the pillows of the bed, lounging like a limp doll, totally sapped of strength.

“How come all our assignments are to places that are hot?” she asks.

Mulder, at the end of the bed, his lap half covered in only a sheet, has his hands around her foot, which he raises to his face. He gives her toes a sniff and then presses them to his lips. “Are you lodging a complaint?” he mumbles through them.

There’s a sheen of sweat across her brow and tiny beads along the bridge of her nose.

“Perhaps” she says. “I’m experiencing a fair amount of thermal fatigue.”

Mulder looks out the window of the small bungalow and into the green beyond it. He has been in India for four months. Scully has been here for one.

“Maybe we should go somewhere colder,” he says.

2. He has been working with a journalist for the Washington Post on a story about an elephant sanctuary on the fringe of the remote Manas National Park. He has been staying on property for the last week and Scully arrived that morning to finally join him. Matthas, the journalist writing the piece, left the night before, and Mulder’s work for the article is done, though Scully doesn’t know this. He has arranged a rare day off for her, and the mahouts who live at the sanctuary are eager to show her a good time.

She has taken to dressing in brighter colors since her arrival here, and today wears a gauzy pink blouse over a bright green sarong, her hair a frizzy muzz on the top of her head. It is hard to look away from her.

Mulder, his camera in its ubiquitous place around his neck, is talking to Anand, one of the mahouts.

“Scully,” he calls out.

She is standing atop grass of virulent green reading one of the signs they have up for visitors, explaining the need for the camp in Assam.

She waves and he gives her a “come here,” gesture. She moves toward him.

“I don’t want to get in the way,” she says demurely, hanging back a bit.

“It’s fine,” he smiles at her. “I have a surprise for you.”

On a nod from Anand, he takes her hand and walks her over to the river, where another mahout, Davanesh, stands next to one of the sanctuary’s stars, Tara, who sways on soft feet, keeping a rhythm known only to her kind.

“Come and meet her,” Mulder says. He had met Tara upon his arrival and knows the beast to be kind-hearted and affectionate. He picked her specifically for this.

The river next to them is a purling brown, with the grass-cutter area beyond it. In the woods behind the river, one of the sanctuary elephants calls out and Tara answers with a short, happy trumpet.

Scully smiles at him nervously. “Is it safe?”

He shrugs and grins back. “Safe enough.”

The elephant turns her attention to the newcomer and lifts her trunk when Scully approaches, reaching out to touch her lightly on the shoulder, on her ponytail. Scully is delighted by the attention, if a little timid. Tara begins gently nosing Scully’s face. The elephant’s trunk is gray on top, the bottom the same delicate pink as Scully’s shirt. Her long eyelashes are soft and feather-like, gentle fans around intelligent eyes.

The mahout says something and Mulder interprets.

“You breathe into their trunk so they can get to know your scent,” he explains.

Scully, still a little skittish, does as prompted and then Tara takes a step back, swinging her trunk back and forth a few times before swinging it over to Davanesh, who smiles at Mulder and nods.

“Now hold out your hand,” Mulder says, butterflies set to wing in his stomach.

Tara takes a step forward and swings her trunk back at Scully, dropping something gently in her outstretched hand, her trunk as nimble as human fingers.

“What is…?” Scully says, and looks at her palm. There is a small turquoise satin bag sitting on it.

“Open it,” Mulder says softly, stepping up behind her.

She opens the bag and shakes out a delicate silver ring into her other palm. She gives a small gasp.

Mulder lowers himself to one knee beside her and Davanesh smiles widely, his teeth bright white against his dark skin.

“Mulder, you don’t have to-”

“It feels like the thing to do,” he smiles up at her. “Will you?”

He doesn’t actually say the words, and Scully doesn’t actually say yes, but she nods happily, a look crossing her face that Mulder interprets as the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. Before he can reach up to put the ring on her finger, Tara starts bumping him in the head with her trunk, unused to not being the center of attention. Scully lets out a sharp peel of laughter and Mulder finally stands, a thought occurring to him.

“Shit!” he says, someone indecorously. “I forgot to take a picture!”

3. “I’ll give you this,” Scully says as they walk past the building of the Consulate General, a ritual they do on their first day in any foreign country. “It’s certainly not too hot here.”

They are just down from the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, still on Princes Street. It’s early April in Scotland, and, Mulder has to admit, butt-fucking cold.

The American flag snaps and flaps in the cold breeze at the top of the building they stand in front of, and they nod at the Marine behind the gate before turning on their heel and heading back toward the castle. They are unlikely to need the services of the Consulate here, but have had the occasion, on no less than three separate instances, to yell “I’m an American!” while running full bore at embassy and consulate gates in other parts of the world, and every time, the young Marine (it’s always a young Marine) stationed there has snapped to attention and saved their hides.

Here, they’re more in danger of tripping over a cobblestone while walking to the closest coffee shop, but Scully said she was sick of the heat, and Mulder has an idea.

It started with listless boredom, as these things tend to, laid out in a tent near the equator, reading whatever English-language book that happened to be left behind by a colleague or visitor. In this case it was a Regency romance novel that Scully had burned through the weekend before and Mulder picked up on the working theory that you could actually die of boredom. At the time, all he thought was: needs must.

In the story, a young daughter of a marquess – madly in love with the blacksmith who’d heroically fixed the axle on her wayward carriage, eloped with her muscle-bound beau to Gretna Green and married only minutes before her viscous older brother arrived on scene with the cavalry of the ton at his back. The young couple slipped away and consummated the marriage (with many a heaving bosom) beneath a willow in the village square and what’s done was done and they lived happily ever after.

Mulder prefers the bed in their rented flat to the wet sod of a village green and they had consummated their relationship hundreds of times over at this point, but Gretna Green: now there was an idea.

He grabs her mittened hand, the ring around her finger a hard nub under his hand, and feels a swell of something like pride. That this incredible woman would choose him.

As they begin the walk up the Royal Mile, they pass coffee shops, gelato shops, store fronts hocking kitschy souvenirs. Mulder pulls up in front of one of probably twenty with a mannequin in the window wearing a kilt. It’s fitted out in the whole nine yards (literally—where the saying came from) of formal wear; hose with flashes, a sporran, Prince Charlie jacket. There’s even a sheathed dirk tucked into the waistband.

“So, I had a thought,” he says.

Scully turns her attention from the window to him.

“I was thinking we could elope.” She raises her eyebrows at this. “Here,” he goes on to explain.

A small smile creeps up her cheek.

“Do you remember that novel in Laos, the one that made the rounds through camp? The blacksmith and the wanton wallflower, something…” he trails off.

“I remember an outbreak of the clap not long after…”

Mulder stifles the urge to laugh.

“That’s the one.”

It takes Scully a moment to catch up. “You want to elope to Gretna Green?” Her eyebrows are sky high.

“Bad idea?” he says a little self-consciously.

“No, I-“ she turns back to the store window. “I kind of love it, actually.”

“We ran off to Gretna Green would make a great story,” he says.

She squeezes his hand. “I don’t think anything could top our meet-cute.”

He smiles at her, looks to the window himself.

“Would you wear a kilt?” she asks.

“Would you want me to?”

She half-turns her head to him, a sly little smile on her face.

4. Click.

He takes one picture before handing his camera over to the volunteer witness, who immediately turns the lens back on Mulder, an odd, curious feeling.

One he forgets the instant he turns to Scully.

She is in a simple white dress, her long hair brushed to a high shine and curled over one shoulder. She carries no flowers and is wearing only simple silver jewelry, and her hands are warm and dry and fit just right into his. She never once looks away.

They opted for a ceremony in the original marriage room of the old smithy, partly for the kitsch of it and partly as an inside joke, but Mulder doesn’t feel like laughing as they stand over the old anvil. There is an ethereal earthiness to the room, with its whitewashed stone walls and rough hewn low ceiling battened with old horseshoes.

As the officiant speaks of love being forged in an unbreakable bond, Mulder thinks of 1055, of their stringy hair and unwashed bodies, of the boot-steps of the men always lurking outside their door.

Love isn’t just forged in peace and bliss, he thinks, but in trial and turmoil too.

They hold hands and exchange rings and when the officiant pronounces them wed, he leans in to press his lips to hers and it’s all sun-dried linen and eucalyptus and that room on the 10th floor. Flowers come from dirt. Good things can come from bad. Love can come from anywhere if only you have the courage to hang onto it.

Click.

