#when i see double a letter in a word i think other letters should be doubled too

[jrueships]

if u think i don't think about every rarepair ive come up with at all times like the plague... U ! R! RONG

[joonie-beanie]

A Dragon's Constitution | [Neuvillette x Reader]

Summary: Iudex Neuvillette has been acting a little...strange, as of late. Worried about him, Sigewinne and Wriothesley come up with a plan to help lessen his load. “I’m lending you to Neuvillette for the week.” Well, being Neuvillette's assistant for a week shouldn't be that bad. Unless, of course, the reason Neuvillette has been acting strange is due to the fact that he's actually a dragon that has regained his full power, and now, with the return of said power, his body is experiencing things he's never known before now. Because that would be totally crazy...right? Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Rut, fem!reader Word Count: 10.8k Note: this occurs after "Doctor's Orders"

Sigewinne is the first to hear the rumors about Iudex Neuvillette—although Wriothesley isn’t far behind.

The first indication that something might be wrong with the Iudex is brought up in a letter—one penned by Sedene that is delivered to Sigewinne. In the letter, Sedene writes that since Fontaine has overcome its disaster, everything has been going well…except, Neuvillette has been behaving a little…strange.

Sedene does not elaborate on what exactly is wrong, and Sigewinne assumes that’s because she doesn’t know. Melusine have the ability to sense things, but the things they sense aren’t always accompanied with an answer.

And so, Sigewinne writes back telling Sedene to make sure Neuvillette is staying hydrated (since she knows he has been particularly busy as of late), and that she’ll try and make a trip to see him soon, when she has the time.

The following day, a new batch of wrongdoers arrive in the prison, and along with them—some speculations about Fontaine’s supreme judge.

“I think I deserve a retrial,” one of the men says, clearly frustrated. “I stated my case, but then Iudex Neuvillette actually blanked, and had to ask me to repeat myself! After I said everything so eloquently! That’s why I’m down here, man. I was so surprised by it that when I said my argument again, I sounded lame…this sucks.”

Listening from behind a nearby pillar, Wriothesley frowns to himself. 

Neuvillette getting distracted in court? Well, that’s certainly a first—and a worrying first, at that.

Before the day’s end, Wriothesley and Sigewinne seek each other out. Equally concerned about what they’ve been hearing, they spend the evening coming up with a plan. Something they might be able to do to help Neuvillette.

The next morning, you wake up and get ready—prepared to go and spend a few days below ground in the Fortress…only to find Wriothesley on your doorstep.

“Hi,” he says with a smile when you pull your front door open.

Your eyes go wide, and you glance either way down the street, wondering if you’re being pranked. 

When nothing seems suspicious, you reach out and touch Wriothesley’s chest to make sure he’s real.

He immediately rolls his eyes and snatches your hand, bringing it to his lips.

“Yes, I’m real. Yes, I’m here.”

“Good—but, why are you here?” you ask. 

Not that he isn’t welcome at your apartment, but…you just didn’t expect to see him here. On the surface. At your place of residence.

“Am I late or something? I thought we scheduled for me to come back to the Fortress today.”

“No, you are not late,” he reassures you. He gives your hand a little squeeze before allowing you to have it back.

“There’s been…a little change in your schedule.”

You cock an eyebrow at him.

“What kind of change?”

Does he want you to stay on the surface a few more days before coming back down? Considering he’s here, maybe he’s got some business on the surface, which would mean there’s no point in you going to the Fortress right now.

Wriothesley’s smile grows—little crow's feet appearing at the corner of his eyes.

“I’m lending you to Neuvillette for the week.”

…

Huh?

“Here.”

Wriothesley grabs your bag—the one slung over your arm and packed with items that should have tied you over while you stayed in the Fortress—and tosses it back into your apartment.

Then, he gently grabs your waist, pulls you out onto the street, and closes the door to your apartment behind you. He checks the door to make sure it’s locked, and when he finds that it is, he nods in satisfaction.

“C’mon, keep up,” he says, starting up the street. His boots are heavy against the pavement.

Blinking, you finally snap out of it and jog to catch up with him.

“Hold on, you—you’re lending me to Iudex Neuvillette?”

You’ve never known the man to have an assistant, and from what you’ve heard from Wriothesley and others, he tends to prefer working alone. Aside from that, he’s very skilled at his job, and typically doesn’t need help—even with the never ending case load.

“...did he consent to this?”

Wriothesley smiles, loving how smart you are.

“Not yet, but he will.”

The two of you turn a corner, heading towards an elevator that will take you up towards the Palais Mermonia. You narrow your eyes at Wriothesley. He waves you off.

“Sigewinne and I both heard that he seems a little…stressed lately. And we decided the best thing we could do right now, aside from giving him our support, would be lending him you. So, assuming he is in need of help, I don’t see why he would turn our offer down, considering how proficient you are.”

“While I appreciate the praise, I think you’re underestimating the pride of men,” you tell him, standing at his side as the two of you arrive at the elevator. Wriothesley hits the button to summon it to your floor.

“Hey, when I got busier than usual, I hired you,” he points out. You cock an eyebrow at him.

“I’m 99% sure the only reason you hired me was due to Sigewinne's influence. I bet she saw your stress growing and bugged you to get an assistant until you finally gave in.”

Wriothesley sighs.

“Sometimes I wish you weren’t so smart.”

You grin, holding your head high.

Finally, the elevator arrives on your floor. When the door opens, Wriothesley motions for you to board first. Then, he follows you on.

“So, let’s say Sigewinne did insist I hire an assistant. The result of doing so was positive. My work got easier, and my life improved. If we present that logic to Neuvillette, there’s no reason he should decline our help. Plus, he tends to listen to Sigewinne.”

You sigh, watching the city outside the glass doors of the elevator. You’re nearly to the floor the Palais Mermonia is on.

“If Neuvillette agrees that he wants the help, I have no issue being his assistant for the week.”

Wriothesley catches your silent drift of “you get the pleasure of trying to convince him to accept help, though”. 

Which is fine. He loves a good challenge.

“Sigewinne and I appreciate your cooperation,” he tells you sincerely.

Arriving on your floor, the elevator doors open, and you step out first—standing aside to allow Wriothesley to walk past you and lead the way. A few gazes are thrown your way as you go—people surprised to see the Duke of the Fortress above ground for once—but Wriothesley doesn’t react, so neither do you.

Sticking by his side, you follow him up the steps and through the front door of the building. 

“Duke Wriothesley,” Sedene greets as you near the doors of Neuvillette’s office. She runs up to the two of you, her eyes somewhat nervously shifting towards the office doors.

“Iudex Neuvillette, he…”

She wants to say that he’s not accepting visitors at the moment, but she can’t get the words out—obviously worried about him. Wriothesley flashes her a kind smile.

“Sigewinne sent us,” he tells her, relief immediately appearing on her face at his words. “Is Neuvillette in?”

“Yes, he is in,” she confirms, and then scuttles back over to her desk, only to return a moment later with a tray of tea (or, teacups and water?) in her hands. 

“Take this when you go in, that should help.”

“I appreciate that,” Wriothesley responds. You reach down to take the tray from her hands, quietly thanking her as well. She flashes you a smile, gives you a thumbs up, and then goes back to work.

You and Wriothesley glance at each other. Seeing you’re ready, he raps his knuckles on the door thrice, and enters the room when Neuvillette’s muffled and somewhat reluctant “come in” is heard from beyond the door.

Gripping the handle, Wriothesley pushes his way inside. You dutifully follow after him.

Once in the office—the door shutting softly behind you—you quickly realize that perhaps something is wrong with the Iudex. Because for a man known for his neatness, and professionalism, his office is quite…untidy, at the moment. 

Papers are scattered along his desk—piles uneven, and threatening to fall. And on the coffee table nearby, there are multiple cups, along with empty bottles of imported water. Not to mention books that are strewed around—some even on the floor.

Wriothesley takes quick stock of the state of the office before his gaze settles on Neuvillette, who is sitting at his desk. He's wearing his normal robes, and yet he looks…strangely disheveled. Perhaps it's the faint dark circles under his eyes, or the way his hair looks less kept than usual?

“I thought I instructed that there were to be no—oh, Wriothesley.”

Neuvillette's tone of measured annoyance softens the second he looks up and sees who it actually is that has entered his office. Then, he sighs, feeling ashamed of his initial attitude.

“I apologize. Did you request a meeting? I don't recall getting any correspondence about it, unless it was accidentally left off my calendar.”

“No need for apologies, Monsieur Neuvillette. I am the one who should be apologizing, as I did not reach out beforehand to let anyone know that I was coming.”

Wriothesley bows in slight apology, and you mirror him, figuring it's the right thing to do since you're technically also intruding.

“I know you're very busy, so I'll cut right to the chase to save us both time. Sigewinne and I are concerned about you, since we've both heard from multiple sources that you seem a little out of sorts as of late. So, in an attempt to help lessen your load, I'd like to offer you my assistant, Y/N, for the week.”

For the first time since you'd entered with Wriothesley, Neuvillette’s sharp eyes slide to you. You force a polite smile to your lips and—remembering the tray in your hands—move to set it on the nearby table.

Quickly filling one of the glasses with the water, you stride over to Neuvillette’s desk and offer it to him.

“Pleased to meet you,” you simply say. 

“And you as well,” he responds, keeping up formalities.

Taking the glass from your hand, Neuvillette takes a long sip of water, and you scoot back to Wriothesley’s side. Once Neuvillette has finished his drink, he places the glass down on his desk and sighs.

“I assure you that I am alright, and there is no need for concern.”

“I hate to disagree, but based on the state of your office, I can't believe that's true.”

Neuvillette’s gaze slides around his office, as if truly seeing it for the first time in days. His brows pinch together as he realizes Wriothesley is right. He hadn't noticed it'd become so messy…

“I will admit I have been a little…scattered, lately. But it's nothing I cannot handle. Lending me your assistant would only increase the burden of your own workload, which I cannot accept.”

“Actually,” Wriothesley is quick to counter. “I hired Y/N before the disaster, because much of my time was occupied watching the primordial sea gate, and preparing the Wingalet. Now that the disaster has passed, and things have relatively calmed down, my workload has greatly lessened. Meaning, I have no issue temporarily lending her to you.”

Knowing Wriothesley is only willing to give you up temporarily—meaning he'll want you back to himself at some point—makes you happy.

“Be that as it may, I will still have to decline your offer.”

Alright then, time to break out the big guns.

“I know since Furina stepped down as the Archon, you've only gotten busier,” Wriothesley tells him, fixing him with a concerned stare. “And because of that, Sigewinne is worried. If you could just accept Y/N's help for the week, I'm sure that would help put her mind at ease.”

The mention of Sigewinne causes Neuvillette to frown, so Wriothesley quickly lays it on thicker.

“I assure you that Y/N has been a great aide to me,” he says, his gaze meeting yours. “Sigewinne recommends her as well. If you allow her to help you for a few days, I have no doubt she’ll be of use to you. So please, Neuvillette.”

Neuvillette places his elbows on his desk and folds his hands together. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, he sighs.

“Fine. If Y/N is okay with this arrangement, I shall accept her help.”

Both men look your way. You smile.

“I’d be more than happy to help with whatever I can.”

Honestly, you hadn’t expected to find yourself here, and aren’t even sure what there is you can do to support him, but considering how tired he looks, you’ll surely try your best.

“Good! Glad that’s settled.”

With a happy grin—pleased that he has won the battle—Wriothesley turns to you. He cups the back of your head and drags you in—his lips pressing into your hair.

“I’ll come visit on Saturday to take her back into my care. Best of luck to you both,” he says, heading for the door. He waves his hand at you and Neuvillette over his shoulder, and without saying anything else, exits the office.

You stare at the closed door for a second, before you take a deep breath, plaster on a smile, and turn back to Neuvillette.

…only to find that he’s fixing you with a peculiar stare.

“Are you and Wriothesley seeing each other…?” he asks.

Ah, right, the way Wriothesley had kissed your head before leaving…

“We are not,” you assure him, taking a few steps towards his desk. “Since entering his employment the two of us have just become…fond of each other.”

Which isn’t a lie. You and Wriothesley are quite fond of each other—fond enough that every time you go to stay in the Fortress, you find yourself in his bed at least once (and not just because Sigewinne has instructed Wriothesley to continue having sex to keep his stress levels down). And no, you’re not dating, but that’s fine. You enjoy what you have with him right now, and honestly, it’d be a bad look if anyone found out Wriothesley was dating his assistant anyway.

“I see,” Neuvillette nods, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “I apologize for presuming.”

“No need to apologize, Monsieur,” you respond, stepping up beside his desk. You smile at him—softer, and more genuine this time.

“Now, what can I assist you with?”

While it takes a short while for Neuvillette to adjust to the idea of having an assistant to help with things, soon enough, the two of you come to an understanding.

He admits that he has been struggling to juggle court cases and new paperwork that needs to be signed off on now that the judicial system is changing (thanks to recent developments). So, you put forth the idea to allocate time to signing documents, and while you run things where they need to go afterwards, Neuvillette can address any cases on his docket. 

Not having any better idea, he goes with your plan.

While Neuvillette busies himself with signing paperwork, you flit around his office—cleaning up empty bottles and used cups, and putting abandoned books back on the shelves.

By the time you’ve finished organizing (taking your time to make sure everything is put back in its proper place), Neuvillette has finished reviewing his first stack of papers.

“These have all been signed off on,” he says, summoning you to his side. He points at the top right hand corner of the paper. “This area on each document will show you where it needs to be returned.”

“Understood,” you respond, taking the stack from him. You cradle the papers in your arms and leaf through the first few sheets while heading for the door. However, you quickly realize the documents aren’t grouped by which location they need to be dropped at.

So, you make a detour at the coffee table—gently sitting yourself on the sofa as you begin sorting the papers into smaller stacks, grouped by department. Once you’ve done that, you pile them all together again, and continue towards the door—unaware of the way Neuvillette’s lips tug into a smile at your actions.

Delivering documents where they need to go takes up the remainder of your morning, and by the time you’ve finished, your stomach is growling. So—figuring that Neuvillette won’t have stepped away from his desk yet—you decide to pick up something for the both of you.

“You've returned,” he says without looking up from the document in his hand as you step into his office. “I assume everything has been delivered?”

“Yes,” you respond with a nod, his gaze finally rising to look at you as he hears the sound of the bag in your hand, and smells the contents within. “And I grabbed us lunch. I assume you haven’t eaten?”

“I have not,” he confirms. His eyes watch you as you b-line for the coffee table and begin unpacking the take-out food. “I’m not sure what you like, but I figured I’d play it safe and go with soup, since you seem to enjoy…liquids.”

How else are you supposed to describe his taste when all you've seen him consume today is cup after cup of water?

Surprised, Neuvillette puts down the paper in his hand.

Standing from his chair, he makes his way over, staring at the clear broth of the consomme.

“...I think I'm beginning to see why Wriothesley enjoys having you as an assistant.”

“Oh? Sounds like Iudex Neuvillette is becoming fond of me too,” you say—very jokingly. “You may have to fight Wriothesley for me later. Assuming I stay as helpful during the remainder of the week.”

You half expect Neuvillette to say say something about how a fight won’t be necessary, as you're only a temporary loan, and he shouldn't need help beyond this week anyway—but instead, he cracks a smile, grabs his portion of the consomme, and says—

“I'll have to keep that in mind.”

—before he returns to his desk and continues working through his lunch.

In the afternoon, Neuvillette remains immersed in paperwork and other documents. You mostly spend your time making sure he has enough water available to drink, and fetching him any books or materials he asks for, so he doesn’t have to step away from his desk and break his concentration.

It’s a dynamic that works, and already, you can tell his stress has lessened—now that he’s caught up on many tasks. However, there’s still the slightest pinch to his brow, and a tiny flush on the skin of his neck despite the fact that it’s not overly hot in his office (at least, in your opinion. But maybe all that hair of his is warm?).

However, you don’t bother overthinking it. It’s still your first day assisting him. It would be crazy to think he’d suddenly be stress-free after a few hours in your care.

When the clock strikes 5, Neuvillette doesn’t miss a beat.

“You may go home for the day.”

You blink, looking around for the time.

“...will you continue working?”

“Yes, but that isn’t out of the ordinary,” Neuvillette responds, taking a sip from the glass of water on his desk. “However, your station doesn’t warrant you working overtime. You should go home now and enjoy your evening.”

You suppose he’s right…there are some things you can’t really assist him with anyway. Plus, you still have four more days working under him.

“Alright then, I won’t argue with you,” you respond. You gather up what little things you had brought with you, and then head for the door. But, before you go, you turn back to him.

“When should I come tomorrow? 8am?”

“9am will be fine.”

“Understood,” you nod, flashing him a smile. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Monsieur.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he responds in kind, watching you as you open the door and slip out of his office.

His gaze only lingers on the spot where you stood for a brief moment before he returns to his work.

The next day, you arrive at Neuvillette’s office at the agreed upon time, only to find that he’s getting ready to leave.

“I have some trials at the Opera Epiclese today,” he says. “You are welcome to join me.”

And really, who would pass up that offer?

So, without even setting your things down, you follow Neuvillette out of the building and to the Navia line—boarding an aquabus that will take you to the opera house.

Neuvillette garners a lot of attention as the two of you make your way to the building, but you do your best to tune out any stares or whispers. You think Neuvillette’s popularity among the people will never die.

“I have a guest today,” Neuvillette tells one of the staff members once you’ve entered the main hall. “Please make sure she is given a seat.”

“Of course,” they assure him, to which he nods. His eyes catch yours. 

“I will find you once the trials are over,” he says.

“Alright,” you respond. “Good luck.”

He cocks an eyebrow at your sentiment.

“Luck is typically not required,” he tells you. You feel a little heat of embarrassment rise on your skin, but the smile that appears at the corner of Neuvillette’s lips assures you he’s only joking with you. 

“Nonetheless, thank you.”

With that, he turns and heads up a staircase that will lead him upstairs to the judge’s seat.

You follow the staff member into the theater, still feeling a little warm.

As it turns out, Neuvillette has a full docket today. 

From morning to afternoon, you spend your day settled into your seat in the theater—watching prosecutors and defendants present evidence and argue back and forth.The cases draw most of your attention, but your gaze still strays to Neuvillette every so often, just to make sure he’s alright.

And he seems to be…for the most part.

Once or twice, you notice that his eyes are unfocused—staring off into the distance, and not at the person who is speaking. And when a recess is taken for lunch, and Neuvillette finds you to invite you to partake in lunch with him, you notice that the flush on his neck has returned.

Silently, you wonder if he’s getting sick…although you’ve never heard of Iudex Neuvillette being sick before now.

You make sure to send him back up to his stand with an extra bottle of water (which he downs quite quickly. Then, he even motions for one of the nearby employees to bring him more, which…also must be a little strange, considering you see some people in the audience watching Neuvillette, instead of the “show”).

By the time his docket has been cleared, and the two of you take the aquabus back to the city, the work day is over. You and Neuvillette bid each other farewell, and you return home.

Your third day is spent helping Neuvillette finish up paperwork related to the cases from the previous day. 

He remains flushed the entire time—the blush on his neck creeping up to his ears. He also begins sighing heavily every so often, and his requests for water become more frequent—to the point where Sedene, who guards Neuvillette’s stash of imported waters, even gets surprised by how quickly he’s going through them.

However, it’s not until the fourth day—when you see Neuvillette behind his desk, face flushed, sweat beading on his brow, and his official robes discarded due to how hot he is—that you finally have the guts to speak up.

“Monsieur,” you say hesitantly, remaining gentle despite the way his head nearly snaps up to look at you. 

“Is it possible that you’re sick?”

Neuvillette frowns at the suggestion, as if that’s impossible, but…after a few seconds, he seems contemplative.

“Would you be able to go to the library and fetch me a book?” he responds without answering your original question. He writes the title down on a piece of paper for you, and you take it—unable to say no.

After a short trip to the library, you recruit the help of the librarian, who points you in the right direction, and—soon enough—you find what Neuvillette has asked for.

A book on the history of the Dragon Authorities.

…huh.

Dutifully, you take the book back to Neuvillette after checking it out, and he thanks you—setting it off to the side until he has finished what he’s working on. It takes another hour or so, but finally, out of the corner of your eye, you see him reach for the book.

He flips through the pages until he finds the section he’s most interested in, and then he just…reads. For a while.

You keep yourself busy organizing paperwork in the meantime, and don’t pay him much mind. At least, until you hear a crunching sound.

Startled, you glance over at Neuvillette, only to find that his desk is cracked—his hand gripping it so hard that the wood has actually splintered.

You jump to your feet.

“Neuvillette—?!”

“Leave.”

There’s an edge to his typically calm voice.

“What—”

You’re unable to get more than a word out before his sharp eyes find you—his pupils like daggers.

“Leave,” he repeats, slightly more calm. Although, you swear you can almost hear a rumble in his chest.

Your heart sinks, worry blooming in your chest. Did you do something to upset him?

Seeing how your face twists, Neuvillette takes a deep breath.

“I apologize,” he says, his tone measured. His eyes meet yours for a long beat before he glances away, unable to look at you.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, and I appreciate your help until now, but I will no longer be needing your assistance. Please go home.”

Not understanding why he’s had a sudden change in demeanor, you want to prod him for answers about what’s going on, but…seeing the tenseness of his body, and the way his chest heaves, you decide to listen to his request.

Without further argument, you gather your things and quickly head for the door—only pausing to say one last thing before leaving.

“It was nice working with you, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you tell him, a smile tugging at your lips even though he refuses to look your way. “If you ever need my assistance again, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

The sound of the door shutting behind you is loud in Neuvillette’s ears, and once you’re gone, he finally lets go of his desk—chips of wood sprinkling the floor at his feet.

He attempts to take a deep breath to calm himself—but it has the opposite effect—his jaw clenching as his senses are flooded with the scents in his office, all of which seem more pungent than usual.

Leather book covers, fresh ink, Springvale water, his freshly washed robe, and a fleeting, sweet scent…

A scent that he wants to chase after.

He closes his eyes, stopping his train of thought.

Then, with shaking fingers, he picks up his pen and grabs a piece of paper.

As he drafts the notice of closure he intends to pass along to Sedene, a thunderstorm begins brewing outside his window.

On the morning of what should have been your fifth and final day in Neuvillette’s care, you wake up and find that you can’t simply let things be. 

You do your best to distract yourself with whatever chores in your apartment need doing, but it doesn’t work. You can’t stop thinking about Neuvillette—the flush on his skin, and the way his eyes had looked when he’d commanded you to leave.

It had all just felt so…out of character. You can’t help but worry about him.

So, despite the thunderstorm that’s been raging outside since you’d returned home the evening before, you decide to go and check on him.

You bundle yourself up in a coat and shoes that won’t be ruined by the rain, and then grab your umbrella—heading out into the storm.

As expected, not many people are out, which makes traversing the streets quite easy. You ride the elevator up to the Palais Mermonia alone, running up the steps and into the building to escape the rain.

In your hurry, you miss the notice that’s been posted on the doors to the building.

Once inside, you close your umbrella and prepare an apology to Sedene for dripping all over the floor, but to your surprise, she’s not at her desk. In fact, there’s not a soul in sight—the lights off, and the hall empty.

You’ve never heard of the Palais Mermonia shutting down before…

You take a step back towards the entrance as lightning illuminates the room—figuring it’s best if you leave. But…

Your gaze strays towards the doors to Neuvillette’s office, and after a beat, your feet begin moving on their own.

Assuming Neuvillette is here (because it’s not hard to imagine him working, even if everyone else is gone), you want to make sure he’s alright. 

So, you grip the handle to his office door, and quietly push your way inside.

A clap of thunder drowns out the sound of the office door clicking closed, and you take a step deeper inside, your eyes peering around the room.

In the darkness, you don't immediately spot anyone.

“Neuvillette?” you call out, just to be sure.

Before his name has finished leaving your lips, a shadow moves. Something rounding Neuvillette’s desk and heading towards you—snake-like eyes shining through the darkness.

Your heart jumps into your throat, and you trip over your feet in a panic as you rush to grab the handle of the office door—hoping to throw it open and dart outside before whatever monster you’ve just walked in on is able to get to you.

And really—it has to be a monster. It’s quicker than you—quicker than a normal human—crossing Neuvillette’s office in less than a second.

A scaled hand slams against the door beside your head, and little sound of fear is ripped from your throat. 

You're being prevented from leaving—the door not budging even when you try and discreetly tug at the handle.

Your chest shudders as you take a breath, and you squeeze your eyes shut, fearing the worst.

Even with your back turned, you know there's some sort of beast behind you. One that’s stronger than you. One that will probably end your life before you can beg for mercy— 

“I told you not to return here.”

The sound of Neuvillette’s voice beside your ear causes you to jolt.

He’s so close to you that you can feel his breath on your skin, and while realizing that it’s Neuvillette who is behind you should be a comfort, it’s also…frightening. 

You’re aware—like most Fontainians—that Iudex Neuvillette is not totally human, considering he has been presiding as the chief judge for more than a few centuries now, but…you’ve never seen him act like this.

“I…was worried about you. After yesterday,” you respond, finally finding your voice. 

“I sent you away for a reason.”

His voice is deeper than normal—a rumble vibrating in his chest as he speaks. 

His lips brush the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver. Goosebumps rise on your skin and your heart races faster despite your best efforts to stay calm. 

However, staying calm isn’t easy to do in this situation—especially when Neuvillette literally starts to glow.

The scales on his hand which you’d spotted early begin to softly shine blue in the dim light of the room—his nails curling and carving uneven lines into the wood of the door in front of you.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, your breath hitching when his free arm suddenly curls around you. His forearm rests between your breasts, his palm splaying over your sternum, and you feel him take a deep breath—almost like he’s inhaling your scent.

“I was trying to protect you,” he says, his nose brushing against the skin of your throat. He can feel your pulse raising—your heart thundering in your chest.

You unconsciously grip the door knob tighter.

“Protect me from what, exactly, Monsieur…?”

“Me,” he responds.

His words send electricity up your spine.

“The way I’ve been acting—the way I’ve been feeling recently—it’s very unusual, and something I’ve never experienced before,” he admits—his warmth bleeding into your back as his body curls around you.

“That’s why I had you retrieve that book for me when you questioned if I was ill. There was a small change in my…constitution, lately. One that only early generations of my kind have experienced. So I wanted to brush up on history, and see if I could find any clues. And I did.”

He takes another long breath, and you hear the wood of the door crunch as his grip tightens.

“Experiencing a lack of focus, increased appetite, increased body temperature, and increased sensitivity to certain scents are all signs of one thing. An impending rut.”

A rut.

The word hits you like a train.

“While having an assistant was a nice change, being around you only exacerbated the issue.”

He doubts you’d taken notice with how immersed you’d been in your own tasks this week, but Neuvillette has been watching you. The way you tuck your hair back when you’re reading, the way your ass looks when you bend down to gather papers, the scent of your perfume whenever you approach his desk…

At first, he’d been distraught by his own actions—not understanding why he was being so…improper towards you. But now he gets it.

His instincts have been itching for something to mate. And now that something is you.

Diligent, kind, and pretty…those traits, combined with being around you 8 hours a day, have made you an easy pick.

“That’s why I told you to leave. Why I closed down Palais Mermonia today—to spare anyone any trouble, and to try and deal with this on my own. But you just had to come back…”

The hand on your chest inches closer to your breast—fingers hovering above the soft mound of flesh—before Neuvillette catches himself, and backs off.

“I think I have enough willpower remaining to grant you one last chance,” he tells you, although his throat tightens as he speaks—as if saying such a thing pains him.

“I’ll release you, and when I do, run.”

Run.

Run.

Your instincts scream at you to do just that—the world moving in slow motion as Neuvillette takes a deep breath and takes a step back. 

His hands retract, momentarily relinquishing their hold on you and the door.

All you need to do now is twist the handle and dart outside. To leave him here, and not look back.

You turn the handle, and the door inches open. Behind you, you swear you hear something akin to a whine becoming trapped in Neuvillette’s throat. 

Despite his words, he doesn’t want you to leave. He’s only doing this out of consideration for you.

But…based on the way he’d spoken about his rut—the way he’d needed to read up on his symptoms to determine what exactly was going on—he’s obviously never had to deal with this before. And from what you know of ruts and heat cycles and the like, you doubt dealing with this alone will be enjoyable for him. 

In fact, it will probably be painful.

Your grip on the door handle tightens painfully.

You’re scared, but—

Slowly, you close the door—until it clicks, and you’re once again trapped inside the room with Neuvillette. 

You can’t leave him here to suffer on his own.

Neuvillette’s arms wrap around you. His nails dig into your skin through your shirt.

“Why didn’t you leave, you—”

His frustrated voice cuts off, and you can only assume he wants to call you some silly name, but can’t bring himself to. Ever polite, even in this state of his.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder, his long hair tickling your cheek. You reach up one of your hands and gently pet his hair.

“It didn’t feel right to leave you here. Alone,” you respond, and despite the way your heart is racing nervously, you still don’t regret your decision.

Neuvillette huffs. His breath is hot on your skin.

“I won’t be able to stop myself any longer,” he tells you. The truth in his words become apparent a moment later, when you feel his canines scrape your neck, and his pelvis grind against your ass. 

The almighty Iudex—helpless to fight his instincts.

“I know,” you say quietly. Your other hand gives his arm a little squeeze—a reassurance that you’ll be okay. 

“This is wrong of me…”

The frustration in his tone is quickly melting into desperation, his lips incessant at your neck.

A quiet laugh leaves you.

“Wriothesley and I…we already do this kind of thing together. So…if it helps, consider it a part of my job.”

Truthfully, you don’t consider it to be a part of your job. What you and Wriothesley have is not born out of obligation (although, neither is this). But you’re sure hearing such a thing from you will help put Neuvillette at ease, considering his penchant for propriety.

And, of course, it does.

He takes a deep breath—

“Thank you—”

—and then immediately grabs your chin, and turns your head so he can kiss you.

The noise of surprise you make is quickly drowned out by his tongue. A tongue that is longer than a humans, considering it pushes into the back of your mouth—nearly forcing past your uvula and down your throat.

The intense kiss has you fisting your hands in his shirt, your eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to reciprocate, but with every passing second, you realize that will be impossible.

He is absolutely going to swallow you whole.

His barrage of sloppy, passionate kisses go on for what seems like forever—your head actually beginning to swim as your body fights for oxygen.

Only when the first, pathetic whine leaves your throat does Neuvillette remember he needs to allow you to breathe. 

Retracting his tongue, a line of spit connects the two of you as you begin gasping for air.

However, Neuvillette is unable to wait for you to regain your bearings.

He grabs you by the backs of your thighs and hefts you into the air—your knees straddling either side of his torso as he carries you across his office, and over to the sofa.

He lays you down on the soft cushions, and you stare up at him, your skin flushed, eyes wide, and chest heaving.

He needs to see more of you. Needs to hear more cute sounds. Needs you all fucked out and stuffed with his—

Swooping down, Neuvillette captures your lips again. But this time, it’s more of a proper make-out—his lips melding against yours and your tongues rolling together as his hands trace your waist and settle near your hips.

You gasp into his mouth when you feel his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants. Then, a beat later, the hem of your panties.

Both items of clothing are in the way of what he wants.

In one swift move, he discards them both—stripping your lower half bare. He deposits your clothing on the floor beside the couch, and as he does so, he sits back—his gaze heavy with hunger as he admires you.

The intensity with which he regards you has you quickly feeling self-conscious, but before you can even think of trying to shield yourself from him, his hands are on your knees.

He pries your legs apart. 

You can't help the little gasp that leaves you—your pussy throbbing with nervous anticipation as his fingertips trace up your thighs.

His palms settle on your hips, and again, a noise is ripped out of you as he forces your lower half off the couch.

As if you weigh nothing more than a feather, Neuvillette drags you down the couch to meet him—your spine curving as he continues to manhandle you—lifting your pelvis farther and farther off the cushions, until your ass is resting on his chest, and your legs are thrown over his shoulders.

His gaze angles sharply downwards, to your cunt. And for a second, the pressure he exudes is truly that of a dragon—one that could unhinge its jaw and swallow you in one bite.

But while Neuvillette does open his mouth, he doesn’t bare any teeth.

No, the Hydro Dragon Sovereign actually wets his lips before he leans down to meet you.

The first taste of his meal.

You can’t help but hold your breath—your fingers curling into the couch cushions beneath you as Neuvillette’s tongue nudges between your folds.

He traces his tongue up—circling your clit, and making you jolt—before dragging it back down to the spot where your arousal has started to pool. You can feel the pressure of his tongue as he presses it at your entrance.

And for a few seconds, he doesn’t move. He just sits there, silently allowing your taste—your essence—to wash over his tongue. But once he's sure that he's memorized the taste of you—committed it to his memory as a sinful pleasure he’ll surely relish in during the millennia yet to come—he gets down to business.

His tongue nudges between your walls, his nose brushing up against the soft skin of your pussy as he makes his mouth flush with you. And as he does so, you (foolishly) assume he's as deep as he can go. That the stretch of your cunt around his tongue will be good preparation for what's likely to come, and he'll simply lap at you until he's satisfied.

…of course, if he was a normal man, that might be the case.

You keep forgetting that he's a dragon.

“Oh, fuck,” you pant, hips jumping in his hold as his tongue suddenly thickens and elongates. It twists deeper inside of you, filling up your cunt wholly.

You've never felt anything akin to this before.

“Monsieur—,” you say, breathless. You can't even think of what you want to say to him.

His sharp eyes slide open, meeting yours. 

He says nothing, doesn't dare to take his mouth off of you to speak—not willing to let a drop of you go to waste. But, he does give your leg a little squeeze—a small reassurance, you think.

Then, his tongue starts to move.

He fucks it inside of you with precise control—rolling it up against different areas inside of you until he locates that one special spot that makes you gasp. Your thighs tighten around his head, and your pussy clamps down on his tongue, causing a happy little rumble to resound inside Neuvillette’s chest.

He becomes relentless immediately, his nose brushing up against your clit as he continues grinding his tongue inside of you. Your body writhes, and he holds you tightly—his fingers pressing bruises into your skin where he touches you.

He can't stop. 

He bullies your g-spot incessantly.

You feel like you’re on fire—pleasure scorching away at the nerves that connect your brain to your body. 

You can't control yourself.

The moans and whines that escape you—the arousal that gushes over Neuvillette’s tongue as he continues fucking you…

“Monsieur…Neuvillette, I—”

Oh god, you can't even get a full sentence out. You want to warn him that you're going to cum—that you won't be able to hold back if his tongue continues moving inside of you like that—but he already knows. He can sense what's coming in the way your muscles tense, and your breath catches.

Cum, he wants to say, but doesn't—not daring to remove his mouth from you when you're on the precipice of an orgasm. 

Within seconds, you come undone—the walls of your pussy fluttering around him, and helpless whimpers falling from your lips.

And yet, even with you being mid-orgasm, a dragon that's drunk on the taste of you pushes for more. He folds you over—trying to reach deeper inside of you. 

The slick from your pussy overflows and drips down between the cheeks of your ass, and immediately, Neuvillette’s fingers are there—gathering it up and smearing it against your hole.

The sensation has you sharply intaking a breath.

“Neuvillette, you're—”

“Shh,” he says, for the first time retracting his tongue from inside of you. He kisses at your clit, his free hand trailing up your torso and beneath your shirt. 

“Lift your arms,” he says, his voice deep, and yet soft. The hunger in his gaze hasn't waned one bit, but knowing he has a mate to help him through his rut has put him somewhat at ease, and he doesn't want you to fear him.

Without arguing, you do as he says, and he manages to wrestle your shirt over your head. 

Finally, you're bare beneath him. 

He takes a second to admire you, his hand moving to rest against one of your breasts. He cups it with his palm, his thumb brushing against your hardened nipple, and when you immediately jolt in response—he almost smiles.

Almost, because he still has more work to do if he wants to fully indulge in you, and satisfy his own needs.

“I'll take care of you,” he promises. “Trust me.”

And before you can even think of how to respond, he slips one of his fingers into your ass. 

The gasp that leaves you quickly deteriorates into a lewd moan as his tongue once again returns to your cunt, and you swear it’s somehow even bigger than it was before. 

Not having forgotten his new discoveries, Neuvillette effortlessly locates that special little spot inside of you and begins assaulting it once more—reveling in the way your body shakes, and your ass flutters around his finger. 

He needs you pliant and ready for him, and it takes all of his willpower to not rush. To work at the pace your body needs.

Luckily, his mouth on your pussy and his hand on your breast helps loosen you up. The tension you'd first held—nervous about stepping into the dragon's clutches—begins melting away. 

You trust that he won't hurt you.

“Ah—!” 

He slips a second finger inside of you.

Compared to the incessant rub of his tongue inside you, the motion of his fingers is calmer—a purposeful, moderate pace—and the dueling sensations make your head spin.

It's all so much. 

“Neuvillette—”

You reach one of your hands up, needing to ground yourself with something—and you end up taking a fistful of his hair. 

Neuvillette very nearly growls at the sensation.

He needs to hear you say his name like that again. Actually, more than that, he needs to feel you clenching down on his—

Neuvillette groans into your pussy as you tug at his hair once more. In response, he retracts his tongue from inside you and drags it upwards—grinding it against your clit.