[moonleeai]

Code Name: Gummy Bear

˚ʚ pairing: Asset!Namjoon x Agent!Reader ˚ʚ au/genre: Agent/Asset, soft smut ˚ʚ rating: MA ˚ʚ warnings: implied violence, blood, cursing, implied sexual acts ˚ʚ wc: 1262

˚ʚ Summary: You were hired for two things: to keep Kim Namjoon safe and content. What’s the harm in also giving in to what we wants…

˚ʚ Thank you to @downbad4yoongi for beta reading!

˚ʚ Part of the @bangtanwritershq September 2023 “Big Boys” flash fiction writing event

You were assigned to Kim Namjoon’s detail only three months ago. He’s been the most straightforward assignment by far; all you have to do is keep him safe and content. Three months ago, pretty boy was riding his bicycle in the wrong place at the wrong time and witnessed a horrific act under the Han River Bridge. The government can use his information, but the mafia wants to bury him—dead or alive.

The man may be muscular, but he’s more of a lover than a fighter, and you—well, you’re as badass as they come. You can take down men before they know what’s coming, leaving them bloodied and bruised, begging for mercy on their knees— if they survive your attack.

You learned everything about Namjoon reasonably quickly—he’s a talker. All he needs is art in any form and gummy bears. Your team is taking longer than expected to find the last few mafia members. Three months have passed, and Namjoon is getting restless; he keeps putting himself in dangerous situations.

Today, he snuck out to a museum as he sent you on an impossible task to purchase gummy bears and a rare art magazine. It took three vendors laughing in your face before you realized what he had planned.

You take a deep breath and pull out your encrypted phone, “Activate GPS on Gummy Bear.”

“Confirm identity,” a monotone voice says from the other line.

“Agent Daisy.” A code name you unwillingly earned to help ease the minds of your assignments; your deadly actions were intertwined with your persona, so your handler thought a flower code name would help. You hate it.

“Confirmed.” Within seconds, you have Namjoon’s location and hail a taxi to the site. Frustrated, you open the bag of elastic gelatin and rip the heads off the bears with your teeth.  

When you arrive at the closed museum, you can smell the trouble. With your phone guiding you to the basement, you hear men shouting and find Namjoon tied to a chair with a spotlight on him. You scan the space and find there are only three thugs. Easy. You pull your hair into a bun, zip up your jacket, and throw the hood over your head. You begin your walk toward them with your head down, the grocery bag making light rustling sounds at your side.

“Yah! Who are you? How’d you get down here?!” Yells one of the men. You continue your walk. “Are you dumb?” He continues trying to scare you as you pick up your pace. You stop just a few steps away, look at the man closest to you, and smugly smile while dropping the grocery bag.

“You boys have something of mine,” you flick your eyes to Namjoon and back to the man, “and I don’t play well with others.”

Before you knew it, all three men were knocked out cold, and your team was collecting the bodies —clean-up protocol. 

“What took you so long?” Namjoon scoffs.

“Next time…I’ll quit and leave you for the wolves.” You chide and get in the backseat of a black SUV waiting to take you and Namjoon back to the secure apartment. He likes it when you get mad, says it’s hot, which pisses you off even more. You sit in silence with a blank stare while Namjoon admires you candidly. He reaches out to grab your hand, but you stop him, “Touch me and I will break your fingers.” Namjoon draws his bottom lip between his teeth before smirking and averting his eyes out his window.

You walk through the apartment door like a hurricane. Shoes get hurled in opposite directions, and you throw the plastic bag of art magazines and half-eaten gummy bears onto the kitchen island as you make your way to the bathroom. 

Namjoon follows you like a puppy nipping at your heels. You start the shower and take your jacket off, tossing it forcefully to the ground. Namjoon’s eyes widen, “Shit! Are you okay!?” His eyes fixate on your white lace tank top, where blood stains a few places. You glance in the mirror at him standing behind you, innocent and sweet, undoubtedly concerned. 

“Yeah, Gummy Bear…it’s not my blood.” You turn to look at him as you remove your top, exposing your bare breasts. You watch his Adam's Apple bob as he swallows hard. “See, everything’s fine. I need a quick shower. You wanna watch?” you snicker. He rolls his eyes and walks away. “Coward!” You call out behind him and giggle as you step into the hotter-than-hell water.

Namjoon has never struggled with resisting you. Your lewd advances and constant showing of skin leave little to the imagination— and he has a wild one. One that has him dreaming of all the things he wants to do with you— if only he weren’t so nervous to open that door. For now, he has fun riling you up and getting reactions, although he never intended for you to get hurt in the process.

Freshly showered, you slip on a baggy t-shirt and go to the living room, where Namjoon reads a magazine and eats gummy bears. He’s lying with one leg flung over the back of the couch, so you plop down by his crotch, throwing your legs over his one leg stretching on the couch seats, and close your eyes. Namjoon quickly sits up, seeming uncomfortable with your proximity. You put a hand on his chest to stop him from moving.

“Relax, Gummy Bear. I need to recharge, and this is so you can’t escape me.”

Namjoon lets out his unknowingly held breath, “Your lip…it’s…”

You curl your lip inward and flit your tongue on the cut, “Yeah. One of those assholes sucker punched me. It’ll heal.”

Eyes still closed, you feel Namjoon’s finger graze your laceration. He says nothing, but you can feel his apology. You open your eyes just enough to notice his stare has turned passionate. Heat spreads under your skin, and your heart begins to race.

“Gummy Bear, are you finally going to act on those impure thoughts?”

“Can I?” Before you can respond, Namjoon is shyly and gently pressing his lips to yours. Then he brushes his lips down your neck, nibbling and sucking, “I’m safe, thanks to you. How can I thank you, Daisy?”

You cringe at the name, and now the heat burns red like a demon. Giving a devilish smile, you pin him down on the couch and straddle his lap. 

“What the fuck?!”

“You know I hate that name.” You wrap one hand around his throat, applying light pressure, reminding him how you are completely opposite of a fragile, little daisy.

He taps your arm frantically, and when you let up, he breathes heavily. “Fuck! You fucking terrify me!”

Your pussy clenches, sending a quiver through your body. You lean closer to him, “Mmm, talking dirty to me?”

Namjoon smirks, and you feel his dick twitch, “I want to do so many dirty things...What should I call you? Princess?”

“Fuck a princess, I’m a King.” You laugh mischievously.  

He runs his hands up your thighs and tepidly lifts the hem of your shirt, exposing your pussy. He curses under his breath and firmly grasps your hips, then glides your naked core against his hardening cock. You take control of his hands and pull them up to your breasts while rocking your hips against his cock. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he damn near begs, “Fuck me, please!”

“Oh, Gummy Bear…I’m going to eat you alive.”

[theriu]

River Reads Midnight Sun

Well met, traveler! This is the starting post for my experiment, wherein I, who have never read the Twilight books or seen the movies, read Midnight Sun (basically Twilight from Edward's perspective) and commentate for (hopefully) your entertainment! I decided it would be easiest to do this a chapter at a time, and my commentary will essentially be a summary of each chapter so people equally unfamiliar with the story can follow along. You can follow or block this experiment with the tag #river reads midnight sun.

I think that should do it! Let's get started with:

Chapter 1: First Sight

In which Edward finds high schoolers very Boring and Inane, and also nearly goes bonkers over a potential snack.

First things first: Can we talk about how gross pomegranates look? Is the cover art SUPPOSED to resemble an optical illusion between a halved pomegranate and a bleeding heart? Either way, EW.

Right, on to business!

Edward is bored, you guys. He is SO BORED. High school is so boring. Purgatory is mentioned, as well as “tedium” and “monotonous.” He really wants us to know how bored he is, even though the word “boredom” is not used until the sixth paragraph. But trust me, he’s very bored. One begins to wonder why the immortal 100+-year-old vampire is choosing to hang out daily in such a boring place, but I’m sure it will be explained.

Now we learn about his mindreading powers! This is also very boring because most of the minds he has to read are petty high school minds. By the way, the inane sheeple chatter in the school mindscape today is all about the new girl! I wonder who she could be! Ed sure doesn’t care! He can see every angle of her face via peoples’ thoughts, and he is NOT impressed. Half the “sheep-like males” are crushing on her. Edward’s disdain for them is palpable, almost as if it's not totally normal and fine for human teenagers to find new things like a new student exciting. We may be witnessing a smidge of superiority complex, which is shocking, no doubt.

Mind-reading as a way to introduce other relevant characters is handy, I will grant the author that! Of course, Ed tries not to mindread his fellow vampires out of courtesy, but he KNOWS what they are probably thinking, and boy is he ready to tell us!

Rosalie: Is either actually super hot or super thinks she is, and apparently this debate encompasses her every waking moment. She only compares herself to VAMPIRES, of course, because humans could never be comparably hot. Related to a stagnant pool. Wow, Ed.

Emmett: Hyper competitive guy who has no new thoughts because he says EVERYTHING he thinks. Compared to a glass-clear lake. I suppose that means Ed maybe thinks he has depth? Maybe? We'll err on the side of optimism.

Jasper: Suffering. That’s literally the entire description.

Alice (who can see the future) introduces herself by beaming thoughts at Ed asking how Jasper is doing. Jasper is not doing well. Apparently he is so ready to eat people that he has forgotten how to Human and is sitting in a corpse-like rigor, because it seems when you become a vampire you lose quirks like restless leg syndrome and blinking? This feels full of potential hilarity to me, but I fear such hilarity will not be realized in this Very Serious Book.

Anyway, back to Jasper, who is SUFFERING. Alice asks if there is any danger. Edward signals no. Half a page later, his exposition about Jasper's problem adds, “Jasper was very dangerous right now." Okay, so which is it?! PICK A LANE, ED

(On a genuine note, I already like Alice; she counters Jasper’s fantasies about eating a girl by telling him her name and a few personal facts in a way that shows Alice makes an effort to know her classmates as more than just The Humans. Yay empathy!)

Btw, Ed’s internal monologue indicates they’re hanging out at this school to build their strength and endurance by being around humans and not eating them, and to that I say REALLY??? You chose high school for that?! The one where you’re SUPER BORED?? GO HANG OUT AT A COFFEE SHOP OR SOMETHING

Ope, plot progression! Bella has entered the chat lunchroom. Literally everyone is thinking about Bella, including Jessica, no doubt the requisite catty high school rival who crushed on Edward previously. She has many disgruntled thoughts about Bella, Bella noticing the Cullens, everyone noticing Bella, etc. Ed, who has been doing a great job keeping us up to date on the general thought processes of the student body, takes this moment to assure us once again how much he finds all of this chatter inane AND petty AND trivial, and he’s definitely going to try harder to block them out (again).

Wait, oh my word, was that a line of HUMOROUS BANTER between the Cullens just now?! I have renewed hope for this Very Serious Book!

So Edward is the vampires' mental scout who checks for people suspecting he and his family are inhumanly weird (as opposed to acceptably weird), and naturally he does a brain scan on Bella. Oooo but he’s not hearing anything! And now they have locked eyes! Her eyes are very odd, because of the DEPTH of them! Already, Bella is very Frail and immune to mindreading and somehow has “deeper” eyes than I guess any other human Edward has met in his 100+ years? Ed, I think you need to make eye contact more.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled torrent of inane high schooler thoughts! Amazingly, they are all still focused on Bella and being attracted to or jealous of her, because of course real high schoolers are all Inane and Tedious. (The one exception is Angela, who is busy thinking about homework. I like her, she seems normal.) Jessica is being catty again, and what’s this?! Ed suddenly has this STRANGE URGE to SHIELD Bella from this nasty girl! How very odd and unusual! Especially from a guy who very clearly finds all human teenagers Inane/Petty/Trivial! Bella must be special, except she is also “very unexceptional." Also, Ed is highly frustrated that he can’t read this girl’s mind, despite him constantly reading her like a book and her having “deceptively communicative” eyes.

Rosalie breaks Ed out of his frustration-driven contradictory spiral, and they all go to class, Ed casually mentioning his two medical degrees in an internal dig at his biology teacher (again, why are you hanging out at high school???) Naturally, Bella shows up and the only seat available is the one next to Edward, because Plot everyone is subliminally terrified of him. Ed has a moment of panic wondering if not hearing one girl’s thoughts means he has a vampire disease and is gonna lose all his mindreading, and then he has another moment of empathy for Bella having to sit next to the Scary Vampire.

Then she walks in front of an air duct, and Edward is suddenly overcome with INTENSE BLOODLUST THE LIKES OF WHICH HE HAS NEVER EXPERIENCED BEFORE!!! He wants to eat her SO BAD, you guys! He spends roughly EIGHT PAGES brooding on how badly he wants to eat her, noticing how delicious she smells, crushing the underside of a desk with his intense self-control grip (but having the presence of mind to “destroy the evidence” by rounding out the finger-shaped hole he just made), analyzing the logistics of eliminating a roomful of witnesses and whether to do so before or after eating her, seeing his monstrous reflection in her eyeballs, angsting over how bad he will feel when he murders a bunch of people, plotting ways of murdering her that WON’T result in collateral damage, questioning Bella’s sanity for daring to SHAKE HER HAIR IN HIS VICINITY, angsting about how disappointed his wonderful adoptive dad Carlisle will be (aww, that’s actually sweet), stubbornly deciding “she can’t make me,” hating Bella with the fury of a thousand suns for daring to smell so delicious, and shutting off his breathing so he has at least some self-control, which does sound uncomfortable but I applaud the effort.

Then class finally ends (for him and for us), and he goes and hides in his car. Which, honestly, relatable.

The car timeout helps restore his sanity, and he determines he does in fact not need to kill her and that hating her guts for smelling like an eight-course dinner probably isn’t fair! He just needs to avoid her as much as possible. Bless your heart for your optimism, Male Lead of a Paranormal Romance Novel.

The solution he comes up with is to charm the poor secretary (who keeps having to remind herself mentally that he’s too young for her, which, augh) into switching him to a different sixth-period course. Bella chooses this opportune moment to walk in, which he doesn’t notice until her DELICIOUS SMELL is blown over him (I question why someone with such advanced senses can only notice powerful smells when he is downwind of them). Edward’s Amazing Vampire Vision kicks in, allowing him to once again see his Monstrous Face in the reflection of her eyes, despite her being over against the wall. He briefly contemplates double homicide, then . . . uh . . . gives up on changing classes so he can walk away. This doesn’t feel like a long-term solution, Ed, but Kudos for the self-control.

The chapter wraps up with him jumping into his car (it’s the end of the day, so the others are waiting for him) and breaking the speed limit out of the parking lot. Alice uses Future Sight (it’s super effective!) to see that Ed is either going to book it out of Forks (the town) or go and murder Bella in her house. I once again have reason to like Alice, who orders him not to do it, adding that it would metaphorically kill Bella’s dad. He drops them off and races away again, not yet sure if he’s going to tell Dad Carlisle that he’s leaving or going to go eat the delicious new girl. And Scene!

Well, that wasn’t as painful as I feared, so huzzah! I kind of appreciate the internal look at his thoughts and how his mindreading lets us see other characters even when they can’t talk. Got a bit long at times, especially with how Inane and Petty and Trivial high schoolers are to Edward! LOTS OF DETAIL about how badly he wanted to eat Bella and possibly murder all bystanders, which I guess does go to show how bad the bloodlust is, because dang! (But why do none of the others have this reaction to her yet? Maybe they just don’t have classes with her. You must be this close to the Bella to ride the maniac vampire train!)

And with that, I have earned a much-deserved break before delving into CHAPTER TWO: OPEN BOOK! I’m sure Edward will totally succeed in his plan to skedaddle out of Forks and never see Bella again! Stay positive, Ed! =Dd

Chapter 2->

[mncxbe]

Just an Ango thingy I decided to write because I miss Paris !! season 2 spoilers

5:40♧

𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒐 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: slight angst/ happy ending

The rattle of the rails reverberated through the entire tunnel, announcing the arrival of the midnight subway. It was a chilly autumn night and you were heading home from work. Just like every night, you were going to take line 14 from Châtelet to Saint-Lazare, then switch to line 13 to get to Saint-Denis, a total of 12 stops. This half hour trip to your crappy apartment was usually spent listening to music or reading the awfully long book you started the day you arrived in Paris two months ago; but not today.

As soon as the automatic doors of the subway closed behind you, your eyes landed on the poster glued to the tube's metal wall. It was a picture of the Ookagawa river in Yokohama, its banks lined with blossomed cherry trees. A sudden wave of nostalgia took over you and the memories came flooding in, echoes of the life you left behind.

You usually avoided thinking about your hometown and the people there; the memories were so fresh, the pain so vivid.

Only four months prior you were sitting on one of the high, rotating chairs at Lupin, celebrating Dazai's birthday with Oda and Ango, the people you considered your closest friends; your family. The drinks came one after another and except for Ango, who had his usual tomato juice, you were all tipsy.

"Ey Dazai. You've got enough to cover the bill, right?" you half laughed as you heard Dazai whine.