Instantly, you lose it.

A mix of curses, blabbers, and his name are drawn from you—your body squirming against the couch cushions as he laps at your neglected and sensitive clit. At the same time, he scissors his fingers inside your ass, testing to see if you’re stretched enough for one more—

“Neuvillette—I’m gonna—”

“Cum.” 

He says it this time—a low command partnered with the sensation of a third finger pressing inside of you. But before your brain can even digest the increased girth of his fingers, his mouth suctions back on your clit, and your toes curl.

“Fuck—!” you choke, your head pressing into the cushion as the tension inside of you snaps—pleasure rushing forth.

You unconsciously tug at Neuvillette’s hair and he takes a deep, long breath in through his nose. He’s careful to not stop the motion of his tongue or the grinding of his fingers inside of you until you begin to whine—your hand moving from his hair to his shoulder as you attempt to push him away.

Then, he finally relents.

Sitting back, Neuvillette takes a moment to survey you. 

Your chest heaving as you attempt to catch your breath, a few stray hairs sticking to the skin of your face, the slick arousal that’s smeared against your pussy, and the way you’re asshole flutters around nothing after he slowly removes his fingers…

You’re ready.

Still in the middle of catching your breath, you’re drawn back into reality by the sound of the rustling of clothes.

You peek your eyes open to find Neuvillette above you, shedding himself of his clothing. You hadn't noticed earlier, but he isn’t wearing his formal robes today. Maybe because he hadn't been expecting to see anyone, and therefore hadn’t bothered dressing up to the nines.

Neuvillette starts by loosening his tie, and then unbuttons his shirt—tossing both items down onto the floor, where they lay in a heap along with your own clothing. You expect his pants to be the next to go, but you both realize at the same moment that with his boots on, it will take more time than he wants to completely strip his bottom half.

Luckily, he doesn’t need to be completely naked to fuck you.

Popping the button and tugging down the zipper of his pants, you watch with bated breath as finally shoves his pants and underwear down. The fabric drags across his bulge as he does so, and you note for the first time how…substantial it is. 

He may actually be bigger than Wriothesley, which is something you were not expect—

Neuvillette finishes shoving his clothing down to his thighs, and you watch in pure shock as not one, but two heavy, ribbed, lightly glowing dicks spring out of his trousers.

…oh.

You hold your breath, unable to peel your eyes away from the sight of him. You’d never even considered that as a dragon, his sexual organs may be a bit different from that of a humans. You can understand now why he’d made a point to work your ass open…

Speaking of—

“Neuv—!” you gasp in surprise as he rubs his dicks between the folds of your pussy. You feel the head of one of his members catch at your entrance, but he doesn’t linger there—instead using his hand to guide it down to your ass.

“You’ll be okay,” he says, sensing your apprehension. 

He doesn’t look at you, though, as he says those words—his voice tight with desperation. He can’t wait anymore, so he has to believe them. Has to believe that he’s done enough to prepare you for what’s to come.

Gripping his length tightly, Neuvillette nudges his dick inside your asshole. 

It’s a tight fit—one that has you choking on a whine and grasping at his wrist—your nails digging into his skin. It’s not painful, but it’s still a lot—your chest shuddering as he continues to inch himself deeper inside of you.

As he does so, his other cock grinds against your pussy—helplessly waiting for its own turn to be inside of you, precum leaking from his slit and smearing against your skin.

“Gods,” he pants, a waver in his voice. His eyes are aglow as he watches himself slowly sink into your ass—the friction positively heavenly—and soon enough, he’s fully inside of you, his hips flush with your bottom. 

Your breaths coming quick, and your hand still holding tight around his wrist, the two of you meet eyes.

Then, the last little thread of Neuvillette’s sanity finally crumbles in the face of his overwhelming need to rut.

Claws digging into the flesh of one of your thighs, he forces it wider open, and grabs his second cock with his other hand.

“Neuvillette, wait—,” you try to say, but it’s no use. Even with your ass still adjusting to his intrusion, Neuvillette shoves the head of his cock into your pussy. 

“Oh, fuck—!” you cry, your fingernails digging crescents into his skin. 

Already drenched from Neuvillette’s previous actions, he expects your pussy to take him easier, but with your ass full, and your body struggling to relax, it proves challenging. He can only get his length half way inside of you before you’re gripping him so tightly that he can’t move another inch.

Drunk with desire, he actually growls.

“I—”

I’m sorry, you want to say, but can’t get the words out. You just need a minute to adjust. You can do this for him—want to do this for him—but—

“Hush,” he mumbles, close, and then his lips are on yours. 

His body cages you in as he kisses you—one of his hands resting beside your head, while the other finds the small of your back, rubbing circles into your flesh.

“You’ve been doing so well for me,” he tells you, breathless. “Taking everything I give, responding so perfectly to everything.”

His words of praise go straight to your pussy, and you whine as he pushes deeper inside of you—your walls relaxing enough to allow him farther in.

Neuvillette makes a happy, yet somewhat inhuman noise.

“That's it, good girl…just a bit more.”

Hearing such words from the esteemed Iudex—his hand warm on your back, and his lips soft on your skin…you want nothing more than to please him.

Taking a shaky little breath, you dispel the tension in your body. 

Immediately, Neuvillette takes advantage. With one last nudge, he stuffs the rest of his cock inside of you.

You’ve never felt so full.

Overcome with joy—a satisfaction deep within him that he’s never felt before—Neuvillette kisses you once more. 

…then, he begins to move his hips.

You cry out, your body shaking in his hold, but he doesn’t let you go. 

The slow, full rock of his hips very quickly deteriorates into quick, desperate thrusts—his cocks stretching out your holes.

The sensation is like nothing you’ve experienced before, and you find yourself helpless to do anything at all. You can hear your own voice, but don’t know what you’re saying, or if the sounds you’re making are words at all. Because while it’s your pussy and ass that are being made a mess of, your brain feels equally as scrambled—unable to conjure even one intelligent thought.

Right now, you’re just a dragon's mindless breeding hole.

The sloppy sound of sex fills Neuvillette’s office, and while it is nearly drowned out by the downpour happening outside—thick droplets of rain pelting against the windows—the plap of Neuvillette’s balls against your ass is impossible to miss. 

Ah…you’re going insane.

A tiny sob slips past your lips, tears beading at the corners of your eyes. 

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire—each stroke of Neuvillette’s cocks pushing you closer and closer to the edge of another orgasm. 

“Ahh…”

The heady sound from Neuvillette catches your attention, and you peak your eyes open, staring up at the dragon above you.

Never before have you seen him look so debauched—his hair falling out from his braid, and his face and chest flushed. His eyes remain focused on the space where his body meets yours, mesmerized by the way your body accepts him in full—nearly sucking him in, now that you’ve adjusted and any discomfort has turned to pleasure.

Only when he hears you sob again—a pathetic, desirous little sound—does his gaze stray upwards.

And what he sees makes his heart skip a beat.

He’s not sure he’s ever witnessed a sight so sinful. The plush of your lips, the unshed tears that wet your eyes, and the bounce of your breasts with each of his thrusts. 

Before he knows it, he’s leaning down to kiss you. 

You whine into his mouth, your arms lifting to hug around his shoulders as he closes the distance between your bodies. He groans as your nails leave tracks against his porcelain skin, but he doesn’t relent. 

He’s getting close.

And, judging by the way you whimper—your pussy and ass clenching down on him—you must be close too.

Spurred on, Neuvillette kisses you again and again—his kisses open-mouthed and sloppy as his tongue dances around your own. Drool and tears quickly paint your cheeks, but you’re helpless to do anything about it.

Right now, all you know is that you’re going to cum. The stretch of his cocks—the way they rub against your walls as he continues fucking into you with abandon—it’s too much. Your muscles tense, and Neuvillette’s brows pinch together as your holes suddenly tighten on him.

“Neuvillette,” you sob, the sound of his name broken as you speak it against his lips. 

“Y/N,” he pants in turn. His rhythm becomes careless as he begins to lose it as well, but he continues to fuck you the best he can despite the constricting of your walls.

It’s only a few seconds longer before you come undone—your body shaking and nails digging into his back as you orgasm. Broken little sounds escape from your mouth as waves of pleasure tear through you, and the sensation of you cumming is ultimately what does Neuvillette in as well.

With one last buck of his hips, the Iudex buries himself inside of you and cums.

His chest shudders as you milk him dry, and you struggle to keep your eyes open—feeling utterly boneless now that the tension inside of you has gone.

For a minute, the two of you stay as you are—basking in the afterglow of your orgasms. Then, Neuvillette sits back and slowly pulls out of you. 

You make a quiet noise, feeling yourself clench around nothing once you’re no longer stuffed with his cocks, and he smiles at the sound, sensing a hint of disappointment.

“You did so well,” he tells you. 

Placing his hands on your waist, he gently maneuvers you to allow himself room to lay down on his side beside you. 

The feel of his arm wrapping around you and pulling you snuggly back against his body causes a contented sigh to leave your lips, and after a few seconds, you muster up the energy to speak.

“I take it you feel a bit better now?”

“Much,” he responds, and you can feel the smile on his lips as he presses them to your cheek. 

“However…”

He peppers another kiss against your cheek, and then your jaw, and neck. At the same time, his fingers ghost down your abdomen, until his palm is resting on your lower tummy. 

With gentle pressure, he urges your ass back against him—his hips inching forward at the same time—and shockingly, you realize that he’s still hard.

“...it seems that I’m not satisfied quite yet.”

When Wriothesley emerges from the Fortress the next day, the downpour he’d caught word of from some of the prison guards has stopped—only a few clouds littering the blue sky.

Hopefully this is a good sign, he thinks to himself, starting on his way to the aquabus station. 

He takes the line into the city, intending first to visit Neuvillette at the Palais—to hear about how his week fared with the help of an assistant. Then, once that’s done, he’ll go and visit you at your apartment to…catch up.

Smiling to himself, Wriothesley departs the aquabus and takes the path towards Nevuillette’s office. (Because somehow, he doubts the Iudex is at home relaxing like most people do on their days off.)

As he trudges up the steps to the Palais Mermonia, he steps on a wet piece of paper in front of the door. It’s the handmade notice that had been posted on the door two evenings prior, and had subsequently blown off in the storms that followed—but Wriothesley doesn’t think anything of it.

Pushing the door open, he heads inside.

“Neuvillette?” he calls gently, his knuckles rapping against the door to the Iudex’s office. 

The sound of a throat being cleared comes from inside.

“Come in.”

“I figured I’d find you here,” Wriothesley jokes as he steps inside, spotting Neuvillette as his normal place behind his desk. However, what isn’t normal is the fact that there’s a person sleeping on his couch—their body shrouded with a blanket, and an assortment of untouched food and a glass of water on the coffee table beside them.

Immediately Wriothesley freezes, confused about what’s going on, but…when he looks a bit closerr, he realizes the hair popping out from the top of the blanket, and the scent of the person on his couch are all too familiar.

“Y/N?”

Wriothesley walks up to the sofa, blinking in surprise when he sees that it is indeed you who is passed out—your face just barely peeking from beneath the blankets that have been snuggly wrapped around you.

“You know, Neuvillette, when I lent her to you for the week, I didn’t expect you to work her until the point of exhaustion,” he jokes, looking over towards Neuvillette with a playful hint of a grin. He expects Neuvillette to sigh and apologize, but the abashed look he is instead faced with causes Wriothesley to pause once more. 

It’s then that the Duke notices a small pile of clothes neatly folded on the floor next to the sofa, along with your shoes. 

Hesitantly, Wriothesley grips the edge of the blanket and slowly tugs it away from your body. 

He’s met with the sight of naked shoulders, and a neck peppered with small bites and bruises.

Just as slowly as he’d moved the blanket down, he tugs it back up.

The office sits in silence for a moment. 

“She is…unharmed,” Neuvillette finally speaks, moving a strand of hair away from his face. “Her current state is my fault.”

Wriothesley’s eyes scan over him.

“Compared to when I last saw you, you seem to be faring much better.”

His words cause the blush on Neuvillette’s face to deepen, and Wriothesley cracks a small smile, letting loose a sigh.

“Ahh, to think even the almighty Iudex would fare poorly due to unfulfilled needs.”

“It’s a bit more complex than that,” Neuvillette says with a sigh of his own, prompting Wriothesley to raise an eyebrow. However, when Neuvillette doesn’t speak right away—unsure about divulging the specifics that lead to this outcome—Wriothesley decides to not push it.

“Well, whatever the reason, I trust that you haven’t hurt her, and that she consented to whatever took place here.”

“Of course,” Neuvillette responds immediately.

Standing up from his chair, he walks over and stands beside Wriothesley—reaching down to brush a gloved finger against your cheek. You stir only slightly—nuzzling your face into the pillow your head rests upon.

Both men smile.

“She’s a good assistant, isn’t she?”

“She is; one that works with care and compassion for the one she is helping. She performed well beyond her duties.”

“You can see now why I like her,” Wriothesley says softly, and Neuvillette can see the fondness in his gaze as he regards you.

“She did tell me that she and you are not necessarily in a committed relationship, but…I apologize regardless if I crossed any sort of line.”

Wriothesley hums.

“While the thought of sharing her with anyone else like that does make me feel a bit…possessive…she did consent to what occurred, based on your words. And, honestly speaking, I’m glad it was you over anyone else.”

Neuvillette cocks an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“I trust you,” Wriothesley tells him. “Although, you having sex is not a thought that had crossed my mind before now. It makes me curious as to what exactly you did to her while the two of you were alone.”

“I assure you a majority of her time in my care was spent with her performing her standard duties as an assistant, and nothing else. As to what happened beyond that, well…I’m not sure I possess the courage to recall such details aloud.”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to assure Neuvillette he was just teasing, but the dragon continues before the Duke can interrupt.

“I suppose if you’d like to know, next time—should there be one—you’ll simply have to be present.”

Catching the meaning of his words, Wriothesley meets his gaze. 

Understanding passes between them.

“Hmm…I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Once Y/N has recovered, and when you next return to the surface, I’ll have to invite you both for a meal,” Neuvillette says, turning back towards his desk. “In the end, the support from you both did alleviate the issue that plagued me. It’s only right to repay such kindness when I’m next given the opportunity.”

Kneeling down beside you, Wriothesley pets your hair.

“Well, it would be a shame to pass up on such an offer. I certainly hope that fate grants the opportunity for our schedules to align.”

Taking a seat behind his desk, a small smile appears on Neuvillette’s lips.

“I shall hope for the same.”

[itsthewritergal]

One Week - B.Barnes x reader

PART 1

PART 3

Here is part two my loves, there will be a final 3rd part,

TW: suicide, death, character death, breakup, general sadness, suicide notes, swearing.

(also I won't be making a taglist for the next part so please turn notifs on so you don't miss it!)

Bucky couldn’t watch, he had resulted to cleaning the blood from between the joints on his metal hand. The quinjet hummed slowly, providing little comfort to Bucky’s swirling thoughts.  Steve and Wanda were talking quietly, not quietly enough for Bucky’s liking. 

“Did you read yours?” Steve asked, gesturing to the letter that Wanda had clutched in her hand 

“No, I won’t. She wrote it for me to read when she wasn’t here. She is here. I don’t need to read it” Wanda said sadly, her letter was still sealed in the envelope with her name neatly swirled on the front. Her eyes fell on Y/N’s sleeping frame, Tony had taken the decision to sedate her, she had refused to be taken out of the cell, still clutching desperately to the hope of death. They had all tried their hardest to level with her, but nothing worked, everyone had tried their best, everyone except Bucky. He couldn’t find a single word to say to her as she was desperately asking everyone to kill her. 

“We will be landing at the compound in ten minutes” Tony said to nobody in particular but everyone stopped and listened 

“I think we should take her to a hospital” Nat said calmly, she was too calm for Bucky’s liking. He couldn’t understand how she wasn’t tearing herself apart for letting Y/N get to this state. 

“She needs to be at home” Tony said firmly 

“The compound isn’t her home” Nat answered curtly 

“It used to be” Wanda mused, thinking of the days that Y/N had spent wandering around the compound as she watched Bucky training, or cooking together, it used to be her home. 

“It isn’t now” Clint agreed with Nat, “A few months ago I would have said the same Tony, but now, well now she needs to be at a hospital. She needs to be given the choice to come back with us” 

“Cap?” Tony asked, 

“I agree” Steve said, 

“So do I” Sam added, 

Bucky stayed silent.

“Fine, I’ll reroute to the hospital” Tony said with a sigh. 

“Mr Stark, Dr Cho told me you were on your way, I’m Doctor Simmonds, I’ll be treating Y/N today,” A doctor said meeting Tony at the entrance door to the Quinjet, 

“You need to treat this girl as though she’s one of ours, understand?” Tony said firmly, 

“I understand” He said simply following a few nurses as they placed Y/N onto a stretcher and carried her into the hospital, “Can you tell me the extent of her injuries?” He asked 

“We haven’t examined her” Nat interrupted, “She was held for around 23 hours, we are unsure of what happened.” 

“I understand, now if you could all wait outside. I’m going to examine her and let you know what I’ve found” He said as he disappeared behind a closed door that Y/N was lying behind. 

“We should have gone in with her” Steve said, 

“He needs to do his job, and we need to wait” Wanda softly said, there was a nervous edge to her words, Bucky picked up on it. 

“Coffee anyone?” Nat suggested, a few nodded, “Bucky come help me” She said 

“You can handle it” Bucky said his gaze still on the floor 

“Now Bucky” Nat left no room for argument and Bucky followed her silently through the halls. “You need to tell me what happened” She said firmly 

“I don’t know what you mean” Bucky replied 

“When you broke up, what the hell happened?” Nat said, her eyes flaming with something Bucky didn’t want to deal with 

“We broke up” he said bluntly “There isn’t anything else to say” 

“You’ve been seeing other people whilst she’s been planning her suicide” She whispered fiercely, “What the hell did you do to her?”  It was one of the only times Bucky had seen Nat loose her cool in such a dramatic way, 

“Nothing happened” He reiterated simply 

“Don’t be that guy” nat snapped, “Five coffee’s please, black, double shot in all of them” She said to the girl stood starstruck behind the counter 

“Look, nothing happened” Bucky said “We split” 

“Who made the decision?” 

“I did” he replied, his eyes fixating on his boots once more, 

“Why?” 

“We didn’t work together, do you need a full rundown on my life?” He snapped louder than he wanted, 

“Just on your breakup” Nat replied quickly, “Why didn’t you work?” 

“I couldn’t do it, she was too much.” He didn’t mean it, he didn’t know how he could explain it in any other way to Nat 

“Too much how?” 

“Here you are” the girl behind the counter placed the coffees down, Nat muttered a thank you. 