"But it's my birthday. Why should I be the one to pay?"

"Don't worry, birthday boy. I got you." said Oda in his usual calm voice.

You gently nudged Ango's arm, causing him to tense "You sure you don't want anything to drink?"

"No. Someone has to drive you home anyway." he replied without taking his eyes off of the glass in front of him.

Ango was the newest addition to your group; quite a reserved and stoic guy but you still liked him. He would often give you a lift after you had a few glasses at the bar.

"Alright. Suit yourself then."

That evening you parted ways, promising eachother to meet more often. Dazai left with Oda and you with Ango; the latter opening the passenger door for you.

"Angoo" you whined as you dropped onto the cushioned seat "My head hurts"

"Of course it hurts. You've had a lot to drink" he said in a slightly amused voice.

You noticed a few weeks prior that Ango would often let his guard down when it was only the two of you. It was a subtle change but you still noticed it: his shoulders were less tense, the line between his eyebrows would almost completely fade and he'd laugh more often.

During the ride home you looked at his profile. You were mesmerized by the way the city lights reflected in his glasses.

Without thinking, you reached for his glasses and snatched them, causing the man to almost crash into a nearby car. He managed to pull over in an empty parking space.

"Jesus, Y/N. I almost hit someone what are you doing?" he questioned in a harsh voice; but all his anger dissipated when he saw you propped against the door, adjusting his glasses on your face.

"Looook Ango. I'm pretty just like you now" you blurted out while smiling from ear to ear. A slight blush tinted his cheeks as he seized his glasses, earning another whine from you.

You were both quiet for the rest of the ride and by the time he pulled into the parking lot of your building you were almost asleep.

"Wake up, we're here" he spoke, gently shaking your shoulder but you only shurgged.

"Don't wanna go"

Ango looked at you for a few minutes, debating his next actions. He could let you sleep in his car, but that meant he'd have to spend the night in the parking lot. Or he could carry you to your apartment, which is exactly what he ended up doing.

Luckily the building had a functional elevator so he needn't walk you up the stairs to the 16th floor. He unlocked your door and walked inside your flat, placing you on the bed. Even in this drunked state you were pretty; laying on your side, your flushed cheeks like ripe apricots.

Just as he was about to leave you opened your eyes, calling out his name.

"Stay Ango please. Need to tell you s'mthing" you uttered while patting the bed. He cautiously took a seat and you pulled him down next to you, your arms wrapping around his torso.

He tried to protest but to no avail; you wouldn't let him go. Instead, you shifted closer to him, your face finding its way to the crook of his neck as you whispered a soft "I like you Ango" before drifting to sleep.

From then on you started seeing the man more and more often, the relationship between you growing by the day. It was still complicated; Ango was secretive and distant but you compensated with patience and trust. He eventually gave in and in three weeks time you started dating. It was one of the happiest months of your life; the usual missions were followed not by lonely nights, but by wonderful evenings spent in the comforting embrace of your boyfriend. "You did great today", "I'm really proud of you" he'd praise you, his fingers tracing random shapes along your thigh.

You'd often go on small dates: walks in the rain, late night talks under the starry sky on the top of his apartment building, a glass of wine in your hand, quick runs to the bookstore and occasional visits to different art museums; other times you'd simply join Dazai and Oda for drinks at Lupin.

But regardless of what you did in your free time, you did it together, your lives and routines slowly bleeding into eachother.

Your relationship ended abruptly on the day Oda died. When you found out about his involvement in your friend's death you fell to pieces. Although Ango begged you to stay, claiming that he never knew what would happen, that he didn't mean to hurt anyone, you couldn't be with him any longer. At least not now. No, you didn't blame him for Oda's death but he still lied to you and you felt betrayed.

The decisive factor in your resolve to flee the country was Dazai's disappearance. When you received his note saying that he'd left the Mafia and was going under the radar for a while, you booked a one-way flight to Paris, packed your few belongings and left.

Your recollection was interrupted by a loud chime that echoed through the subway, followed by the familiar mechanic voice that announced your arrival at the last station.

You quickly stepped out of the tube and navigated through the maze of tunnels until you reached the surface. A light drizzle had started while you were underground so you hurried home, eager to be confined in the comfort of your apartment.

When you opened the front door, the unopened envelope that lay on the ground caught your eyes. You picked it up and immediately recognized the handwriting. Without wasting a minute you tore the cover and procured the letter inside, your eyes scanning the paper.

Dear Y/N

I thought about whether I should reach out to you or not but I think it's time I did. Since you haven't been returning my calls I decided to write you a letter. It's been two months since Oda died and things are rough here; I just want to know if you're okay and safe. Please come home soon, I miss you.

Ango

You stared at the written piece of papern, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, clouding your vision. A few minutes later you neatly folded the letter, placing it on the countertop.

Maybe you were going to answer him, maybe you were going to go back to Yokohama, to him, but maybe you should think about these things tomorrow. But...

By the time you fell asleep, the night sky was already giving way to the rosy colours of the sunrise. The warm rays that entered the room through your large window fell onto your sleeping figure, illuminating the screen of your phone.

Suddenly, its display lit up and a blip announced that you had a new message:

I see my letter got to you, thanks for texting me. I'm really glad you're doing okay. Whenever you decide to come back I'll be here for you. ~Ango

[author-morgan]

Title: Pleasures of Politicking Rating: M Pairing: King Ecbert x fem!Reader Summary: Sometimes, you’re the only one King Ecbert desires to see. Can be read as a sequel to The Best Laid Plans. Part one of the planned birthday fics for wifey: @mrsragnarlodbrok. 🎁❤️🍻 Happy Birthday!!!

THE PROBLEM OF the Northern invaders weighs heavily on his mind —and the crown upon his brow is a heavier weight still. Ecbert may only be the King of Wessex, but he shoulders the weight of all England. None of the other petty kings have his strength and will, not even Ælla of Northumbria, for all his pride and bloodlust.

Lesser lords, nobles, and smallfolk alike fill the great hall of Wincestre —all come to voice their concerns and woes. Most are piddling requests to appeal to and stroke Ecbert’s ego. Others have come with calls for justice against supposedly broken oaths, unfaithful spouses, and stolen sheep. It’s dull and tiresome and wears on the king’s patience. He loves his subjects, as all good kings should, but one can only endure so much yapping over insignificant squabbles in the face of the pagans who have come to murder, rape, and plunder riches from Wessex and the entire English countryside.

Ecbert lifts one of his hands from the throne’s armrest and shakes his head, cutting off Ealdorman Wulfstan’s declared grievance against his neighbor and known political rival, Leofric. “I will hear no more today,” he announces —the morning court has worn on his nerves enough as it is.

Whispers of indignation rustle through the hall, even amongst the nobility and gathered clergymen. It is not like the king to end court so soon and after hearing so few of those who have traveled far to reach Wincestre. “All of you” —Ecbert looks over those gathered, anger stirring in his gut— “leave.”

The doors of the great hall open wide, letting people shuffle out and to the courtyard. Æthelwulf stays, lingering after most have cleared —he does not understand the cause for his father’s short temper this morning. He steps to the dais, and Ecbert’s gaze falls upon his son —his only son. “This includes you, Æthelwulf.” There are protests on his son’s tongue and lips, but Æthelwulf quells the extempore thoughts and bows low before leaving too.

You step from the shadows near one of the great stone pillars —gaze lowered in piety. “What of me, my king?”

King Ecbert almost laughs —it’s an absurd question for the one he considers his closest confidant to ask. No, right now, you are the only person he wishes to speak with. The only one who truly understands the inner workings of his mind and heart. “Never you, my dear,” he answers, extending his hand toward you. “Come,” he beckons, motioning to the space beside him on Wessex’s throne. “Sit with me.”

You go to him and take the space at his side. Ecbert swore never to marry another after the death of his wife, but there are times when he wonders if such an oath is worth breaking or if you should both carry on as you do now —as king and fidus Achates. If nothing else, marriage would finally make the bishop and priests’ woeful complaints of his sinful ways out of wedlock null. But even without ceremony, you are the Queen of Wessex in all but name —everyone knows it, and nobody with half a mind would dare say otherwise.

He draws you into his side, arm draped over your shoulders as you both look ahead at the empty hall. “Did you hear?” Ecbert inquires —his hand slipping from your bicep to the nape of your neck. “Ragnar Lothbrok and his band of pagans have left our shores.” The news reached him in the early hours of the morn, and he had not wished to wake you so early for such affairs. Where once there were ten longships anchored on the river, now there are only two and a handful of lingering tents. The scouts watched from the forest for hours, but Ragnar Lothbrok was gone with his dark raven banners and shields.

“So suddenly?” You were there when Ecbert made his offer to Ragnar Lothbrok, not but five days past —an exchange of land for the help of the Northmen in strengthening Wessex. It seems a strange thing that such a fearsome and capable man as Ragnar would tuck tail and run after coming to treat with King Ecbert. You cannot imagine what drove him and his kin back across the sea with so little to show for their travels.

“A smaller party remains,” he tells you —twisting a lock of hair around his ring finger and tugging on it every so lightly, just enough for you solely focus on him. “Though, it does raise the question of what is to be done.” He’s thought of summoning the most senior of those left to treat with, but that will only serve to anger the lords and residents of Wessex even more.

“We cannot trust these Northmen.” It’s obvious, of course. In truth, it is likely foolish to put any trust in Ragnar —or any pagan. An oath not sworn to the Father or on the Holy Book is hardly an oath at all. Ecbert smiles and nods his agreement. “Nor should we entertain their presence and whims.” Their supplies are not endless. Soon they will turn their gaze to villages and towns to plunder. Such behaviors cannot be tolerated.

“No,” Ecbert concurs. “That is why I am sending Cuthberht and a score of men to remedy this.” To either drive them back across the sea or slaughter them. He hopes it will be the latter. A slaughter will be cleaner —no loose ends. You nod. It is a sound choice, an easy one too.  

Still, even with one encampment eliminated, more will return —of this, you are certain, and so is Ecbert. There has been no peace since the first raid on the monastery at Lindisfarne, and now their gaze has turned southward. But England will not be able to fend off the Northern invaders if every petty king is at each other’s throats as they are now. With Northumbria, Mercia, East Anglia, and Wessex divided, England will have no choice but to fall into ruin. “England must be better prepared for the future when Ragnar and other Northmen return,” you advise.

“Yet we cannot unite amongst ourselves,” he sighs, reaching for your hand, thumb running over your knuckles —and the bare spot on your finger where he’s considered putting a ring too many times to count. Perhaps that should be his ambition —to become the King of all England and finally crown you as his queen. Ecbert lifts your hand and presses a lingering kiss on your knuckles.

You twist your hand in his grasp, threading your fingers with his, and fall silent as you ponder what can be done, what should be done. “If you could bring Mercia under heel and yoke.” It is not the first time you have considered such measures, but it is the first time you have spake of them to Ecbert.

He shifts on the throne. His curiosity piqued by the proposition, and his hand slips from yours and to your thigh, fingertips pressing into your flesh through the linen and silk of your dress. Ecbert always enjoys listening to your ploys. Often, they are taken to heart and implemented too. If you’ve a plan to unite England, he will hear it. “How would I do that, my dear?” He asks, brow raised. “Since Offa’s death, there are no less than a dozen claims to the Mercian throne.” Mercia would sooner tear itself apart than cooperate —a large host of Northmen may even be able to take the kingdom for themselves and instill Dane Law.

“Ælla.” Ecbert smiles at the mention of the boisterous King of Northumbria. Mercia lies between Wessex and Northumbria. The two kingdoms could serve as pincers and bring the unruly lords of Mercia to heel. “Ally with King Ælla,” you tell him, reaching for the golden pendant set with a polished black onyx resting on his chest, “and quash this petty rivalry among kinsmen.”

The King of Wessex goes quiet, a hand stroking over his beard while he thinks over everything you’ve said and what he’s long been considering. “Split the kingdom?” He proposes. A fair bid to share the land of Mercia, so long as it's divvied equally.

“Or install a puppet ruler,” you supplement, tugging on the pendant to draw him nearer.

Ecbert shifts again, and this time he gathers you in his arms, pulling you across his lap. The smile beneath his golden and silver-speckled whiskers twinkles in his steel-grey eyes —as do the golden flames of the candles burning in their wrought iron candelabras. “Sometimes I believe you are crueler than even I am,” he muses, one hand squeezing your waist, the other cradling your cheek. It is not the first time your advice has led to bloodshed. “And then I thank God you whisper in mine own ear and not another lord or king’s.”

You smile for him, reaching to comb your fingers through his beard, and he leans toward you, closing the distance. His lips are on yours before either of you can think further about the consequences should someone decide to barge into the great hall and see such sinful deeds. You answer his kiss, slowly at first, then with more fervor when you settle your hands on either side of his neck, drawing yourself closer.

Parting, you press your forehead against his and meet his heated stare. “Surely you have already considered such things, though.” You refuse to believe this is the first time he’s considered such actions.

“Perhaps,” he professes —one of his hands slides over your long skirt and then under it, his fingers running over your ankles and calves —masked from his touch by wool stocking— and finally to your knees and thighs, bare and warm. His palm is hot, resting against your inner thigh, his thumb rubbing distracting circles. “I do so love to hear you speak of politics,” he admits, his voice suddenly rough with want.

You shiver under his touch and burning gaze. “Ecbert,” you chide, doing your best to keep a stern tone and countenance —you cannot deny your desire for him, but here of all places to commit such sacrilege? You’ll not be able to look upon the throne of Wessex the same afterward. Ecbert cares little, though. He is king, and he would gladly take you at the foot of a church altar were you willing. 

He knows how to play you like the court bard does his lute, and he kisses you again, but this time he catches your bottom lips between his teeth and gives a light tug, pulling a muffled cry from your throat. A final detrimental crack in your resolve, and then the tips of his fingertips stray farther, brushing against the damp folds of your cunt, and you shatter completely, caving into him. Ecbert makes a strangled noise of approval upon finding you so ready and willing for him.

Resignation passes over your expression, alas, and Ecbert’s lips twitch upward —another victory, even if it is small compared to winning a battle or kingdom. A gasp and weak moan escape your lips as the pad of his thumb circles around your clit, his other fingers slipping through your slick folds —teasing. “Shh, my dear.” He hushes you with his mouth as he strokes his fingers through your heat, feeling your muscles tense and flutter and his cock twitch —already straining against the ties of his britches. Ecbert nuzzles his face into your neck —lips dragging over your pulse, the beard on his jaw scraping against your skin. He’ll see you come undone by his own hand before taking his fill.

Nimble fingers fill you without warning, first one, then two. He bites his lower lip, twisting and scissoring his fingers deeper inside you, making you squirm, then repeats the same motion —this time slower, ensuring you feel the torturous drag of his knuckles. You can’t help but softly moan as Ecbert curls his fingers inside you, sweeping repeatedly over just the right spot for your vision to blur and your limbs to tremble. Ecbert watches your face twist and the warmth rise to your cheeks, his name a hushed whisper on your lips.

He curls his fingers again —moving faster— his thumb pressed tight against your clit as you rock your hips, trying to increase the friction. “Ecbert!” You plead, a little louder and breathier than before. The coil in your stomach tightens, and when you gasp aloud, he presses his mouth to yours, swallowing the noise as a man starved does a warm meal.

But his impatience wins over —he needs to be sheathed within your warmth— and Ecbert withdraws his fingers, letting you up. He fumbles with the laces of britches once your rise, just enough to free his cock, and you quickly ruck up the skirts of your dress and straddle him fully. He’s so hard and warm beneath you, cock twitching —aching— all for you. Ecbert’s cheeks are flushed in the summer air, fighting to keep his regal and temperate composure. But you hold an obscene amount of power over him —even without sitting astride his lap with a hand lazily stroking his cock, guiding him into your cunt.

Ecbert helps lower you onto him, grabbing handfuls of your thighs and bottom, and as you sink onto his cock, you clutch at his back, nails digging into the rich-blue fabric covering his shoulder blades. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, groaning as he slowly slips into you, inch-by-inch, letting you reacquaint yourself with every vein and ridge of his cock dragging along the walls of your cunt. When your hips meet, you both still —a moment to adjust. But then he rocks his hips against yours, urging you to move too. His thrusts soon meet yours, hips rising from the throne. You squirm atop him, the head of his cock striking that place deep inside you with every roll of his hips.

The coil in your stomach tightens again, and this time you’ll have your end —you can feel it build inside you like a million sparks racing through your veins. “Ecbert,” you whimper, the fire in your core burning brighter, stomach fluttering with each husky grunt rumbling through his chest. He lays his lips on your neck, and you know he’ll leave more than just a small mark there —you’ll have to conceal it at mass so as to not draw more scrutiny from the bishop. Sighing into him, you direct one of his hands to your clothed breast, silently begging him to touch you there. He obliges a merciful king, indeed. 