“I like my life, I like being alone. I enjoy coming home alone. I don’t need anyone else in my life to look after,” He snapped, 

“You’re not telling the truth” Nat whispered “You forget, I used to be the best interrogator that SHIELD had ever seen. I see through you Bucky, and whatever you did to hurt that girl—”

“I told her I didn’t love her,” he whispered “I told her she was too much for me. Told her that she was naive and young and stupid.  I said that I didn’t want to deal with her or look after her or have to love her” 

“Why would you do that?” 

“Because I was scared, she is good. She is innocent, and kind, and gentle, and she kissed me as if I was good too. I’m not. So I ended things, and I said things that I won’t ever repeat because the words already haunt me enough” he sighed “I dated those girls after her because they weren’t good people, or nice people, I suited them better, there wasn’t anything to ruin. With Y/N, I was killing her slowly and she didn’t even know it” Bucky said, his chest heaving once he finished , 

“Bucky” Nat started, 

“I needed her to hate me” He said softly, 

“You failed” Tony said from behind him, “I came to help get the coffee” He explained once Nat gave him a confused look “She doesn’t hate you, she hates herself. I dread to think what she’s been thinking of herself the past few months because of you” 

“Tony enough” Nat stopped him 

“Y/N is lying in a hospital bed sedated because he was a coward” Tony snapped, “When she wakes up, you best hope that she forgives you, because if there’s a shred of anything other than forgiveness in her words I will kill you” He said turning and walking away. His words were calm, and collected, Bucky knew he was sincere. It should have scared him, but it didn’t. 

“Mr Stark?” Dr Simmonds asked coming out of Y/N’s room, 

“How is she?” Tony stood up from the uncomfortable plastic chair, 

“We need to admit her to an inpatient facility” His voice made Bucky’s blood run cold, “In order to do this I need a signature from her next of kin” he continued to explain, “I reached out to her sister, who is on file as her next of kin, except it seems that she passed away a few months back and I need to know if there are any other living relatives for me to contact for permission” The room went silent, 

“Her sister died?” Wanda parroted 

“According to our records around ten months ago” Dr Simmonds said, 

“She doesn’t have any other family, her parents died when she was little and her sister was all she had left” Bucky said stoically 

“This isn’t the answer you’re going to want to hear but without a next of kin I can’t admit her” Dr Simmonds explained softly 

“We can look after her at the compound” Tony said, 

“Tony, we can’t make a decision like that without talking to her” Steve cut in. 

“I agree with the Captain, Mr Stark. She’s still drowsy from the sedation but uprooting her in the state she’s in isn’t a good idea” 

“What state is she in?” Nat asked 

“She’s malnourished, dehydrated, exhausted. Nothing physically wrong apart from a few minor lacerations and bruising, but she’s not been taking care of herself. If you hadn’t told me she’d only been taken for 24 hours I’d have guessed it would have been at least 3 months” He explained 

“She’s depressed” Tony muttered softly 

“Without talking to her at length I can’t make that diagnosis, she’s clearly grieving her sister. Amongst other things but I don’t know what those are yet. I’ve asked for psych to come and give her a full examination just so we know what we are dealing with. But without a next of kin, my hands are tied” 

“What about an old next of kin?” Bucky asked slowly, 

“Y/N would have to sign off on it, are you a past next of kin for her?” The Dr asked, eyeing Bucky with a look of distain, the pieces clicking into place slowly. Bucky nodded, “I’d have to check with the board” The Dr explained. 

“Can we see her?” Wanda asked changing the subject quickly. 

“I will ask her, but I’m not promising anything” Dr Simmonds said with a nod, retuning back behind the closed door.  

The next few minutes were painful, nobody dared to sit down in case Y/N asked to see them. Bucky could hear muffled voices behind the door and it killed him that Y/N was so close but he couldn’t reach her, he wouldn’t dare to reach her in case of anything making her worse. 

“Mr Stark” Dr Simmonds said stepping out the room, “She has agreed to see you” 

Tony didn’t say a word and instead followed the doctor through the door and into the room. Y/N was sat in bed, restraints lay idle on the bed, untied, Tony’s eyes went straight to them. 

“They took them off about an hour ago” She said quietly, knowing what Tony was thinking. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked carefully sitting in a plastic chair that had been placed at her bedside, 

“I’m sorry” She said, calmly. 

“None of that” Tony said firmly, patting her hand comfortingly 

“I didn’t want anyone to know, I just needed it to be over” She said “And then they came and it seemed like the best way out. I’m sorry I put you through all that” 

“You don’t need to apologise,” Tony said “Let me help you, please?” 

“I’ve spoken to the doctor, lots of doctors and I’m okay. Really. I’m okay” She promised sincerely

“They want to admit you” Tony said slowly, watching as Y/N’s face fell, 

“They said”

“They can’t though, because of your next of kin. They need a signature and it—”

“She’s dead” Y/N bluntly whispered  

“I would like for you to come and live at the compound for the next few weeks, just until you get back on your feet” He said softly 

“I won’t put you or anyone else through that” 

“You mean Bucky” Tony said, he knew it was risky to bring him up but he needed to know how best to help Y/N. 

Y/N’s eyes glazed over sadly, and she pulled her knees up to her chest. 

“This isn’t his fault. Believe it or not the breakup was actually probably the least bad thing that happened this year” She said with a half hearted chuckle, 

“I’m sorry, I should have been there for you” Tony said, “everyone is here to help. Just let us look after you for a week. That’s all” 

“I promise I’m okay” 

“I know you are, I need to do this for me, let me help” Tony said, it was a lie. He needed to know that Y/N was somewhere safe and once she was there for a week he could convince her to stay longer, he was sure of it. 

“One week” 

“One week” Tony nodded. 

Tony had instructed Wanda, Bucky and Steve to set up a room for Y/N whilst he filled out some paperwork for Y/N. 

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked Bucky as they walked through the empty compound, towards one of the guest rooms, 

“I don’t think you should be asking me that” Bucky kept his eyes trained on the ground. His shoulders hunched, 

“This is as hard on you as it is on her” Wanda said 

“It’s not, I never tried to end my life. I made her do that. It was my words that forced her into that position” Bucky said, his filter had gone, he was bleeding raw emotions onto the floor of the compound and he couldn’t stop. 

“That wasn’t your fault, you can’t stay with someone just in case they get depressed when you leave. That’s basically blackmail” Steve said 

“She didn’t deserve this. I promised her I’d be with her for the rest of her life. I swore she’d never be alone again and then I left. I’m no better than anyone else in her life” 

“She doesn’t hate you” Wanda said, 

“What?” Bucky asked, 

“I read the letter, I didn’t think I was going to but I couldn’t stop myself” Wanda said pulling it out of her pocket “but she told me that it wasn’t your fault” 

“Stop” Bucky said, 

“Bucky she didn’t do it because of you” Wanda said 

“She needs some plants in here” Bucky said firmly as they opened up the door to Y/N’s new room, 

“Buck” Steve started 

“And her fairy lights, on the ceiling, she likes them to look like stars” Bucky continued. “We don’t have very long, we need to get started”

taglist

 @cookingdancingchick @vicmc624 @mostlymarvelgirl @olipiaa @scifinerd1818 @ordelixx @differenttyphoonwerewolf @unaxv @bumblingbamblingbandofbaboons @classyunknownlover @julvrs@scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @pigeonmama @sassyqueencowboy @callmissrogers @wintrsoldrluvr @weallhaveadestiny

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Why the Alpha Timeline is the Alpha Timeline

I figured I'd make a post, since it's pretty subtle and I think it genuinely passed a lot of people by? Homestuck is made up of a lot of words, haha.

The alpha timeline is described by Doc Scratch, functionally, as "the timeline that causes LE to exist."

The path which alone has my absolute mastery is the alpha timeline, a continuum I define as that which boasts exclusive rights both to my birth and to my death, two circumstantially simultaneous events.

Aranea also gives the explanation that the alpha timeline is the one where reality is perpetuated.

AG: Reality itself is using you and many others to propagate its own existence. Strictly speaking, there is only one path to its successful propagation. 8ut it still permits you to make choices.

Caliborn also states that his quest as a Lord of Time is coming to terms with the inevitability that everything, ever, in all of time, will be because of him - that he'll be the one to shape it, including the circumstances of his own defeat.

uu: AS A LORD OF TIME. I THINK I'M GOING TO MASTER TIME. NOT WITH MY BRAIN. WHICH WOULD BE TOO HARD. BUT WITH MY INSTINCTS. uu: LIKE IN A WAY THAT WORKS WITH MY NATURAL IMPULSES. SUCH AS MY AMBITION. MY WILL TO COMMIT MAYHEM. MY DESIRE TO PUNISH THOSE I DESPISE. uu: SO IF I WANT YOU TO BECOME STRONG. SO YOU CAN CHALLENGE ME LATER. AND I SEE EVIDENCE. THAT YOU PROBABLY BECOME SUCCESSFUL. uu: I THINK TO MYSELF. WHY SHOULDN'T I BE THE ONE TO MAKE THAT HAPPEN? IF IT'S GOING TO ANYWAY. uu: I THINK PART OF MY PERSONAL QUEST. IS TO BECOME AT EASE WITH THE FORCES OF INEVITABILITY. uu: INEVITABILITY THAT ALL THINGS SHOULD AND WILL FALL IN MY FAVOR. THAT ALL CAUSALITY ANSWERS TO ME. AND THAT ALL OUTCOMES NOT ONLY SERVE ME. BUT CONSIST OF MY BEING. uu: SO I FEEL THAT. THE MORE I GROW IN POWER. uu: THE MORE STUFF IT SHOULD TURN OUT I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR. uu: UP TO AND INCLUDING. EVERYTHING THAT EVER HAPPENS. uu: EVEN IF IT HAS TO BE. uu: RETROACTIVELY.

Aradia's stint as stewardess of the afterlife is explicitly described as "service to the lord of double death," and Dave explains that he acts instinctively - like Caliborn does - to fulfill the conditions of the alpha timeline. It's also worth noting that their classes, Maid and Knight, are roles that directly serve a Lord in the real world.

TEREZI: LUCK1LY YOU M4K3 4N 4DOR4BL3 H4NDM41D TO TH3 M4ST3R OF D34TH, 3SP3C14LLY 1N YOUR CUT3 CH3RRY P1X13 3NS3MBL3 ARADIA: you think so?

GG: well youre from the future right? GG: dont you know already if itll work? TG: yeah more or less TG: i never really studied how it went down all that closely TG: i just figured when the time came to sort it out the right thing to do would be obvious TG: like it is now TG: managing the loops is a balance of careful planning and just rolling with your in the moment decisions TG: and trusting they were the ones you were always supposed to make TG: by now im pretty used to having my intuition woven into the fabric of the alpha timeline

I'm starting with all that so I can explain that the GAME OVER timeline doesn't end when the time players disappear from it, like doomed timeline offshoots normally do, because it IS the alpha timeline: the sequence of events that causes GAME OVER to occur is the sequence of events that Caliborn/Lord English have chosen: one where (nearly) everyone dies, all hope of victory is lost, and his servant, the Condesce, gets to claim the Ultimate Reward, perpetuating the same misery and oppression in the new universe, and presumably all universes to come.

We see from Caliborn's chess match with Calliope that his (and by extension, LE)'s modus operandi is to follow the rules to the letter, while manipulating his opponent, tricking them with "shitty twists". It's always been explained that LE's actions have been "sanctioned by paradox space," that is, everything he's doing is explicitly allowed, nothing he's doing is against the rules - including the fact that he must be defeated. He has, via his mastery of time, perfectly engineered a situation where the only viable reality is the one where yes, he IS defeated... in the dream bubbles, by the dead and doomed, whom he sent to the dream bubbles in the first place via Condy, Jack English, and all the other boss fights. And his will, his ideals, are imposed on the new universe in spite of his defeat.

In a completely Watsonian read of the text, Lord English is an incredible villain because - subtly and unsublty - he IS basically responsible for every bad thing that ever happens, ever, to everyone. He has legitimately been the puppetmaster pulling the strings the entire time, pretty much all because Caliborn is a huge asshole who loves to hurt other people, and wants to do it as much as he can, to as many people as he can, for as long as he can.

But I think he's especially interesting through a Doylist perspective, through a reading of the text as a coming of age. Homestuck is a worth riddled with theme and symbolism, and thematically, Lord English represents everything that these kids need to overcome in order to mature into kind, empathetic adults who will be one day responsible for the care and oversight of a new universe. He represents selfishness, sadism, greed, destruction, oppression, fascism, murder, genocide, and hatred. And also literally the patriarchy.

And, you know what? Don't take my word for it. Here's Andrew Hussie's commentary from Book 6 Act 5 Act 2 Part 2:

Much of the logic [for who contributes to Lord English] orbits around these negative traits associated with men, or more specifically, the “toxically masculine” aspects often linked to certain male personalities. Dirk has a lot of these traits, which are central to Dave’s feelings of tension and abuse concerning his bro. The intellectual aggression, the power of assertion, the knowitall-ism, the mansplaining. That’s a lot of Dirk stuff when he’s at his worst. Equius shares a lot of those traits too, with some different points of emphasis. Both of them have this creepy-guy streak running through them, with strange or offputting interests, and seem to get a quiet kick out of making others uncomfortable through demonstrations of these fascinations. They are actually pretty similar characters in this way.

He's invited into the trolls' universe (and, by extension, the kids' universe) via the Dancestors, in an original sin kind of way. I'll let Hussie explain on their Formspring (emphasis mine):

We learn more about the troll race, as a once peaceful species and such before kid-ancestors as players scratched their session, though the short term relevance of this is mainly as a preamble to Scratch's religious story. Establishing an Eden-like paradise from which there is some departure through sin is sort of the boilerplate basis for religious lore. ... The failed players from peaceful Alternia made a classic "deal with the devil" move by causing the scratch after being given a choice by the mother of all monsters. (Echidna. Hey, she's a big snake!) By doing so they brought Scratch into their universe, and therefore all the things you'd expect that comes with summoning the devil.

The Dancestor's "departure through sin"? It was the fact that they couldn't get their shit together and grew up inside the Medium. That's why they're the age they are, 9 sweeps - adulthood by troll standards. They aren't kids anymore because that's the ultimate sign of having failed to do a coming of age. Symbolically, the Dancestors represent a prior generation of grown-ups that fucked everything up, leaving a huge mess for their descendents to clean up after. In fact, Doc Scratch even describes the alternate choice Echidna gave them:

The heroes could either accept their defeat along with the extinction of their race, and put no others at risk.

In other words, they could have stopped LE if they'd simply chosen not to Scratch. But once more, in line with their behavior up until that point, they chose the selfish option, and bore descendants into the world they ruined. They're immature, nasty, mean-spirited, cruel, callous, and shallow on purpose, because their role in the story is antagonistic. They're aligned (even if unwittingly) with Lord English, as they're the ones who directly invited him in via their failure to grow the fuck up.

There's also a reason why SBURB/SGRUB directly tie achieving godhood and reaching the Ultimate Reward to planetary quests fundamentally designed to help children mature. God-tiering is supposed to come at the end of one's quest, as achieving it directly teleports you to the Battlefield for the final boss.

AG: I really think how successfully they mature is tied to success in the game. It challenges the players in all the ways they need to 8e challenged to grow, which is different for every individual, and veeeeeeeery different for every race. AG: I don't think we were so hot at that aspect of the game. In fact, I'm sure we were quite awful. Hell, even I wasn't that gr8 at it! I actually just kinda fell ass 8ackwards into the god tier, to 8e honest.

And there's a perfectly functional Watsonian explanation for this - in order to increase the odds that the new universe will successfully propagate new universes, it's ideal to leave it in the hands of kind, mature people. But the Doylist explanation is, again, even more interesting.

Hussie has spoken extensively about the comic having always been about two things at its core: first, a creation myth... and second, a coming-of-age. These are complimentary themes, as Homestuck also makes statements about society and its effects on kids. In the real world, the kids of today become the voters, revolutionaries, and lawmakers of tomorrow. In Homestuck, they create, and are responsible for, a new universe.

I always saw HS as an exploration of young people developing relationships over the internet […] There’s a lot more to HS than just that obviously, but if there’s anything which it’s been about through and through, it’s modern kids relating to each other from afar, developing as people and growing up.

In fact, all the initial kids' entry artifacts are metaphors for "departures, loss of innocence, and sometimes the journey from childhood to adulthood outright." John biting an apple, symbolizing the act that cast Adam and Even from Eden. Rose breaking a bottle, the act of christening a boat, and an item integral to the main means by which she relates to her mother, alcohol - an adult substance. Dave hatching an egg, literally the act of bringing new life into the world. Jade shooting an effigy of her dog, both symbolic of Old Yeller, and of breaking a pinata, an act often done at quinceneras.

There comes a point in childhood where the child stops being a child - the safe, familiar, comfortable world that they knew stops existing, and they can never get it back. They are thrust into a world that is alien and massive, and forced to grapple with the weight of their future duties. They deal with losing their guardians and finding direction in their absence. They must decide how they want to grow up, and then are responsible for shaping the society that comes after them. In other words, SBURB/SGRUB in this metaphor represent adolescence.

Within that context, God-tiering is actually interesting because it symbolizes adulthood - a semi-permanent state that a child is supposed to reach at the end of their SBURB/SGRUB journey. And, in fact, it's treated that way - none of the characters reach god-tiering the "proper" way... and of our god-tiered characters, nearly all of them have some sort of emotional struggle with growing up too fast. Vriska with the expectations of her shitty society, Rose with her emulation of her mother, Dave with his abusive brother, and the Alpha kids with substance abuse (the jujus) and romantic drama.

Anyway, sometimes when Mario's running sideways he gets a star that makes him magic and invincible. OH. YOU MEAN HE BECOMES TRICKSTER MARIO. Yes, but less stupid. So for a while he becomes flashy and hyperactive and nothing's challenging anymore. He just starts barreling over mushrooms and leaping over pits as fast as he can, then gets to the end and jumps on the flagpole and that's it. Mario "wins". But the point is, he didn't really win. That magic star was actually devastating to his development as a human being. WHY. Because he skipped over many critical trials on his spiritual journey. Mario NEEDS to stomp on all those mushrooms. He NEEDS to bonk those bricks with his head, for the sake of his personal growth. By using the star, he is denying himself many powerful moments of catharsis.

Like... I dunno... seems pretty blatant to me!

So with Homestuck so firmly being a coming of age, and with the Dancestors - whose primary failure is that of unrelenting immaturity - being cast in an antagonistic role, doesn't that make Caliborn's position of ultimate final boss extremely fitting when we take this conversation into account?

You may be destined for bigger things, but you’re still an atrocious, stupid child. And you may have won the “game” with your sister, but that doesn’t mean it was the best thing for your development as a person. You had her dream self killed, which is not an opportunity your species typically gets. So she died prematurely, instead of allowing the conflict within you to settle itself naturally. In short, you forced your predomination to happen a little too early, and now you’re stuck. STUCK? Yes. Your personality is stuck in some sort of cantankerous prepubescent limbo. You are going to be a stunted, miserable tool forever.

He's literally a child who chose to stunt his own growth so that he could reap all the game's rewards for himself. Someone who so stubbornly desired the selfish, greedy, and immature option that he was willing to hurt himself to achieve it. Caliborn - and by extension, Lord English - is a direct symbol for the refusal to mature, to be kind, to care about other people. By including Dirk, Gamzee, and Equius at their worst, he also comes to represent misogyny, toxic masculinity, the patriarchy. He's the Condesce's master, and so by extension, he represents fascism and oppression; as Doc Scratch, he gets off on abusing girls, and so he also represents predators and abusers. And his goal is to perpetuate himself, his ideals, what he symbolically represents, down every successive generation. Much like how these cycles of abuse and oppression seek to perpetuate themselves in the real world!

And that's why the alpha timeline, the GAME OVER timeline, is the way that it is: it's one where Lord English WINS. In Lord English's version of the story, everything is fucked up forever. He might be defeated, as is the timeline's inevitability, but his politics, his bigotry, and his ideals live on.

Except.

Our Breath player gains a power that literally unsticks him from time.

Now, personally, I don't believe that the ending we got is the one that was originally intended. I don't feel the need to elaborate upon that here, but suffice to say, given how clearly and consistently these themes are set up throughout the entire rest of the comic, it just makes sense to me that the ending we got, where characters stay dead, never finish their character development, etc. etc., is a MASSIVE tonal and thematic departure, which smacks of external pressures and influences. Everything after [S] GAME OVER is soft canon to me for this reason. But there's things that survive in it that are really really interesting, so I'll mention some.

First, the pre-retcon versions of the characters still exist, as we see from (Vriska). That means that everyone who died in GAME OVER would not necessarily have stopped mattering to the plot. I firmly believe that the original ending would've seen Lord English confronted by the GAME OVER (characters), who would also have the most karmic claim to beating Lord English's face in. This would also satisfy his whole deal of playing by the rules - he knows he HAS to be defeated, he just gets to choose the circumstances of his defeat; without realizing that John's retcon powers can rewrite a timeline, he would've set up his own death to be in the bubbles, at the hands of the already-dead, while Condy claims the Ultimate Reward - thus making it so that he still wins in the end.

But Breath represents freedom, choices - and the retcon powers are something John gains mastery over after completing his personal quest, which we've established is directly tied, both literally and symbolically, into growing up and maturing. By becoming a kind, empathetic, mature adult, John is able to choose something else.

Second, that the Ultimate Self is brought up at all, which seems to me like it would mitigate the bittersweetness of the (characters) from GAME OVER staying dead - because, in my head, the original plan for the retcon was that it would bring everyone back, and therefore, all the (characters) from GAME OVER would live on through the surviving post-retcon gang, who will eventually achieve Ultimate Selfhood, as Davepetasprite^2 says they will. This would also directly mirror the words Godtier!Calliope gives to her counterpart:

CALLIOPE: bUt then... CALLIOPE: what shoUld i do? CALLIOPE: you don't need to do anything. CALLIOPE: be who you've become, and who i didn't. CALLIOPE: consume the fruits of an existence i could never understand. CALLIOPE: live.

Third, there's just so many outstanding plot threads, even for the characters that DO survive. Jake's prophesized to defeat Lord English, Dave never actually gets over his hesitance about time travel and defeating Lord English, Karkat has multiple means of bringing his dead friends back to life and doesn't say anything, Vriska and Terezi still aren't 100% reconciled, Gamzee's tragedy is never addressed, Jane, Dirk, Jake, and Roxy never really figure out their situationship, etc. etc. etc. ... to say nothing about all the plot threads left dangling for the characters that stay dead.

And finally...

Isn't that just kind of a better story? One where the kids get to grow, change, learn from their mistakes, and create a better, kinder universe, after defeating the avatars of cruelty, oppression, and immaturity?

Is it just me? Haha.

[togenabi]

the language of flowers

gojo satoru x reader (royalty au)

♡—All your life, you have been training for the role of Empress... But nothing could have prepared you to be Satoru's wife.

word count♡— 4.7k (I came back swinging y'all)

genre♡— fluff, royalty au

aged up characters♡— 18+

content notes♡— arranged marriage, romance, crown prince (maybe ooc) gojo, flowers, no use of y/n, afab!reader, ur a princess we're all princesses, minor chara oc's, mentions of my other au's, reader's father is a jerk, reader is tough but falls hard, not fully proofread

author's note♡— this took a while! september was ridiculously busy for me but I did my best with this to compensate! this is also very self indulgent, but I hope you enjoy it! xoxo, belle

As a child, you found out of your engagement to the Crown Prince by accident.

On a chilly winter's evening, you had been chasing the Royal Secretary's cat around the palace. Your father, the King, would frown upon you playing games at this hour. You should be writing essays, learning dance or banquet etiquette.

But all that can wait, you think. You've just spotted the end of a fluffy tail dart around the next corner.

When you catch up to it, the orange tabby is curiously peering into a room—whose grand double doors are slightly ajar. Eyes widening, you quicken your steps but make sure to minimize any sound. The last thing you needed was to be spotted skirting your duties right in front of the King's study.

You let out a huff of relief once you've gently picked up the cat, your arms hugging it to your chest.

Just as you're about to sneak away, however, you hear your name.

From the gap in the door, streams of golden light pour out; contrasting with the darkness of the hallway. The silhouettes of your father and his Secretary leave shadowed patterns on the floor.

You listen, as these silhouettes plan your future without you.

“Ha!” The King bellows. “My daughter. Empress. I never thought I'd see the day.”

Your heart stutters. What?

“When will you inform her, Your Majesty?”

The shadow on the painted tiles waves a hand dismissively as your father does.

“I'll leave that to you, Montgomery. Tell her that she should be honored.”

Heavy footsteps sound as he paces. “It was concerning to have a daughter as a firstborn. I knew she couldn't be made to rule what I've built, but I'll finally have a steady pawn in The Empire once she's sent away.”

Pain shoots into you. Your eyes begin to sting. You had always known your brother was the favorite despite all the hard work you've put in, but to be spoken of as a pawn... Could it be that you have not worked hard enough?

You suddenly remember where you are. Remember how slacking off brought you here. Heartbroken, you hug the cat tighter.

The words your father speak as you walk away deepens the dagger in your chest.

“Do not settle for anything less than perfect for her coursework. She's to be Empress, after all.”

On that chilly winter's evening, your heart froze over like the snow-covered branches looming outside.

...

Several years later.

The carriage goes over a bump in the road, but you do not show discomfort or act without grace. Your expression is controlled and your posture is correct as you balance yourself.

Across from you, Secretary Mont holds a newspaper up, the front page faces you as he reads. Large bold letters take up the entire upper half of the paper:

‘CITIZENS QUESTION IF EMPRESS-TO-BE IS WORTHY OF THE CROWN PRINCE’

You scoff. It makes Mont meet your gaze over the paper before flipping it; he frowns disapprovingly at the front-most article.

“Do not mind them, Your Highness.” He folds the paper and sets it aside—as if it would help prove his point. “The people are not used to your presence yet, but they will be. They will see how you are the perfect choice for Empress.”

The Princess is power hungry, someone who was interviewed had said. You wanted the Empire for yourself, apparently.

Jealous. Vain. Possessive. Dramatic.

Shifting your gaze to the window, you contemplate what you had done to garner such a negative image. Could you have done anything differently?

Your father's face appears in your mind's eye. That same ever-present scowl on his face as he says you should do better. You should be grateful. You should be nothing less than what you've been preparing all these years for. Everything must be perfect.

The Imperial Palace comes into view. It stands high and grand, shining under the bright midday sun. The cloudless blue sky above it makes the scene picturesque.

After the wedding in four months, it is to be your new home.

The Imperial Princess, your betrothed's younger sister, greets you when you arrive. You curtsy to each other, and she surprises you by reaching out to take your hands in hers. She gives them a firm yet friendly squeeze.

“I'm pleased to welcome you, my sister-to-be.” She beams, and you return the look with your own small, composed smile.

“I am honored to be here. Thank you for taking the time to receive me personally.” You gently lower your hands, letting her go.

She leads you inside, passing lines of palace staff as you enter.

“Congratulations on your own engagement, by the way.” You say honestly. After assessing her for a moment, you carefully remark, “I hear you and Prince Toge are quite happy.”

“We are.” She nods, smile glowing even more at the mention of her beloved. “Please allow me to say that I hope you and my brother find your own happiness, despite the ‘political arrangement’ of it all.”

“I thank you for your well-wishes.”

“Would you like an escort to your chambers?” The Princess offers once you reach a grand curving staircase.

“If you have other duties, I will not keep you.” You give her a bow, the ends of your dress brushing the polished marble flooring.

“Very well.” She nods. “A servant will inform you when dinner is ready.”

Gathering your skirt, you make your way up the steps to the east wing, where the guest chambers are.

Your eyes find the path to the west wing, where the royal families' rooms can be found. Soon enough, you would be heading there instead of east. Hopefully, the Prince will be amicable to live with.

The chambers reserved for you are exactly how you remember them. It's spotless and feels homey despite you only visiting a few times a year.

This is the only place you can be truly alone. Your father, try as he might, has no power here.

You step towards the balcony, opening the glass doors that lead outside. The wind caresses your skin like a soft kiss to your cheek, and you take a deep breath to savor it.

Four months.

That's all you have left. Four months of freedom here.

Another breeze passes. It carries with it a tiny dandelion wisp. Catching it almost feels like holding onto air, and yet it is there between your fingers. Small and weighing nothing, but there nonetheless.

For such a small thing, it strengthens your resolve.

You're not here for freedom. You're here to be Empress. And that's all that matters. You will not let anything get under your skin and interfere with your responsibilities.

...

So you said, only to find yourself in a very unexpected situation.

Dinner was uneventful, your only gripe was that your betrothed was not present. You had hoped to show everyone that you got along well... Even if you've only really spoken a handful of times.

However, once you returned to your chambers, you spot the balcony door open once more. Beyond it, looking out at the view of the city, was the Crown Prince himself.

You try not to let your unpreparedness get to you. Bowing respectfully, you greet him. “Good evening, Your Highness. May I ask what brings you here?”

The Prince turns to you, crossing one ankle over the other as he casually leans on the balcony.

“There you are.” Satoru says, his head tilting as he observes you.

You eye him warily, trying to decipher his intentions. If he wanted to see you, he could have simply shown up to dinner. “What are you doing?”

He steps forward. You step back. “Is it a crime to want time alone with my—”

Sighing, you should have expected him to want more time with the future—

“—wife?”

The word knocks the wind out of you.

Of all the names you have been called, ‘wife’ is a new addition to the list.

You are your parents' daughter, your country's princess, and are to be the Empire's most powerful woman.

And yet, to one person... to Satoru, you are to be his wife.

It's almost strange to think about. Your earliest memory of your betrothed is back when he was small and scrawny. It was difficult to take him seriously back then.

Now, something has changed in him. Or it could also be that he's always been like this, and this is a side to him he doesn't show to others that often.

Satoru watches you process the word, seeming to have something to say, but decides against it. You half expected him to tease you for being flabbergasted, but he patiently waits for you to speak first.

“Why are you here at this hour?”

He grins, eyes bringing shame to those distant stars hanging in the sky behind him.

“I didn't want our first meeting in ages to have so many spectators." Satoru explains. “If I had shown up earlier, the scribes would have taken note of how many times I blinked or how fast I chewed."

His jesting does not put you at ease at all. “I have a feeling you have something to say that should not be recorded or overheard.”

“That's true. However,” Satoru says pointedly, “The hour is far too late for all that I wish to say, so I will simply bid you goodnight with this...”

Out of nowhere, he pulls out a red flower with curling petals.

You keep your eyes on his as you reach for the flower's stem. Satoru watches you back, smiling softly. He's backing away before you can thank him, but he doesn't look like he minds. He seems to be happy you didn't reject it.

“Goodnight, my dear.” He bows, and makes his exit.

...Through the balcony. Again.

You step out and try to find where he disappeared to, but he's gone.

The moonlight out here allows you to get a better look at the flower. How curious. Usually, people in the Empire give roses, don't they?

The red carnation twirls between your fingers, and you think of how much more grand and tangible it is compared to the dandelion wisp that found you before dinner.

...

Carnations mean many different things, according to this book on the language of flowers you picked up. It all depends on the color.

Pink carnations symbolize fondness and remembrance. Some also consider it to mean not being able to forget someone.

White carnations mean purity, good luck, and new beginnings. It's a common way of wishing someone safe travels.

Yellow carnations have varying meanings. Sometimes, they are used for apologies. But most often they are given to express disdain, symbolizing a hopeless state of mind. You stare at the illustration next to the passage. The yellow watercolor is so bright and vibrant, it makes you wonder what it did to deserve such sad connotations.

Setting the book down for a moment, you rest your eyes by scanning the library. Countless shelves with even more countless books. A golden candlestick here. A priceless painting there. A stack of yesterday's newspaper lying a few tables away.

Something unpleasant settles in your chest. You ignore it and resume reading.

Naturally, as is the case for most red flowers, the red carnation means love. True, passionate love and affection.

You shut the book softly, tracing the embossed petals on the cover while thinking of the red carnation sitting on your bedside table.

Things could have gone worse, you suppose. At least Satoru didn't give you a striped carnation, which has no other meaning than rejection.

Secretary Mont enters the library before you could dwell more on that thought. He's arrived with several palace staff for additional wedding plans.

“Your Highness,” Only Mont greets you, but they all bow in unison.

You nod, and gesture to the table. “Be seated. Let's begin with the urgent concerns first.”

Apparently, the most urgent problem was that Satoru had not approved any of the table dressing color schemes. When you review the options, you think you can assume why. There can only be so many shades of white and cream and pearl.

“What shall we do, Your Highness?” One of the butlers ask.

“Give me a few samples, I'll talk to the Crown Prince myself.”

You almost regret saying that, because once you did, several staff began tripping over themselves, requesting you bring up other preparations with Satoru.

Secretary Mont asks if he should schedule an appointment with your betrothed, but you decline. Something tells you that he will show up again tonight.

And so, here you were after dinner in your chambers. A box of wedding planning materials rests next to you on the bed. You left the balcony doors open this time, and he shows up just as you predicted.

“Aw, were you expecting me?” He's smiling at you as he approaches, but it falters once he sees the box.

He lets out a loud breath before settling on your bed too, the box sits between you. “Alright, let's do this.”

“Start with these.” You hand him some fabric swatches, he looks at them in disdain.

“Pearl, then.” He says, barely even looking through all the options.

“Don't decide hastily.” You can't help but reprimand. “It's not just the color you have to consider, but the material as well.”

Satoru blinks, but presses his fingers to feel the texture of the fabric at your suggestion. “Is pearl not good then?”

“It's pretty, but it's too shiny.” You explain. “The sheen doesn't make it soft or comfortable to use.”

“Ah.” He breathes out, understanding what you mean.

You tell yourself your heart doesn't beat louder when he picks the one you had your eye on. Satoru holds the sample fabric up, the label attached reads ‘Snow’.

A clean, classic sort of white. Soft to the touch, almost fluffy. You don't have to tell him that you agree, he can already guess from the way you glance at him.

He doesn't need to know that your eyes strayed to his hair. Soft. Fluffy.

Clearing your throat, you change the subject by bringing out some tableware samples. “Shall we discuss these, next?”

An hour and thirty kinds of invitation cards later, a short break is due. You're writing down your decisions when Satoru calls your name.

You've moved to your desk by now, since your bed has become some sort of wedding moodboard. Something clinking together reaches your ears, and you turn to find that Satoru had tea brought up. He pours you a cup and carefully hands it to you.

“Thank you.” You respond gratefully, taking a sip before turning back to the lists in front of you.

“Aren't you tired?” Satoru asks, reading your writing over your shoulder.

“This is actually quite easy for me.” You admit. “Wedding planning is unexpectedly... Pleasant.”

Satoru laughs softly. “You're probably the only one in this palace who thinks it's pleasant to work with me.”

After a moment, he continues. “I suppose... That's a good thing, if we're to be wed.”

His words make you pause writing. You suddenly feel shy, warmth spreading on your cheeks. The kind you're sure isn't from the flame crackling in the fireplace.

How silly that you're becoming bashful after being engaged to him since you were children. The thundering of your heart can wait.

“I agree.” You respond, not turning to face him. You will not allow him to see you uncomposed like you did the previous night. “I wasn't sure what to expect from our marriage, but I would appreciate it if we were companionable.”

The rest of the evening proceeds smoothly, though you do notice Satoru becoming more silent as the night goes on.

The next day, you spot Satoru speaking to foreign delegates. Something is different in the way he carries himself in front of them. His posture is that of a proper Emperor, not a cheeky prince that sneaks into your room at night.

... It's probably best that no one finds out about that, lest a scandal breaks before you even get married.

When the delegates leave, you're about to approach and greet Satoru when he, unmistakably meets your eyes, then walks in the opposite direction.

You're left there, confused and perhaps even a little hurt. But you stone your expression and carry on as if nothing has happened. Your lessons taught you to be graceful, even in times you feel anything but.

By late afternoon, it's painfully obvious that Satoru is ignoring you. When he rushes through his lunch and gets up right when you take your seat, you try your best to look unaffected.

Hopefully, you're the only one who's noticed so far. If word reaches Secretary Mont, word will reach your father... That troubles you more than you can put to words.

Satoru doesn't show up for your scheduled wedding planning session with the rest of the staff. You're careful not to say that you'll speak with your betrothed, and thankfully no one mentions it even if it shows they wish you did. You're not even sure if he'll show up at your balcony tonight.

When the hour turns ten, the time he's usually here, he isn't. You sigh and can't help feeling a little disappointed.

Perhaps you said something wrong last night. Maybe you should apologize for something. Or he could just be busy, you tell yourself. You can't expect the Crown Prince to always have time to sneak away to you, can't you?

Something taps against the glass of the balcony doors. It breaks your train of thought, and causes your heart to leap just a bit.

But when you go to check, no one's there. You open the doors to find a single red carnation, just like the one he gave the first night.

You're only barely successful at hiding your relief. You reach for it and glance around once more, just to make sure if he left any other trace of him. There are none, but after you lock the doors and turn in for the night, two carnations in a glass vase calm you in a way you hadn't let yourself feel in a long time.

...