You balance yourself better with a hand on his shoulder, sliding your other hand between your bodies, but Ecbert pushes your hand aside, replacing it with his own. He tussles around, moving your skirts out of the way, and presses the pads of his fingertips against your clit, rubbing tight circles. The friction draws a long, drawn-out moan from your parted lips that you do your best to muffle against his neck as you cling to him.

The falter of your pace causes you both to fall out of rhythm, but it doesn’t matter. Not with how your cunt is clenching around his cock with each thrust. Ecbert makes a noise, halfway between a grunt and moan when your fingers twine into his gold-silver hair, tugging lightly at the roots, then your name spills like a prayer over his lips, and you can’t help it —between the smooth grind of your hips and the little whimpers and groans betraying both your lips— you press your mouth to Ecbert’s, feel the warmth of his tongue against yours. He relinquishes beneath you, giving himself over wholly in a surge of heat.

Ecbert ruts up into you thrice over, fingers still rubbing at your clit until it's too much. The warmth of his release, the friction, the tightness in your gut. Your head lolls back, eyes closed, and lips parted, and only when you are descending does he pull his hand from between your bodies. He wraps his arms around you, drawing you flush against him. You rest your head against his shoulder, labored breathing slowing in unison with your beloved king’s.

He presses his cheek against the crown of your head —all the annoyance and ire he felt earlier during court is gone. Perhaps he will be more amicable now should he invite the leeches and lepers back into the great hall to continue the morning’s affairs. He’ll have to reconvene at some point anyways.

But his thoughts stray from duty to desire again —though there is no reason why those cannot be one and the same given some circumstances. Ecbert runs his hand up your back, under a veil of hair, and comes to rest on the side of your neck, his thumb stroking the edge of your jaw and cheek affectionately. You lift your gaze to meet his, smiling lazily, but his expression is one of curious intent. “How would like to become Queen of Wessex?” Ecbert queries.

All you can do is kiss him —and it is both an answer and a promise.

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[b0nten]

BLOOMING FLOWERS SPRING CAN’T FEEL

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ what more is there to hate when life takes away the one you loved the most?

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ for my bae @insomniac-jay <3, took so long because i tried to do the best research i could, and because i never liked what i wrote until today. also! if you squint, it’s slight naoto x reader but it doesn’t really matter. i hope you like it!!!! not proofread

you still can’t grasp it, it sort of feels surreal.

just like this morning felt, when you put your kimono on, and did your hair. hina loved the way you looked in traditional clothing, she said it made you shine.

and albeit you two’s pictures flooding the tachibana home, you were still surprised when her mom rang your doorbell to gift you a box, feeling slightly heavier than the last silk garment they had given you while you and hina were still in high school.

“please wear it, y/n-chan, ” ryoko’s voice was just as gentle as you remembered it growing up, but it was sad, “they make you…shine.” and full of anguish.

you could only nod, swallowing back the thick saliva that was gathering in your throat, blinking back the tears with the same eyes ryoko knew how to read as if they were her own daughter’s. reaching out for your hand longer than usual, she only smiled.

you still didn’t quite grasp it, not even when you put on your pearl necklace, and locked your front door, heading down the apartment block’s stairs, like usual.

it was like your normal way to school, and later, uni, and even later, work, walking exactly 100 meters and riding for 7 minutes and a half, before switching lines at otomachi, and riding for another 5 minutes. this time only, you had to take the south exit instead of the north one, and stroll for thirteen minutes, passing by a park, a bakery, two liquors shops and some sky-rise towers.

“welcome.”

it was different, because you entered the funeral home, where the assistant, ready to guide you to the high-school colleagues category, was interrupted by naoto. he simply took your hand and walked you over to the rest of the family. you were used to seeing naoto on saturdays, not fridays or the both of them. you had seen him yesterday, at the wake, when it was friday, so it almost went like any other day. or that’s at least how your mind put it.

and when you were sitting down, eyes glued to the monk’s back as he chanted out the prayers, naoto’s hand still found a way to get to yours, firm touch against glass skin, afraid he’d break it any minute now.

and now you sit between your younger brother and his mother that took you in when you were at flourish in your heydays, deafly listening to a monk chanting a sutra for hinata. you glance over at her and can’t help but think how beautiful she looks in the matching kimono, and how much hina resembles her. resembles, not resembled, she’ll now forever keep her beauty.

you heard japanese people experience three religions in their lifetime: birth as shintoism, marriage as christianity and death as buddhism, but you didn’t even go through one. hell, hina herself only went through two.

and whereas ryoko always told naoto to stop hurting the table because even the piece of wood had its own life itself and the boy silently complied, you were stuck figuring out what it is that you believed in. you believed in kindness. the kind of kindness hina showed you, that was the firm conclusion you accepted, so now you could only pray that the afterlife was going to show her the same gentleness and love she gave the world, her journey smooth in crossing over the sanzu river and mind clear in choosing the paths she takes, making it easy for her soul to find serenity.

you wake up once you’re signaled to join the incense rite. with slightly shaking fingers you pinch up the dry fragrance, touching it against your forehead. amidst blurred vision and hours of unslept time, you see masato wipe a ghost of a tear with the back of his crisp black suit. you set the incense in the flame bowl, and walk away, next to the parents, pupils blown and face puzzled, as if you don’t know what the world you live in is. you see familiar faces; old classmates and family friends of the tachibanas’ that you got to meet long time ago, cousins, teachers, and ex-coworkers. you think you notice some of them staring at you, what is she doing here? — what is she doing there? — next to your best friend’s family.

naoto definitely sees them, he definitely notices their judging looks, but today he can’t do justice. he won’t, because he likes to think he’s partly come to terms with his sister’s death, but no matter what, police academy never prepares you to lose your sister when you least expect it.

he throws a quick glance over his shoulder, reassuring himself you’re still there although you don’t look or feel like you’re there at all, bones wrapped in flesh, wrapped in soft black silk. you start to think maybe there is something wrong with you.

grief is a weird emotion with no textbook manifestation. there is no right or wrong way to feel following a loss. but why don’t you feel anything? why do you know that it’s happening, but you’re not fully in yet? why can’t you scream or cry or whimper or fake a smile. why has your whole face been frozen this whole time?

people come and people go and like an old charlie chaplin movie on repeat, the same action you have done repeats itself a million of times fast forwarded until your mind goes blank. you feel black-and-white.

naoto taps your shoulder. “do you want to see the body?” he eases you into it. he was always such a gentle soul.

you try to say something but choke on the words. he sees, eyes widening as his muscles tense. you only nod, and he walks with you to the casket.

maybe if you see it, your mind will take on it. you’re given a flower, the white chrysanthemum you dreaded to even think about, and the same happens to naoto.

the people in front of you all put their flowers in the casket, small step by even smaller step allowing you to approach her face. it’s just the same, except it isn’t glowing, or happy or doing anything. she’s not singing, she’s not moving. she’s dead. you know it. but why can’t you acknowledge it?

you reach into the deep inside pocket of the kimono, a neatly kept, small picture grazing the white coffin. you don’t ponder, and lay it next to your friend.

naoto freezes when he sees it. he took it, the day is burned into his memory so deeply that if he were to ever lose his reminiscence, this is the only recollection he’d have. it’s you and his sister. you’re dressed in kimonos — that was your first time wearing it — and you were excited. just fresh into spring, you both chose to wear pink: hina’s dress had delicate camellias on it, scattered playfully all around the fabric, while yours had orange blossoms intricately all across. it also was your first time wearing getas; your feet hurt so bad he had to call his dad to carry you home by the end of the festival. he didn’t mind it though, because you had fun that evening.

he reaches for the picture and looks at the back.

“doesn’t this kimono make her shine, naoto?”

“yes, it definitely does.”

scribbled on the thin paper are some almost unrecognizable kana and kanji, but naoto knows what they say by heart. he slips the square into his sleeve and puts his flower in his sister’s casket instead.

not long after everyone is done saying their goodbyes, the tachibanas and you head to the crematorium. ryoko holds your hand as she picks up the bones and sets them in the urn, and you try your best to soothe a mourning mother’s aching heart.

once everything is done, you pass the envelope to the receptionist. it’s a little over a million, and you see it on the woman’s face that she knows it too, by the width of the wrapping. you didn’t notice how much money it was until you recounted it, half an hour before leaving your apartment, so you just left it all there. no 10.000 bills, no crisp bills, at least that.

she hands you the little bag with salt, tea and snacks and you bow before leaving the crematorium.

“y/n, wait!” a voice you know very well shouts after you, tall silhouette speeding from the building into the same darkness you’re headed into.