A maid knocks at your door a tad earlier than you're used to. When you ask about what's going on, she says she has to prepare you for the Crown Prince's departure.

“He's leaving?” You ask as you rise from bed, already headed for the bathroom to clean up.

“Yes, Your Highness.” She sifts through your wardrobe for your clothes. “He is to go on a business trip to settle trade agreements.”

“How long will he be gone for?”

“I cannot say for certain, Your Highness.”

Pausing in thought, you look to the balcony doors.

A rush of determination fills you as you ask the maid, “Could you prepare something for me?”

The head butler said that he could be gone for two or three weeks. Weeks before you see that face of his, which has a surprisingly forlorn expression on it.

“Thank you for seeing me off.” Satoru acknowledges you with a smile, but his eyes reveal how tired and troubled he truly is.

You say nothing at first, silently taking steps closer to him. You could practically feel the air freeze over as everyone watching holds their breath. This is the closest the two of you have appeared in public.

You reveal a white carnation held in the hand you hid behind you. The stem is cut short, just enough so that it fits into the pocket on his coat.

“I will take care of things here while you're gone.” You assure him, taking a step back to admire how the white flower suits him.

Satoru seems to be at a loss for words, but his eyes regain their usual spark when he addresses you again. “It seems I have nothing to worry about, then.”

You feel stares at your back as the carriage departs, but pay them no mind. You intend to keep your word and perform your duties while the prince is gone.

On your way to the library, you overhear the Imperial Princess and Sir Nanami speaking to each other.

They're in the next hallway, and you were just about to turn to it when you hear your name spoken. You press your back to the wall and listen.

“I'm glad Her Highness seems to have liked my brother.” The princess says. “And of course, I know Satoru would have been over the moon because of that flower.”

Sir Nanami hums. “His concerns were nothing to be worried about after all.”

The princess laughs. “Oh, what was it again that he said? That she friendzoned him?”

“It was that she companion-zoned him.”

You huff quietly. So that's why Satoru had been ignoring you yesterday.

“I look forward to their blooming relationship. I'm sure Her Highness will come around.” Is the last you hear of their conversation as they continue on their way, their footsteps fading further into the hall.

Come around? To what?

A grandfather clock chimes to signal the change of the hour, and you realize you've dilly-dallied for long enough. The rest of your way to the library has no people whispering about you and your betrothed or the flower you sent him off with.

But you would be lying if you said you'd forgotten about what the princess said.

...

Ever since Satoru left, he's been writing you letters. He said his sister gave him the idea.

You've given up on replying on every letter he sends. It seems as though he writes to you daily, and you simply can't keep up. He insists on writing no matter how busy he gets.

His fifth letter is so short that it should be called a note:

‘The flowers here are lovely. I had a bookmark made for you.’

That same bookmark, a dried pink carnation, sits between the pages of the novel you're currently reading. It makes you consider pressing the red carnations Satoru had given you so that they're not just left to wilt.

You write back once a week. But what you lack in quantity of letters you make up with the number of pages you write, and you tell Satoru as such. There are many things you want to report, so you don't hold back on anything.

Well, perhaps you don't quite tell him that you can't fall asleep until you spot the moon through the balcony glass. Or that you think of him whenever you're not distracted enough.

In Satoru's fifteenth letter, he brings the unfortunate news that his return will be delayed. He will have been gone for four weeks before he comes home, and the journey back will take three days at the latest.

Unable to express your disappointment outright, you instead imply that he should make haste for the wedding preparations. That he shouldn't miss the food tasting or the floral arrangements.

‘I trust my wife to make all the right decisions. Even if you don't, I'll consider them right anyway.’

There he goes again, calling you wife when you haven't married yet. It also dawns on you that Satoru has only ever called you by name, or addressed you as his wife. He's probably the only person who hasn't referred to you as Empress-to-be.

You're quickly learning that with Satoru, you're finding yourself again. It's rare for you to feel more than just a princess or Empress in training, but he makes it effortless with just a few words.

...

You begin counting down the days when Satoru writes that trade negotiations have finally concluded. He should be home in four days, and you can hardly wait to see his face again.

But of course, Satoru finds a way to bewilder you by arriving home early. In the middle of the night, no less. And naturally, through the balcony.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you try to decipher if his visage is a dream or a trick or the light. But when he laughs, and tells you he missed you dearly, you need no further proof.

Satoru clasps your hands with his, running his thumbs over your fingers and knuckles. Your eyes travel down to his boots, which are filthy with dirt and grass. His hair is ruffled and windswept.

“Did you,” The word settles on your tongue when you pause. “...Rush here on horseback?” You ask incredulously.

Satoru laughs again, and wraps his arms around you. “Are you complaining?”

You blink, and tentatively wrap your arms around his middle. “No. I'm glad you're home.”

Satoru is so warm compared to the night air that surrounds you. You almost complain when he pulls back, but the serious look in his eye makes you keep your mouth shut.

He clears his throat and rubs your shoulders before taking your hands again. You're completely shocked when he sinks to one knee.

“I know that we're already engaged.” Satoru begins. “I know that we've been preparing for this for years, but I just wanted to ask you properly. Because you deserve it.”

He pulls out a ring, a diamond shines at its center.

“Marry me, and I shall spend every moment of my life proving my love for you.”

“Yes. I will.” You respond, and he slips the ring onto your finger. How does he keep getting more and more lovely?

You place your hands on the sides of his face, pulling him up to you. You kiss him, and the air ignites like a spark brought to life.

It's tender, and careful, and carries all the things you wish to say to him. How you missed him. How you love the flowers he gives you. How excited you are to have him by your side for forever.

When you break apart, he seems surprised to find you reflecting his happiness back at him. He's about to speak, but not before he can resist the urge to kisses you again.

You smile into the kiss, but place a hand on his chest, pushing him to ask, “You were about to say?”

“...I've always known I would treat you right when we got engaged. That was always a given.” Satoru cradles your face gently, making you feel like the most precious in the world to him. “You were chosen because you're smart, and you worked harder than anyone else.”

“...But I saw you one day, when we were kids.” He speaks carefully. “You were trying your best to impress your father, but not at all happy...”

“From then on, I decided to make it my mission to make you smile.” To prove his point, he places his thumbs at the corners of your mouth to drag them up playfully. You laugh and swat his hands away.

“A real smile, just like that! None of those diplomatic half-smiles you always throw out to please people. That won't work on me.”

“Before you are the Empress, you are my wife. And I will love and treasure you as such.”

...

He says those same words at the wedding. You jest that he has no originality, but it brings you to tears just the same.

The wedding happens in the palace gardens, surrounded by countless beautiful flowers that dance and sway under the sun when the wind blows. Everything is, in every sense of the word, perfect.

For this moment, you are not the Empress. Not yet. The world can wait a day, you decide. Everything else can wait while you bask in the glowing warmth this man offers you.

As you leave the ceremony behind with your arms linked together, Satoru leans into your ear so you can hear him over the cheering crowd. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Petals shower you both on your way, and you can't help but smile. “Just that we're perfect together.”

Satoru laughs in agreement. “Damn right we are.”

Several staff are positioned at the exit of the gardens, ready to escort you both to the carriages that will take you through the Empire to greet your subjects... But something makes you pause at the end of the aisle.

You pluck a red carnation from one of the floral displays before turning to your husband. You tuck the flower into the chest pocket of his suit, snug in front of his pocket square.

When you glance up to see his reaction, he's already beaming at you, looking indescribably happy.

“I love you too.” He says, taking your hand and pressing the softest of kisses on top of your wedding ring.

When you sent him away back then, you remember thinking how the white carnation matched well with him. Looking at him now, however, the red flower over his heart seems to overflow with all the love and all the words that need not be spoken. You like this one much better.

He leans down to pluck another identical flower, and gently tucks it behind your ear.

Satisfied, he holds your hand tight, leading you to the rest of your lives with the assurance that he will never let go.

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added or removed from my taglist

taglist♡— @flowerjun @mellozhi

[a-twistedheartslonging]

sometimes people will pay mc to clean/cook for them. all are using it as an excuse to get a scent on you

epel appreciates home cooked meals, don't bother paying for ingredients, just use ones from his farm. he'll keep you company prefect

jade and floyd (who has taken to calling you his Cleaner Shrimpy) jade thinks it's cute to see you cook, he would love to see you swap recipes, learn your taste, do add extra mushrooms to his food please. floyd enjoys following you around while you clean and trying to mess things up so you can't leave. he always make jokes about lockin' you in. what do you meeeeaaannnn you have other clients? maybe he should bite you so they learn to stay away :) maybe he should lock you up right here :)

azul? come work for the mostro lounge! clean up the mess after work, only work for him, he'll pay you double just don't go spend time with others. why don't you start with his office and finish up after people leave. is what he would say if he lost all words the moment he gets to close to you.

jack is just helping a friend >:( don't get the wrong idea just hang out in the room when you're done, he does enjoy your cooking, he knows you'll make a great little mate and a great parent too, he does always compliment the chef.

riddle and vil will critique you but ultimately try to get you to stay

malleus follows you around while you clean all of diasomnia. he pays extra just to not clean savanna claw

sebek yells how you should be grateful to work for malleus, silver ears every meal with a smile and always compliments you and how he can tell you worked hard on it, lilia tries to have a cook off with you. you didn't have the heart to roast his cooking.

leona is used to the women hunting, cooking is almost like that, he'll pay you double is you drop the dragon, he'll say come over to clean but you're just a body pillow lol

ruggie uses those big old puppy dog eyes to get to give him a home cooked meal for free ninety nine.

by the end of it rook just pays to watch you go about your business in his space. it's creepy. but he always does write a 20 page thank you letter complimenting your skills, unless he decides to keep you in his nest ofc

trey wants to swap recipes remarking something about "well fed children", deuce is enamored with your cooking and raves about you to his mom, ace pretends not to care but will just throw his laundry at you for you to do, he tried to pay you in a hoodie of his but you refused to accept. carter says he'll make a post promoting your innovative idea but is trying to keep it to himself, he doesn't want some other stinky guy on you >:(

idia is to shy to ask but ortho has needed this for a while

jamil is thrilled when you too can cook together and try each others food, and you give him a break from cleaning after parties? kalon thinks it's a sign you love him that you offered (and his parents are thrilled to have a human work for him) and jamil gets to hang out with the cute little human and take a break? god send

eventually whoever gets the most from you is OBVIOUSLY a status symbol and will be shown off.

anyway sorry if you didn't like this

Oh, I love this, I talked before about Yuu getting a little cleaning and cooking side business going since a lot of guys suck at taking care of themselves, especially the well-off ones that prob had a maid take care of everything.

Jamil and Ruggie both need breaks/some help. Leona and Kalim are working these poor boys to the bone. Ruggie is def hounding you for leftovers.

I can imagine Idia is kind of embarrassed and might clean up or hide a few things before you come over, doesn't want you thinking he's gross. I'm picturing him in his web looking flustered as he pretends to act all focused on the game his playing on his tablet but he's actually just watching you clean and fueling his house waifu/husbando fantasies.

I would def run a hoodie tax for doing laundry.

Rook is another that would hide the things he doesn't want you to see before you come over to clean, not that there's much for you to do. He's very neat and organized but always looks for an excuse to get you into his nest. Probably offers you extra to scent a few things for him.

Cleaning for Leona...you know those cats that lie on the bed when you're trying to change the sheets and nap on the fresh from the drier clothes? He diffidently does that. He totally keeps trying to get you to only work for him and lays on you so you can't leave, threatening to charge him overtime doesn't deter him in the slightest. He also sticks close when you're cooking, the man loves food and wants to be fed by hand by you.

Oh man, Mal, Silver, and Sebek are so grateful when you take care of the cooking. Seb refuses to admit it though. You really need to keep an eye on everything, or else Lilia will sneak something into what you're making.

With the trouble that Ace and Deuce cause you're probably called to their dorm often to clean up some mess they made.

You would definitely get a lot of extra work from the octo trio, if it's not their rooms you're taking care of then it's help with the lounge. The eels are big-time fans of your cooking, but neither will leave you alone when you are trying to clean, and it makes the jobs take a lot longer. Not too bad if you're charging by the hour at least.

[aevallare]

oneiric

pairing: astarion/f!tav/shadowheart

word count: 7,854

AO3 link if preferred!

warnings: threesome, double penetration, vaginal sex, anal sex, anal fingering, strap on, MFF, dom!tav, sub!astarion, sub!shadowheart, oral sex, strap blowjob, orgasm denial, voyeurism, post-epilogue, humiliation, breath play, dirty talk, blood drinking, ear rubbing, multiple orgasms, rough sex, praise kink, teasing, hair pulling, face sitting

preview:

Astarion tilts his head to the side, considering her. “Surely your needs can't be so difficult to meet. It sounds like you've had bad lovers.”

Shadowheart snorts. Auri can't stop thinking about what Astarion said in bed the other night. She says, “The problem is that I have trouble letting go of control with people that I don't trust. And people that I trust are few and far between.”

Astarion smirks. “Yes, I can see how that would be difficult. I tend to be the one doing the controlling, if we can call it that, but letting it go can be just as…” Astarion trails off as if searching for the perfect word. “Fulfilling.”

Auri blinks. “W– what?”

enjoy!!

-----

Auri’s no fool. She has no right to the intricacies and full truths of what Astarion went through in the centuries before the tadpole, when he was a spawn rather than an adventurer and when Auri was a jester rather than the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. People recognize them, now, in the street. “The hero and her lover!” they call out when Auri and Astarion walk by, though his vampirism is luckily still a secret.

Auri chafes whenever she hears it. He spent so long being nothing but a possession, and he’s her equal in every way and then some. Most days, Auri thinks she’s the one who should be treated as lesser.

Neither of them should, really. They’ve both done a lot of healing in the years since the Elder Brain.

“Does it bother you? That people only think of you as an extension of me?” Auri had asked once.

He’d raised an eyebrow at her. “What use is there in being bothered by people who I could kill before they blinked?”

It’s a marvelously succinct way to put her fear to rest and a testament to how much he’s healed since the day that they met on the beach so long ago, but Auri’s never been very good at letting things go.

So she gives him power in every way that she knows how, even in things that don’t really matter. He chooses what tasks they take on and where they bed down for the evening. He decides if they walk or if they hitch a ride with a carriage passing through.

And in bed, he takes control. And Auri’s never wanted for anything. And gods if they aren’t happy. She loves him and he loves her and that’s everything she could ever want and then some.

They don’t have a home, really, but that’s just fine. There’s always a room for them at the Elfsong in between travels, and in one such interim period, as Auri dozes, Astarion comes through the door and says, “Shadowheart sent us a letter.”

“Mm?” Auri’s voice is groggy. “What’s it say?”

Astarion sighs. “Among all kinds of nonsense about the menagerie of beasts that she’s acquired, she misses you desperately and me a little and we should come spend a tenday with her if her friendship ever meant anything to us.”

Auri blinks. When was the last time she saw Shadowheart? She can scarcely remember.

“Naturally,” Astarion continues, “I will write back to tell her that her friendship has not in fact ever meant anything to us–”

Auri purses her lips and rips the letter from his hands.

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

It’s almost dawn when they arrive, but Shadowheart’s expecting them. She sits at a small table in front of the door with a drink in hand, and when she finally sees them, she stands and waves. Auri’s vision in the dark is terrible, but when Shadowheart wraps her in an embrace, it’s like coming home. She welcomes them both in though she stops short of hugging Astarion, and when they step into her cottage, she’s easy to see in the candlelight.

The years have been kind to her. Her body’s turned soft in a beautiful way and there are wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and lips that only come from smiling a bit too much.

And she looks happier than Auri ever remembers her being before.

“You must be exhausted,” she says. “We can talk tomorrow. Get some rest.”

So they rest. And the next day, they talk. And things are exactly as they used to be in the way they always are with good friends who’ve gone through the hells together.

Auri helps in Shadowheart’s garden. Astarion hunts. And they relax.

There’s only one problem.

Shadowheart’s cottage isn’t small, exactly, but there’s little space for privacy. Any intimate moment she and Astarion might try to share carries the risk of Shadowheart’s intrusion.

“I can think of worse people to happen upon us in the act,” Astarion says on the third night of their stay. Auri’s face warms and if anyone’s attuned to the flow of blood in her body, it’s Astarion. 

“Stop it,” Auri whispers, his lips brushing against the spot where he always feeds, and Astarion smiles. 

She can almost hear how sharp his smirk is, even in the dark.

“Would you like her to find us?” he asks, notably making no move to touch her. “Would you like to fuck her? To watch me fuck her?”

It’s all Auri can do not to rub herself against his thigh between her legs, to seek whatever mediocre release that might bring. Astarion kisses her neck. He’s not even going to drink from her.

“Sleep well, lover,” he says, smug, self-satisfied, and says nothing else at all though he can smell the slickness between her legs and the racing of her heart.

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

It’s the wine that starts things, though maybe that’s reductive. Auri hasn’t stopped thinking about what Astarion said for the last two days (and she hasn’t had any kind of sex in six days).

And none of them are shy. Maybe that's the problem.

“The last person I brought home was fun enough,” Shadowheart says, swirling the drink in her glass. “The problem is that I'm finding I have less and less patience these days for partners to pick up what I like, and I'm not really interested in a long-term relationship either.”

Astarion tilts his head to the side, considering her. “Surely your needs can't be so difficult to meet. It sounds like you've had bad lovers.”

Shadowheart snorts. Auri can't stop thinking about what Astarion said in bed the other night. She says, “The problem is that I have trouble letting go of control with people that I don't trust. And people that I trust are few and far between.”

Astarion smirks. “Yes, I can see how that would be difficult. I tend to be the one doing the controlling, if we can call it that, but letting it go can be just as…” Astarion trails off as if searching for the perfect word. “Fulfilling.”

Auri blinks. “W– what?”

“Don't get me wrong, darling; I'm more than satisfied to tie you up and take very good care of you, but–”

Auri's cheeks flush red. Shadowheart stares at both of them intently. 

“I'll get you both more wine,” she says, and she takes their glasses from them, and Auri and Astarion are alone.

“Is that something that you–” Auri swallows hard. “Is that something that you want?”

“Is that such a surprise?” Astarion cocks an eyebrow. “My body's mine, but I like to use it to please yours. I'd venture you like the same.”

Heat creeps up Auri's neck. Astarion's grin is wicked.

“Have you wanted to take charge all this time?” His voice is low, conspiratorial. Auri crosses her legs self-consciously, though it doesn't really matter. He can no doubt smell her all the same. “Then how about a bet?”

Auri's mouth goes dry. She can hear Shadowheart in the next room over.

“A bet?” she repeats.

“A bet,” he confirms. “I could tell how entertained you were by the idea of her joining us. If that's something that you want, get her into our bed. If you succeed, I'll let you do whatever you want with me.”

Every muscle in Auri's body is wound unfathomably tight. Astarion drank before they slept yesterday, but Auri remains unsated. And she makes a decision.

She’s no great seductor, but she’s no blushing virgin either. 

“Well?” Astarion starts, voice smug. “No time like the present, is there?”

Auri eyes him in her peripheral vision. “A bit rich of the immortal to say to his mortal partner.”

“If it helps, I want you to succeed just as much as you’d like to watch her squirm on your fingers.”

The blush that rises to her cheeks is violent. “Astarion–”

He chuckles. “You’re welcome to tell me I’m wrong.”

But he isn’t wrong and he knows that he isn’t, so Auri scowls. Shadowheart returns with the wine. Auri has trouble finding her voice for the rest of the night.

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

Auri’s not scared to proposition Shadowheart, exactly. Given everything they’ve all been through together, sex isn’t actually intimidating at all. But Auri fears making her uncomfortable.

She’s saved the pain, though. The next day when she steps into Shadowheart’s flower patch with the intention of broaching the subject, Shadowheart beats her to the punch.

“You two aren’t nearly as quiet as you think you are, by the way.”

Auri’s jaw drops. “Pardon?”

“I heard you talking last night. You two aren’t half as quiet as you think you are.”

When Auri flushes, Shadowheart laughs. “I’m flattered, really, though I have to admit that I can’t imagine you…” She trails off before picking up the sentence again. “I can’t imagine you taking control that way.”

Auri’s embarrassment at being overheard gives way to irritation. “Seriously?”

Shadowheart shrugs. “It’s not personal. You’re just quick to let others take the lead if they want it.”

Silence falls between them and Auri lets it hang in the air for a moment before shrugging because that’s the kind of stupid thing that Astarion would do. “Alright,” she says. “Your loss.”

And it works. Of course it does.

“I didn’t say no, did I?”

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

Shadowheart’s always enjoyed sex, though partners have grown more subpar as she’s gotten older. It’s not their fault, probably; she’s just gotten more particular.

And this is risky, probably, letting Astarion and Auri invite her to bed. Auri’s as sensitive as they come, and Astarion’s relationship with sex is complicated, though Shadowheart doesn’t know the details.

“Come to the room you put us up in,” Auri had said. “And don’t bother having clothes on. I’m not interested in wasting time.”

So here Shadowheart is in the room that Astarion and Auri have been sharing. She grins; Auri acting like this is altogether foreign, but she’s apparently taken Shadowheart’s earlier words as a challenge. When Auri registers the smile on Shadowheart’s face, her eyes narrow.

"Here's what's going to happen," Auri says. Astarion sits in a chair in the corner, unbound but bidden sit still, bare from the waist up. When Auri steps up to her, Shadowheart doesn’t flinch, but Auri guides her downward until she’s kneeling next to him. Auri takes their faces in either hand, stroking Astarion's cheek as she stares down at Shadowheart. 

To her, Auri says, "You are going to make me come. And then I'm going to fuck you."

Astarion’s lips part but he doesn't speak. Auri smiles at him. "And if you behave, maybe you'll be allowed to come after."

On her knees, Shadowheart’s at the perfect height to watch as his cock strains against his trousers. Auri dips down and takes Shadowheart's mouth with her own.

"Are you ready, then?" Auri asks when she pulls away, and in unison, Astarion and Shadowheart nod.

Auri takes Shadowheart's face between her thumb and forefinger, gripping tightly. "Today, we share. But his fangs and his cum are mine alone. Understand?"

Again, Shadowheart nods. Auri's eyes cut to Astarion. His cock and his face are both enraptured by the sight. 

He nods a second time as if agreeing to something that Shadowheart isn’t quite privy to.

Auri's attention snaps back to Shadowheart. "You're going to make me come," Auri repeats. Shadowheart licks her lips. "Yes. We'll put that mouth to work, and then if you satisfy me well enough, you'll get your own.”

Shadowheart’s not grinning anymore. She’d forgotten, somehow, in these years sequestered from Baldur’s Gate, just how commanding a presence Auri can have when she tries.

She just doesn’t usually try. She’s almost always content to let Astarion take the lead.

Not today.

“Show me what you can do, then,” Auri says, an invitation if Shadowheart’s ever heard one. When she rises from her knees, she can feel Astarion’s eyes on her, roving over every curve of her body even as Auri starts to undress in front of her.

Auri raises an eyebrow, looking at Shadowheart with such distaste that it stops her in her tracks. “Did I say you could stand?”

When Auri’s intent becomes clear, the slickness between Shadowheart’s legs grows. Auri sits on the edge of the bed and tilts her head to the side, staring at Shadowheart, unimpressed.

“You can crawl to me or you can stay standing where you are. It’s your choice.”

For a brief moment, Shadowheart wonders what kind of punishment she’d incur if she didn’t comply, but Auri considers her hardly at all. Only her lower half is bare, and she stares straight through Shadowheart to find Astarion.

“How’s the view?” Auri asks, an undercurrent of nervousness in her voice that wasn’t there when she was talking to Shadowheart.

Astarion breaks the character of a perfect submissive for only a moment to say, “I don’t think you’re supposed to care, darling.”

And that’s enough for Auri’s mask to slip firmly back into place. She locks back onto Shadowheart and says, “I’m not a patient woman. Make your choice before I give your chance to him.”

Shadowheart falls to her hands and knees once more, and when she’s near enough, Auri spreads her legs. She crawls between them, as was certainly Auri’s intention all along, and she lays a hand on either of Auri’s hips as Auri fists a hand in her hair. 

And very quickly, Shadowheart sees what Auri’s intentions are. When her tongue makes an experimental pass over Auri’s clit, Auri laughs. “Oh, I know you can do better than that.”

When Shadowheart chances a glance upward, Auri isn’t even looking down at her. She’s staring right over Shadowheart’s head at the place where she knows Astarion is sitting. She’s going to make Shadowheart work for it.

Well. She’d been honest about that, Shadowheart supposes. And if that’s the game, Shadowheart will play. She feels exposed entirely, back to Astarion and face buried between Auri’s legs, but it doesn’t matter. Letting control go–

There’s no person better to do that with than Auri.

When Shadowheart slides her tongue up the length of Auri’s slit, she finally gets a reaction. Auri exhales contentedly, and she says, “That’s more like it.”

Shadowheart wonders if Astarion can see how wet she is. The angle certainly allows for it as her lips pull at Auri’s clit, and it seems that she’s finally gotten Auri’s attention. When Auri’s head tilts back, it exposes long-scarred spots on her neck courtesy of Astarion’s fangs. For all the control she’s exerting, Auri’s wet, too. Desperately so.

Two of Shadowheart’s fingers slide in with ease. The hand in her hair tightens, and Shadowheart’s gripped by the desire to please. The soft noise that Auri makes as Shadowheart’s fingers seek the perfect spot inside her spurs her on, and this time when Shadowheart looks up, Auri’s staring right at her. “Another,” she says, her voice ragged and her neck blotchy. 

When Shadowheart complies, a grin breaks out across Auri’s face. Shadowheart’s tongue flicks across her clit and her fingers don’t stop. Auri’s hips roll into her face and hand until Shadowheart’s not even doing much but teasing her clit. Auri fucks herself on Shadowheart’s hand until she’s satisfied, and when she cries out, just a bit less controlled than she has been so far, Shadowheart drags the flat of her tongue along Auri’s clit. “Fuck,” Auri hisses, her nails scraping against Shadowheart’s scalp as her hips grind against her face.

And for this brief moment, Shadowheart’s in control. Her lips find Auri’s clit once more, and the orgasm that tears through her body pushes Shadowheart’s face even further into her cunt. Her fingers fuck Auri through the orgasm, and when Shadowheart pulls her lips away for fear of the pleasure becoming pain, Auri tugs her face upward. Shadowheart’s fingers leave her, and Auri pushes her lips to Shadowheart’s. When her tongue bids Shadowheart’s mouth open, she gives no resistance, but the kiss doesn’t last long.

“That’s my good girl,” Auri says, voice still quivering, and a chill runs up Shadowheart’s spine. Auri hasn’t stood from the bed and Shadowheart’s still on her knees. She runs a finger down Shadowheart’s jawline delicately. “Astarion’s looking lonely. Could you go give him a taste of me, please? You did so well that I’ll even let you walk.”

Astarion's knuckles are white on the armrests of the chair when Shadowheart stands and turns. Shadowheart wouldn't be surprised if his nails have carved trails into the wood. When Shadowheart pauses, Auri says, “Go ahead. Have a seat in his lap. Kiss him, even, if you’d like. But your hands stay above the neck until I say.”

When Shadowheart does as Auri says and straddles his hips, Astarion doesn’t hesitate. One of his hands snakes behind her head to drag her in closer, and Shadowheart’s hips roll against the erection that she can feel press against her entrance even through the layers of fabric he’s still wearing. She moans as Astarion’s lips find her greedily; she’s no doubt soaked the front of his trousers thoroughly even in the little time that she’s been on top of him.

“How’s she taste, my love?” Auri asks. She sounds a bit further away than she had before, but Shadowheart can’t make herself care. 

Labored, with Shadowheart’s mouth still half on his, Astarion says, “Divine.”

There’s something about his reverence that makes Shadowheart blush, his eyes half-lidded and meeting her gaze with undisguised want. 

Auri hadn’t said anything about not moving her hips against Astarion’s cock through his clothes even though Shadowheart would rather have him inside her. Shadowheart puts a hand on either side of Astarion’s face and kisses him again, hard. Astarion stutters out a strangled noise like he might spend himself without ever undressing at all, and when his head jerks back, no doubt trying to wrest control of his own body back, one of his fangs catches against Shadowheart’s lip.

The soft skin there tears and Astarion’s eyes dilate instantly, fully alert. Shadowheart doesn’t know how it’s possible, but his cock hardens even more beneath her. He can drink from her. Shadowheart doesn’t care–

Astarion’s fingers are torn from her hair and a smaller, rougher hand takes their place, yanking Shadowheart’s head backward.

“Misbehaving when we’ve barely started?” Auri asks. This position exposes Shadowheart’s neck to Astarion entirely, and his fangs are bared as he stares at the spot where Shadowheart can feel her pulse pounding. “I told you his fangs were mine.”

“It was an accident–” Shadowheart stammers out, but her train of thought stops dead when something hard presses against her cunt. 

Auri’s mouth is at her ear and the hand not pulling at Shadowheart’s hair tugs at her hip. “Oh, it was an accident. I understand.” Auri’s voice is low and dangerous, and when Shadowheart’s eyes dart to the side to glimpse what seeks to bury itself inside her, she almost shudders. Auri’s strapped a cock to herself that has Shadowheart’s mouth watering. It’s a fraction from filling her, and–

“Accidents happen,” Auri continues. Her breath is warm and wet against Shadowheart’s cheek and her teeth nip at her earlobe. “So I’ll forgive you just this once as long as you make sure he knows how good it feels to have me fuck you.”

When Shadowheart looks back down at Astarion as she asks, his lips are parted, and Shadowheart’s too caught up. When Auri pushes into her with a single, decisive thrust, her body jerks forward and she cries out.

Shadowheart only notices the drop of blood that drips from her lip at the motion because Astarion’s eyes lock on it instantly. When it falls into his mouth, Astarion’s eyes flash and his hips instinctively buck upward, seeking any kind of pleasure for himself, but Auri’s having none of it. Her grip on Shadowheart’s hair releases so both of her hands can fall to her thighs, nudging her upward so her knees are on the chair.

Her body’s out of reach of Astarion’s for any kind of meaningful contact, and that’s exactly what Auri wanted. Astarion exhales a laugh, a smile of disbelief on his face, and Shadowheart can see him come to the conclusion that she had roughly two positions ago.

Auri had taken their slights against her ability to be dominant very personally.

But Shadowheart doesn’t get time to ruminate on it. She’d complained about not being able to surrender control with any partner meaningfully, but she’s falling apart at Auri’s touch. Her breasts are in Astarion’s face and they ache to be played with, but he’s not going to disobey Auri’s command not to touch below the neck. Auri’s hips meet the curve of Shadowheart’s ass time and time again; Shadowheart wouldn’t be surprised if she’s dripping onto Astarion’s lap.

As if Auri’s in her head, one of her hands drops between Shadowheart’s legs. Her thrusts have grown shallower, seeking the spot that will make Shadowheart’s vision go black and her mind go blank. Auri finds it with ease; the slightest pressure on her clit will send Shadowheart over the edge.

But it never comes.

Auri drags her hand through the slickness that’s pooled between Shadowheart’s thighs but she avoids the place that Shadowheart wants her to touch the most. Her fingers leave a wet trail along Shadowheart’s ass until Auri finds what she’s looking for.

Shadowheart gasps as she’s penetrated twice, Auri’s cock in her cunt and finger in her ass. She buries her face in the crook of Astarion’s neck, but Auri doesn’t stop.

“Come for me, then. You’ve earned it.”

And Shadowheart shatters. She’s never been loud, but this climax pulls profanity from her mouth. She doesn’t scream, but it’s close. Her mouth is wide against the flesh of Astarion’s neck; she could bite him if she wanted. Her breasts are flush with his chest and his entire body’s rigid as she heaves against him, Auri’s cock still inside her. As the orgasm passes and she regains control of her body, she pushes herself back up, and as she does, Auri pulls her cock and finger out from inside her.

Shadowheart shudders at the loss and Astarion breathes in deeply through his nose. Auri kisses her tenderly on the cheek, a light brush of lips against skin that’s entirely at odds with the role she’s played thus far but very much like the Auri that Shadowheart’s known for years.

“Why don’t you take a moment on the bed for me?” Auri asks. “You look like you need to catch your breath.”

Astarion looks at her with unbridled hunger, but Shadowheart does as Auri bids. Somehow, desire still thrums in her stomach, but she has no doubt that she won’t be left wanting. She lies down on the bed, turned to face Auri and Astarion, and Auri asks him, “Is this what you wanted when you said that you wanted me to succeed in getting her into bed with us?”

The lust in his eyes wars with the smirk he wears. “You know that it is. You never disappoint, darling.”

Auri chuckles. “You’re only saying that because you want to get off.”

“I can mean it and have ulterior motives at the same time.” His words are stilted, his veneer of restraint slipping by the moment as he stares at the length between Auri’s legs. “Can I?” he asks, pupils blown wide without even being touched. Auri’s cock is still slick with Shadowheart, and Astarion stares at it intensely.

“Eyes on me, my love. You've been so good so far. Don't ruin it.” When Auri tilts his chin upward until their gazes meet, her nails scrape along his jawline. “Can you what?”

When Astarion runs his tongue over his fangs, Shadowheart shudders even from her place on the bed.

Astarion’s voice is always composed, a weapon just as much as his daggers are. Here, though, half-naked and staring up at Auri in submission, he sounds different. There’s desperation that makes the muscles in Shadowheart’s stomach clench when he asks, “Can I suck your cock?” 

“I suppose you have been good, accident notwithstanding,” Auri says, and that’s invitation enough for Astarion to leave the chair where he sits to kneel in front of her.  Shadowheart inhales sharply. When Astarion’s lips part, Shadowheart sees just the briefest glimpse of his fangs.

She feels every bit a voyeur as he takes Auri’s cock in his mouth and his hands reach around to grip the curve of her ass. Auri runs her fingers through Astarion’s hair, tilting his head back even as he takes her. “Yes, you are just wonderful,” she says. Shadowheart is more than satisfied to watch, but Auri turns to her, apparently uninterested in her remaining a bystander. “He’s doing so well, isn’t he? Doesn’t he look pretty with my cock in his mouth?”

Shadowheart nods. Words feel impossible. Auri looks down again at Astarion and he stares right back up at her. Her cock slides down his throat with ease.

Gods.

Shadowheart’s rarely seen Astarion surrender in anything, but when he yields to Auri, he does so wholly. Auri’s cock slides in and out of his throat so obscenely that just watching makes Shadowheart’s insides burn. When Auri motions to her, Shadowheart nearly misses it. She only pulls her attention from Astarion’s mouth when Auri snaps her fingers.

When Shadowheart approaches, Auri says, “Answer my question properly, please,” and one of her hands falls between Shadowheart's legs. She came only minutes before, but when Auri’s fingers seek entrance, Shadowheart sighs like she hasn’t been touched properly in an eternity. “He deserves to hear it, I think, for putting on such a good show.” Auri doesn’t look at her but her fingers are expert. “Tell him how pretty he looks with your cum in his mouth.”

Astarion's nostrils flare. Auri thrusts her hips forward, and when she does, she buries her cock in his throat.

“You're marvelous,” Shadowheart says as reverently as she ever spoke about Shar. Auri smiles.

Saliva runs down Astarion’s chin and he makes no move to wipe it away. Auri says, “Marvelous really is the only word that even remotely describes him.”

The heel of Auri's hand presses against Shadowheart's clit and she moans as Auri's cock slips from Astarion's mouth. A thread of cum and saliva hangs from his lips, and Auri says, “He’s so marvelous, in fact, that he's going to fuck your ass while I'm sunk to the hilt in your cunt.”

The image that pushes into Shadowheart’s mind makes her every thought go blank, and finally, Astarion’s decorum breaks, if only for the briefest moment. When unwieldy lust flickers across his face, Auri smirks.

“You said yourself that I should watch you fuck her. What better view than when you’re both on top of me?”

They’d discussed this, of course. Shadowheart knew that. To hear Auri vocalize it so plainly still sends lightning down her spine. Astarion swallows hard. Auri jerks her head upward and nods toward a jar on the small table beside the bed. “Off your knees. You know what to do.”

When he does as she says, Auri kisses him before he steps away, and her fingers leave Shadowheart’s cunt. She pulls her back toward the bed with one hand and teases her nipple with the other, every brush of her fingers electric against Shadowheart’s skin. From the corner of her eye, Shadowheart can see Astarion. The hand he has wrapped around himself glistens with lube.

“You're going to look lovely riding my cock,” Auri whispers in Shadowheart’s ear. Speaking quietly is unnecessary; Astarion can no doubt hear her, but it has its intended effect still. Goosebumps rise on Shadowheart’s arm. Auri continues as she lies back on the bed, pulling Shadowheart on top of her. “You're going to be so full, but we all have to remember the rules.”

Shadowheart nods again as she had before, a leg on either side of Auri’s hips, but Auri's eyes narrow. She grips Shadowheart's face roughly; Astarion's cock is so hard that it looks painful. “Tell me the rules, and I'll fuck you within an inch of your life.”

Auri’s a performer to her core. Shadowheart’s known that for a long time, but she plays this role particularly well. The head of her cock rests at Shadowheart's entrance. Breathlessly, she says, “His fangs and his cum belong to you.”

Auri smirks. “Good girl.”