“mom said to walk you home.” naoto looks down at you gently, as if he’s your big brother and not the other way around.

“you know you’re not actually my older sister, right?” he interrupts your exact thoughts, “we’re the same age, you were fortunate enough to be in the same grade as hinata, that’s all.” he taunts, taking you back to your salad days.

you smile approvingly and he doesn’t hesitate to take the gift bag from your hand, and walk right beside you.

the air is grim and you still feel a little bit unreal. you feel limitless, but like a void, rather than the young shoujo manga protagonist you always dreamt of being, and you can feel it in naoto’s breath too, how he tries to not let the anger drown him out. you know it’s unbearable for him too.

halfway through the walk, he breaks the silence.

“i’m glad you finally learned how to walk in getas.” he admits, and you look up. a genuine laugh stifles from your throat and his face lights up.

“naoto,” you say, “these are zoris. i wasn’t going to attend a funeral in geta sandals.” explaining, you watch his face drop in embarrassment.

“yes, i totally saw that…!”he stutters but continues to joke, hinting at the past, talking of hina as if she’s still there, next to you. in passing moments of silence, you feel overwhelmed, guilty.

faith’s a game of cat and mouse, and you play it just like you want. you laugh with naoto and you realize it’s nice to feel this sense of .. belonging. in between numbness and denial, he made your day a little better. he took some of the burden off, he ripped some of the weeds growing between your lungs, letting you breathe normally again, granting you a peaceful moment in what felt like a lifetime since your best friend died.

you step foot into the apartment building, giddy and smiley, but it all vanishes once you look around. it’s dull, it’s ugly. and you feel like you’re right next to hinata. that’s how she made you feel every time you came back from a night out in the city, arm slung around her shoulder laughing at everything she said, almost knocking over the both of you.

you look around as you climb every step and somehow, the laughs and the joy all seem to disappear in the place you spent some of the most time with her.

when you reach your front door, it feels almost surreal again, because instead of hina behind you, it’s the boy you grew up with. he looks nothing like her — he takes after his father — but he feels so familiar that when he stops you from entering your home your breath hitches a little.

“don’t forget to throw the salt.” he reminds with a slight lecture in his voice, like his sister once said “don’t forget to change your shoes.”

so, when your wrist brushes past your shoulder-blade, your zoris break under the memories you shared along the way and the ones etched into the walls of the hall.

you tug at your necklace as you finally let yourself cry.

you finally know it’s real, even more so, because you feel not one, but two familiar presences engulfing you in warmth.

one strokes your hair with the palm that keeps you pressed into his shoulder, while the other hand looks at an old photograph, and the second hugs you both, wanting to lecture you with the love and gentleness of an older sister that didn’t get to say her part.

[lemony-snickers]

Tenzo×gn!reader for #17 first kiss please!

Tenzo wiped his palms on his thighs, hoping the nervous sweat from them wouldn't leave too obvious a mark on his uniform pants. He knew he shouldn't be so nervous, but it was impossible to tamp down the unfettered excitement bubbling up in his chest.

He'd waited for today for a long time.

"Tenzo?"

He spun around so fast he almost tipped over. Had he really been so preoccupied with his own thoughts he hadn't heard you coming?

He sputtered your name in a nervous, jumbled half-shout, grateful when your response was only a soft chuckle at his expense followed by, "Sorry I startled you."

One of his clammy hands went to the back of his neck, scratching his nape nervously. "It's fine," he said, "I was just a little lost in my thoughts."

Thoughts involving you, but he wasn't about to admit that.

You fell into step beside him easily, and Tenzo kept his hands clasped behind his back as he walked, all too aware of that same clammy perspiration on his palms, a result of his nerves. Wasps waged for dominance in his stomach and he was suddenly very grateful he hadn't invited you out to dinner tonight because he was sure whatever he tried to eat now was destined to make its way immediately back up his esophaugus.

You made smalltalk as the two of you wandered through the more densely populated parts of the village. All the while, Tenzo remained keenly aware of your proximity, the way your shoulder bumped his sometimes, your hand grazing his thigh as it swung at your side.

His anxiety spiked with each meaningless touch, the courage he had worked so hard to cultivate before seeing you dissipating in a frenzied swirl of emotion.

The two of you had gone on a couple of "dates," though he wasn't sure that was the exact right term. Tenzo didn't know whether taking walks around the village together counted as dating, exactly, and he was too embarrassed to ask anyone.

Of course, the two of you had eaten dinner together once at the shushu-ya, but that had mostly been accidental; a byproduct of the insisten rumbling of both your stomachs when you returned from a mission at the same time and found one another in the ANBU locker room.

"Would you like to grab something to eat?" you'd asked, "I'm starving."

He'd been all too eager to say yes, so excited to sit across from you and watch your face light up as you talked about your mission that he'd nearly forgotten to replace his happuri when he finished changing.

And the attraction he felt had only grown stronger since. Tenzo thought it seemed like you were seeking him out more often, though he couldn't be sure. He'd read somewhere once that coincidence was often a trick of the mind; when you wanted something, your brain focused on it more, heightened your awareness of it.

Maybe it seemed like you were spending more time with him only because Tenzo wanted it to be true.

But he'd resolved to ask you outright today whether that was the case; to dissolve any lingering doubt so he could ask the question which had been sitting on his tongue for weeks--"Would you like to pursue a relationship with me?"--with some reasonable surety of your response.

There was probably a more romantic way to ask that question, now that he thought about it, but Tenzo believed being straightforward in this instance would suit him best.

By the time the two of you had left the busiest streets of Konoha behind, Tenzo had managed to somehow increase the anxious feeling buzzing within him rather than quell it.

What a mess. How was he supposed to ask you anything when his brain felt so fuzzy and overwhelmed?

Resolute in his plan, however, Tenzo knew he couldn't back down. So he came to a stop at the place he had decided on earlier in the week; a somewhat hidden spot off the beaten path that overlooked the river.

It was private and, he thought, at least a little romantic with the setting sun casting gilded rays across the rippling suface of the water.

He took a long, slow, deep breath to steady himself and then turned to look at you. Tenzo felt an icy shock when he saw that you were already watching him intently, mouth curled in a soft smile and gaze far too intense for him to remain calm.

He cleared his throat. "I--"

That was as far as he got before the wasps resumed their torment of his insides and Tenzo felt the prickling of sweat against his temples, droplets running down the sides of his face beneath his happuri.

He clenched his fingers more tightly behind him and tried again. "What I mean to say is, I really enjoy spending time with you."

Okay. Well, that was supposed to come at the midpoint of his speech but Tenzo's thoughts were so jumbled he didn't think he could remember most of it, anyway, so maybe starting int he middle was for the best.

"And I... well, I had hoped that maybe..."

He couldn't finish his sentence. What if he was wrong? What if you didn't see him that way? He turned away, the mortificaiton of rejection clawed its way up his throat with such insistence he thought he might retch even though he'd forgone dinner on purpose.

"Tenzo."

He faced you again, "Ye--"

The word never had a chance because suddenly you were leaning so close Tenzo could see the hundreds of colors dancing in your irises, could count the eyelashes framing them, and then your hand was on his chin and you were closing your eyes and you were leaning so close and--

Your lips were soft against his, moving gently and molding to his own. He tensed, shoulders and neck going rigid, wide eyes still open. He forced them closed, forced himself to focus on the sensation of your mouth on his, your fingers, dancing across the ridge of his jaw, drawing him subtly closer.

Tenzo wondered if all kisses felt this way. The wasps in his belly dispersed, replaced with something still fluttery but gentler.

When you pulled away, Tenzo followed you instinctively, accidentally bumping his nose against yours. His eyes flew open, cheeks burning, "Ah! Sorry!" he said, taking a step back.

But you just smiled at him, eyes dancing, lips wet and a little swollen. "It's fine, Tenzo."

He stared at you, wondering how he'd gotten as lucky as this. The sun dipped below the horizon, taking its gilded light with it and bathing the river bank in deep, luxurious indigo.

"I don't know about you," you said, "but I'm pretty hungry. Any chance you'd like to get dinner with me?"

Tenzo swallowed, his question still lodged in his throat. Had your kiss meant what he thought it did?

"I--" he started, "Uh, yes." He looked at your feet, unable to continue meeting your eyes.

"Come on, then," you said softly, so close now he could feel your breath as it fanned over his face.

He startled when one of your hands reached behind his back and tugged one of his own free, lacing your fingers together with his and gentling pulling him back toward the village.

Tenzo's face was still aflame by the time you got to the restaurant, but he didn't care. All that mattered was the realization which hit as you'd taken his hand.

Your palms were sweating, too, your fingers trembling as you'd pulled him to your side.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one who'd been nervous, despite your seemingly relaxed appearance. Tenzo smiled as you slid into a booth, dragging him in beside you instead of letting him escape to sit across the table.

"I hope you don't mind," you said against his ear.

Tenzo shook his head. He most certainly didn't, especially not when you followed those words with a swift kiss to his cheek.

Suddenly, he was starving.

[undertheopensky]

Under The Weather

Whumptober Day 13: “I don’t feel so good.”

Characters: Four, Hyrule, everyone is there

Trigger warnings: Vomiting, indistinct illness

Important note: I usually headcanon Warriors as the main medic (thanks for that bokettochild) but for some reason today Hyrule insisted on running the show. Maybe he decided he wasn’t getting enough screentime.

Read on Ao3!

-----

Four belches into his hand, hiding it behind his teacup. Probably a court manners thing. Hyrule had never gotten the hang of those, but several of his companions were close enough to nobility that they had to know things like that. Four’s been doing it all lunch, though, and Hyrule’s wondering if there’s something in Wild’s stew that doesn’t agree with him. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve discovered dietary restrictions the hard way.

Four belches again, then abruptly throws up, and Hyrule realises he’s been retching the whole time.

“For fuck’s sake, Four.” He rounds the embers of the fire as Warriors and Wind scramble away from Four and the puddle of sick next to him – he’d only mostly avoided getting it on himself. “You’re supposed to tell us when you’re not feeling well. What are your symptoms?”

“I don’t know,” Four snaps, “I don’t feel sick, I just feel – wrong.” He retches again, but there’s nothing left to come up.

“So you’re nauseous, but you don’t feel sick.” Hyrule gives him a doubtful look.

“Kinda yeah,” says Four. “My stomach feels like a rock. Throwing up was just as much of a surprise to me as to you.”

“Interesting.” Hyrule takes a few minutes to look Four over. He’s pale and clammy, with a pinched look around his eyes that’s very telling of just how uncomfortable he is. He’s also barely touched his lunch, a meat and rice combination that everyone is usually all over, sticking mostly to his tea. “Any body aches? Chills? Wounds you forgot to tell us about?”

Four shakes his head with a snort. “Nothing. Just - wrong in the stomach.” He scowls into the remains of his tea. “It’s fine. I can keep going.”

“Uh huh.” Hyrule glances at the rest of the group. “Any arguments against making camp here?”

“It’s not like we’ve got anywhere to be,” Legend says dryly, and it’s about the kindest thing he could have said.

As a group, they don’t tend to hang around in one place very long. Places to go, monsters to kill, intel to gather, supplies to source; they’re constantly on the move, and staying put for any length of time has to rankle. But no one, not even prickly Legend, is going to say so to Four, who’s never complained about their pace, and had been half-throwing up all morning before Hyrule caught him. They were only intending to stop here for lunch, not spend the night, but they’ll make do. It’s not that bad a site.

At Hyrule’s insistence Four changes out of his soiled leggings into his clean pair, then sits against a tree with his book to rest. Everyone else sets about making camp. Twilight heads off to find a river - after battling a small horde of miniblins and a hinox this morning, several people are in need of a bath, and pretty much everyone needs to do laundry. Warriors at least will have a meltdown if he doesn’t get the blood out of his scarf. Wind, who is expert at dodging the little bastard’s tridents and thus doesn’t need to wash his own blood out of his tunics or repair many small holes, triumphantly flops down next to Four.

“Hey! I know you’re probably not feeling well so I’m not gonna bother you, I’m just gonna go through my pictograph collection, and if you need anything I can fetch it for you!”

Four gives a distracted hum, already absorbed in his book.

Wind wasn’t lying - he does like to go through his collection now and then, touch the memories they hold, reorganise and rearrange them and consider which ones to keep in his easy-access pictobook and which ones to store in the safebox. But they’re also fantastic distractions, and Four looks like he could use some distracting, when the dry text of his book gets too much.

Wind flips through his pictures of Aryll and Gran, hesitates over Tetra and her crew, then gets into his current run of Chain-related pictographs. Sometime they’re just nice, like Wild sleeping curled up beside Wolfie in almost the exact same position, but some are hilarious. Like this one of Sky passed out sitting up, while Wind and Wild takes turns balancing sticks on his head and snapping pictures.

He giggles and holds this one out to show Four. “Hey, hey, Four, you remember this?”

Four glances up, and huffs amusement through his nose. Wind grins, proud of himself for pulling the small noise out of the reserved smithy, and goes hunting for the photo of Wars getting knocked into a river by the fish he’d hauled out of the water. He knows it’s in here somewhere.

Wild has stirred up the fire again and is using the opportunity to do… something with the cookpot (Wind’s not game to call it food but it doesn’t look like elixirs are happening either, and decides he doesn’t want to know). Legend and Warriors are sitting together, mending miniblin tears and presumably gossiping, from the snickers. Time is writing in his notebook, Sky is carving a stick into a spoon to replace the one that had gone missing, and Hyrule had gone with Twilight to help deal with the Laundry Monster.

They’re all enjoying the break.

Everyone, save for Four, who goes progressively greyer and quieter as the afternoon fades.

Wind is careful not to push him; when Four glances at the latest photo and just gives a weak smile, he knows the distraction has worn out its usefulness and sorts through the rest without showing off any more.

By the time Hyrule and Twilight come back with the next load of clean laundry for Legend to dry off, Four’s given up on even the pretence of reading. He’s just staring blankly off into space, book still in his lap. Doesn’t even blink when Twilight pretends to drop Legend’s undertunic in the dirt and Legend yells at him for it.

Wind nudges him. “Four, you feeling okay?”

Four rubs a hand over his eyes, then his mouth. “Sorry. ‘M fine. Just… tired.” He blinks hazily, staring down at the pages of his book and clearly reading nothing.

Then Wild calls Wind over, demanding help with the soup, since apparently he’s doing real food now. Four shoos him off silently. Any other day, he would be taking the opportunity to read in peace. Today, he just leans back against the tree and closes his eyes.

When dinner is ready (soup!!! Not as good as Gran’s but Wild’s soup is still good!) Wind volunteers to ferry it over to Four. “Hey, Four! Dinner’s here!” he cheers, and is unsurprised but still disappointed when Four grimaces and refuses. “Are you sure? Do you really feel that bad? Should I get Hyrule?”

“Don’ feel good, but I’ll be alright.” Four waves a hand at Wind, eyes still closed. “Just a stomach bug or somethin’. Prob’ly be right as rain in the morning.”

Wind hums dubiously, but takes back the bowl.

By silent consensus, Four is left off the watchlist. He needs rest, not interrupted sleep and the simmering stress of a midnight shift. If Four notices, he doesn’t comment. He’s too busy gathering his strength to lay out his bedroll properly to take any notice of the others glancing at him in worry.

Four goes to lie down - then hurls himself back up, with such force that he nearly makes it to his feet.

Everyone startles. “Four, what’s wrong?” Sky asks.

Four looks nearly as shocked as they are. “I don’t – I don’t know,” he stammers. “I – I went to lie down and I just – as soon as I lay down it was just a bolt of panic like – like I knew I was going to die if I didn’t get back up right now.”

Hyrule goes grim. That kind of bodily response suggests there’s something more at play here than an upset stomach.

This time Hyrule doesn’t just look him over. He lays his hands on Four’s back and sends his magic creeping through him.

There’s a difference between the active rush of the Life Spell and a light touch of healing; this is the latter, more an exploration than an attack. Four had taken a potion after this morning’s fight, and that should have healed up all the minor wounds and not left anything for infection to take hold. Hyrule is checking for leaks, more than expecting to find something major wrong.

He’s surprised to find nothing at all, though. The faint echoes of bruises, long-healed. Phantom images of stab wounds, flesh flickering with the memory of blood and pain. But nothing real. Nothing he can fix.

Four glances over his shoulder. “Well?”

“I’m not finding anything,” Hyrule admits with a sigh. Reluctantly, he pulls his hands away. He feels inadequate, leaving a job unfinished - but there’s nothing he can really do, when it seems Four is just sick. Potions and fairies and Hyrule’s magic are amazing resources, but they have costs and limitations. They can’t replace lost blood, or grow back missing body parts. And they can’t cure illness, no matter the cause.

He just has to hope it’s a stomach bug, and Four will sleep it off uneventfully.