And finally, Shadowheart sinks down onto Auri’s cock, exhaling as she does. There’s no resistance. Auri slots inside her with ease, and her hands slide up Shadowheart’s stomach until she reaches her breasts, squeezing almost cruelly.

When Shadowheart cries out, Auri’s smirk widens, a wicked expression that only serves to make her wetter, though she isn’t sure how that’s possible. Auri’s hips grind upward, and Shadowheart regrets ever saying that she couldn’t imagine Auri in control. She’s well on her way to a second orgasm when she feels movement behind her.

Her mouth goes dry. Shadowheart doesn’t know how she managed to forget that Astarion was there, but the spell that Auri’s cock has cast between her legs apparently drove out all awareness. Auri’s hands leave her chest; one finds purchase on Shadowheart’s thigh and the other tugs at her braid firmly, pulling her downward.

Auri nips at her earlobe. Her cock pushes into Shadowheart, slow and deliberate. Auri knows that she was close before. Her breath is warm against Shadowheart’s ear.

“You have to be patient, beautiful. You’re not allowed to come again until he can feel it, too.”

Auri’s hand on her thigh ignites the heat in Shadowheart’s core as it trails toward her clit, and she whimpers, “Please.”

“Please what?” Auri asks, canting her hips upward again. Her fingers have stopped just short of the place Shadowheart wants them to be. “Ask for it. I want to hear you say that you want me to touch you.” Her tongue runs along the curve of Shadowheart’s ear. “I want you to look at me when you say that you want my lover in your ass.”

Shadowheart's had tens of lovers, and this is far from the first time she’s taken someone this way, but the weight Auri puts in her words lends even more taboo to the act.

And she’s never been full in both places at once.

The length inside her pushes against the spot that makes Shadowheart’s vision go white. She clenches her eyes shut. “I want–”

Auri’s movements stop entirely and her voice goes cold. “I told you to look at me when you beg.”

When Shadowheart's eyes open, it doesn't even seem like it's of her own volition. Auri's words force her to look on their gravitas alone. 

Auri’s eyes are a piercing green. Shadowheart steels her jaw.

“I want you both to fuck me until I can't walk,” she challenges, and Auri’s grin is all teeth. 

Auri jerks her head at Astarion behind her and Auri's fingers finally brush against her clit at the same moment that Shadowheart feels Astarion's hands on her ass.

His hands are cool but Astarion's always cold; it isn't unexpected and Shadowheart’s attention is more consumed by the deliberate way that one of his fingers works its way inside her. When she gasps, Auri calls her back, and her feather-light touch on Shadowheart's clit is maddening.

“You're doing so well,” Auri soothes, and Shadowheart's body reacts to the praise accordingly. The wetness between her thighs distracts her from the mild discomfort of Astarion's intrusion until Auri says, “Go on. She can take another.”

A second finger stretches her, and this time when Shadowheart moans, Auri cocks an eyebrow. “His cock is bigger than that, and you want to take it, don't you? You want to come on my cock and his?”

The lube that runs down the curve of her ass is debauched, and Shadowheart nods. “More. Please.”

“You heard her. One more finger, and after that, you'll be allowed to fuck her.”

Shadowheart’s so close, but Auri’s pace with both her hand and cock have slowed. When a third finger enters her, Auri stops moving entirely. “You can't come yet. You have to take him to earn it.”

When was the last time a lover made her feel this undone? Shadowheart whimpers this time as Auri's words roll over her, trying desperately to grind her hips downward. When she does, Auri's hand reaches up and finds her throat, stopping the movement before Shadowheart can find any relief.

“Do you want to fuck her, my love?” Auri asks, looking over Shadowheart's shoulder at Astarion. 

Astarion is normally the perfect picture of control, but his voice is strangled when he says, “Yes.”

The hand on Shadowheart's neck tightens and she gasps. She feels Astarion's lips against her shoulder and she draws in a ragged breath. Auri's smirk is wide and wicked.

“Have your way with her, then. You've earned it.”

When his fingers leave her ass, Shadowheart would fall forward if not for Auri's hand around her throat. She misses his touch instantly but there's no time to mourn the loss because the head of his cock pushes against her entrance immediately. 

“Alright?” Astarion asks, voice strained, as if restraint is causing him pain.

When Shadowheart opens her mouth to answer, Auri's grip on her neck tightens. 

“She's fine,” Auri says, and she's right, of course. “She was made to take us.”

Astarion waits for a signal that this has become too much, but Shadowheart’s not interested in anything other than more. He eases into her slowly and the fullness is so much and Shadowheart thinks that she might split in half. 

It’s like a dream. 

Despite her words, Auri’s touch has turned gentle. She’s giving Shadowheart time to adjust, but their consideration is just another kind of torture. When she tries to lean backward, forcing Astarion’s cock in deeper, Auri holds her steady. “Patience, beautiful,” Auri says, a repetition of what she’d said earlier. Shadowheart whines audibly and Auri pulls her forward, far enough down that her nipples brush against the fabric of Auri’s shirt. Auri gives her a kiss so gentle that Shadowheart wants to scream.

“Please.” Shadowheart doesn’t recognize her own voice. She’s never been the type to beg. “I need–”

Auri kisses her again, stealing away the vocalization of her desire, and when they part, she says, “I know what you need, but you have to be patient. The only one allowed to hurt you here is me, and I don’t want to hurt you like that. Understand?”

Shadowheart would let her do anything, but finally, blessedly, Auri rolls her hips. The movement is minimal but it sends pleasure to her every extremity, and Auri says, “You like that?”

Shadowheart nods; words are impossible. Astarion’s finally fully inside her. There are stars behind her eyes. The likelihood of her coming apart increases by the moment. Again, Auri fucks upward, and this time, Astarion meets her rhythm. When they thrust into her at the same time, Shadowheart thinks that this might just be the end of her. Auri kisses her a third time and Shadowheart pants into her mouth before Auri says, “Sit up for me. I want to watch him touch you.”

“I don’t know if I can–”

Auri cuts her off again. “You can hold out. I know you can. You can’t come for me yet.”

Shadowheart chews her lip so hard that the spot Astarion’s fang had cut open starts to bleed again as she forces herself back up onto her knees. He inhales sharply as blood again runs into her mouth, and if there was any control left in him, it disappears. One of his hands falls between her legs and the other grabs for her breast as his nose pushes into the flesh of her throat.

He can smell the blood. He doesn’t need to see it.

“You wanted me to watch you fuck her, Astarion,” Auri says, her own hands gripping Shadowheart’s thigh and hip respectively. “So make her come.”

She’s a toy, really, now, which is only fair considering how Auri had fucked her while more or less using Astarion as furniture. Astarion twists her nipple hard, and she’s so close. She strains for the orgasm desperately and Astarion’s teeth are on her neck–

And Auri says, “Stop.”

The sweat on Shadowheart’s brow grows cold as the one-word command ices her oncoming climax. Auri’s voice is stony. “You were going to bite her.”

This isn’t fair. Just one more moment would have been enough–

Astarion doesn’t deny what Auri accuses him of, and Shadowheart is caught in the middle both literally and figuratively.

When she says, “On your back,” to Astarion, he doesn’t hesitate. In fact, if Shadowheart didn’t know better, she might say that it was a ploy on his part. Shadowheart wants to whimper when Auri’s cock leaves her cunt, but when Astarion moves, he pulls her with him.

With minimal awkward adjusting, and agility that doesn’t quite make sense to Shadowheart, Astarion pulls her with him so that they’re both lying on the bed, her back flush with his chest.

And he’s fucking her, still. Shadowheart doesn’t know how much more her body can take. The sound of his hips meeting her ass grows louder, and that alone is sinful enough, but then Auri says, “Stop moving.”

Astarion’s hands squeeze the soft flesh of Shadowheart’s ass, moving her up and down the minutest fraction, but otherwise, he listens. It’s torture.

She needs to come. She has to. But her words are gone. Noises come out of her mouth that she doesn’t even recognize.

Auri’s on top of her, then, her cock brushing against Shadowheart’s clit. She strokes Shadowheart’s cheek with a single finger.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. And I know what you need.”

Auri sheathes herself in Shadowheart’s cunt in a single swift, nearly cruel motion, but Shadowheart would take it over and over again. She’d do anything for this feeling of fullness; any pain registers only as pleasure. With her every movement forward, Shadowheart moves not only on Auri’s cock but Astarion’s also. It doesn’t matter that he himself isn’t moving. Shadowheart isn’t the toy anymore. Each thrust fucks Shadowheart on Astarion and Auri’s cocks both.

Auri’s hips push against Shadowheart’s clit each time she moves forward, and she’s been so close for so long. It takes no time at all to fall off the cliff of her pleasure. Shadowheart reaches behind her, seeking purchase on anything to ground her. What she finds is Astarion’s hair, and as she rides out her orgasm, she feels him breathe in against the heat of her neck once more.

She can’t talk. All she can do is bask in the afterglow of the second orgasm Auri’s given her until Auri caresses her cheek once more. She tilts Shadowheart’s face side-to-side. Shadowheart can’t catch her breath. She draws in an insufficient gasp of air, and Auri says, “You can give me another.”

Shadowheart’s sure she misheard. “What?”

Auri grins. Shadowheart’s always thought her somewhat plain, but here, she shines, her cock sliding out from Shadowheart’s cunt. The sudden emptiness makes Shadowheart shiver, and when Auri’s on her knees, she holds out a hand to help Shadowheart rise to her own until Astarion’s cock leaves her as well. To Astarion, Auri says, “You can stay there.”

When Auri steps off the bed and turns her back, Astarion grins. 

And Auri had thought he might be uncomfortable playing this game.

Auri unfastens the cock from her hips and lets it fall to the floor without fanfare. Shadowheart can’t tear her eyes away as Auri snaps, and she knows a prestidigitation spell when she sees one. The tendrils of Auri’s magic wrap around Astarion’s cock, and Auri flippantly says, “No offense, but I prefer him clean.”

“None taken,” Shadowheart manages.

“You can touch yourself while you ride his face if you want,” Auri says. “He does a good job, though. Trust me. You shouldn’t need to.” She speaks casually, as if the previous orgasm hadn’t fractured Shadowheart’s reality on a fundamental level. Auri continues, “I’ve called you beautiful a few times now, but you are especially beautiful when you come. You come apart like you were born for it.”

The fire inside her re-ignites. It’s simple for Auri to pull heat back between Shadowheart’s thighs as if it had never gone. She’s never had hesitation about Astarion’s fangs anyway, but even if she did, Shadowheart doubts that it would have mattered. Auri could say anything right now and Shadowheart would do it.

Astarion’s eager from the moment Shadowheart’s cunt meets his mouth. She sighs (even squeals a little; her clit’s still hypersensitive from everything that’s come before) and watches as Auri wraps a hand around Astarion’s cock. She strokes him only briefly before straddling his hips and sinking down onto him.

Auri sighs through her nose contentedly as she takes him. “There’s nothing in the Realms that feels as good as you do.”

There’s a rumble in Astarion’s throat that Shadowheart can feel as his tongue swipes against her dripping entrance. He licks her clean before his mouth turns its attention to her clit. There’s no foreplay needed; Shadowheart’s a mess. Three fingers slide into her with no warning and no resistance.

“Come here,” Auri says, and Shadowheart wants to watch, wants to see Astarion’s cock slide in and out of Auri’s cunt, but she can’t focus on anything except for the fact that Astarion has hurtling much too quickly toward a third climax. She leans forward because Auri asks her to, and the consequence is the angle of Astarion’s ministrations changing. When Auri takes Shadowheart’s bottom lip between her teeth, Astarion’s fingers curl against the perfect spot. His lips draw at her clit harder than they had before, and Shadowheart doesn’t know how it’s possible for her body to crave climax again.

“That’s it,” Auri croons. “Let me see you all fucked out one last time.”

What’s she supposed to do but come in Astarion’s mouth? If Shadowheart had neighbors they would hear it as the pleasure crashes down around her. Shadowheart grinds her cunt into Astarion’s mouth and he takes what she gives, fucking her until she’s satisfied, and when the convulsions stop, Auri’s holding Shadowheart’s face in her hands.

“Beautiful.”

And after everything, it’s this that makes Shadowheart blush most. Astarion’s tongue drags along her slit one last time as if her cum is something it’d be a shame to waste. She slides to the side much less gracefully than she’d intended, but neither Auri nor Astarion seem to mind. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” Auri asks her even though she’s looking at Astarion.

Shadowheart doesn’t know how she finds the words, but she does. “What’s that?”

“He loves having his ears rubbed.”

Astarion exhales in anticipation, and Auri rolls her hips, tilting her head back as she does. Shadowheart repositions behind Astarion, crossing her legs and pulling his head into her lap. Her fingers barely even brush the tips of his ears before he shivers, and Auri’s voice is softer than it has been yet. “What did I say was mine?”

“My fangs and my cum,” he says, words strained. Shadowheart knows that tone. He’s close, and that’s more than fair; they’ve been teasing him this entire time.

And Auri’s not done. “You’re not even going to fight me on this? You’re not even going to argue and pretend to not remember what I said belonged to me?”

“Oh, darling, I’ve been good, haven’t I? And you’ve more than made your point, as I’m sure we’d all agree.”

Auri’s smile is wide and affectionate, no less in control but entirely the ray of sunshine that Shadowheart’s used to. When Shadowheart’s thumb and forefinger rub small circles into his ears, Astarion says, “Shit.”

Auri leans forward until her chest is flush with his. Shadowheart would feel like she was intruding if not for Astarion’s hand gripping her forearm so tight that she feels like it must be the only thing binding him to this planet. “Are you hungry?” Auri asks, voice low.

“Starving,” he hisses, and Auri pulls her hair over her shoulder to expose his claim. He stares at it with pupils dilated.

“Then feed while I fuck you,” she says, her hips rising and falling as punctuation. “And fill me with cum when you’re done.”

They’re lost in each other as Auri rides him with her own hand between them, but Shadowheart’s never forgotten. When Astarion’s fangs tear into Auri’s skin like he’s never fed before, his nails dig into Shadowheart’s arm, and her fingers tease his ears still. He thrusts into her, any of his remaining discipline lost, and Auri’s fingers lose rhythm on her clit at the same time. She comes with a gasp even as her blood drips down her neck onto his shoulder, and he follows barely a moment after. Astarion grips her to his chest with his other arm as she collapses on top of him.

Elf ears are more sensitive than even half-elf ears; Shadowheart’s quick to let them go in the aftermath, but to her surprise, Astarion doesn’t release her arm. 

And, to be frank, Shadowheart’s not entirely sure what comes next.

Auri tilts her head up to look at Shadowheart from her place on Astarion’s chest. 

“Why are you still up there?” Auri asks her. The performance has completely fallen away.

Shadowheart blinks at her and Astarion scoffs. “If you don’t come down here and cuddle, it’s not unlikely that Auri will start crying.”

Auri blushes. “That’s not– I would not–”

But Shadowheart acquiesces without a thought, her naked body slotting in next to Auri and Astarion like that’s where she was always meant to be. When she does, Auri glows, putting a hand to her cheek with earnest tenderness.

Shadowheart asks, “What happens now?”

Auri slides off of Astarion’s chest and faces her; Astarion presses himself tight to Auri’s back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I obviously–” Shadowheart swallows hard and sighs, rolling her eyes. “This is stupid. This just isn’t going to be weird when I wake up tomorrow, is it? What happens now?”

“Who cares?” Astarion pushes a curl that’s fallen into his eyes back up into his hairline.

Auri snorts, punching his upper arm lightly. “I care, but I don’t disagree with the sentiment that ‘who cares?’ is supposed to convey. If there’s anything to figure out, we can figure it out tomorrow. Tonight was its own reward.”

Auri kisses Shadowheart’s forehead. Astarion buries his nose in Auri’s hair and brushes hair that’s fallen into Shadowheart’s eyes behind her ear as he'd done for himself only moments before then closing his eyes.

Shadowheart settles in under the comforting heat of Auri’s arm and resolves that they will just have to come visit more often.

But, yes. They can figure it out tomorrow. And whether this ever happens again or not, tonight was more than enough.

Shadowheart sleeps. No dream could ever compare.

[coloursflyaway]

hello 💘 i’m loving your stories and i have a prompt for something silly: what could the boys possibly be using a ouija board for/why did they acquire it in the first place? you pointed it out among all their iterations of clue and now i have questions lol

And finally, I have your second fic ready!

This Is How For Now We Touch

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.200

Read on AO3

“Hey, Edwin”, Charles says, and there is something about his voice that lets Edwin know he will be rolling his eyes at least once during the upcoming conversation.

“What is it?”

“I got us something”, Charles answers and pulls a box from the bag he’s been carrying, black and unwieldy, adorned in white scribbles. He’s holding it out like it’s something precious, which Edwin highly doubts it is, considering the look Charles gives him. “Something really really cool.”

Edwin takes a moment to look at the box, the poor quality of the cardboard and the horrible picture of teenagers that are trying to look frightened, and yes, some eye rolling will definitely be necessary here. “Why on Earth would we need a Ouija board, Charles?”

The grin on Charles’ lips would be obnoxious if Edwin didn’t like him so much.

“To talk to ghosts, of course.”

It becomes a game, even if Edwin still does not know how: sometimes, when the agency is quiet, one of them gets the Ouija board, they set up some candles, and they talk to each other through it, pretending that they cannot see the other’s fingers as he moves the planchette with them.

Of course, it is silly and quite childish, but it’s also fun, a good way to focus on each other and their words completely, and sometimes, at least for Edwin, it’s easier to say things like this, without having to speak them out-loud.

So, when he looks at Charles one day and there is so much warmth and affection in his chest that it feels overfull, overflowing, ready to burst, he pulls out the board in the evening, lights the candles, and spells out, letter for beautiful, frightening, worthwhile letter: YOU’RE THE BEST FRIEND I’VE EVER HAD.

Usually, Charles would try and guess the words before Edwin has finished them, but this time, he doesn’t; when he looks up at Edwin again, his eyes are soft and bright with emotion, and maybe it’s just the flickering light of the candles, but they look just a little wet.

“You’re mine, too”, he says, and the feeling in Edwin’s chest grows even fuller, even warmer, even more overwhelming. He never wants it to fade.

(It doesn’t.)

I LET YOU WIN AT CLUE LAST TIME, Charles spells when they set up the board once more a week later, and almost doubles over laughing when Edwin starts sputtering in pure outrage.

It’s the longest they have ever gone without a case in the short history of their detective agency, and the candlelight is making Charles’ skin shine like polished metal when he slides the planchette to the last letter of his question.

WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE COLOUR?

There isn’t much to say, since there isn’t much going on, so Charles asking a question so inane makes sense, in some sort of way. Edwin finds he doesn’t mind it like he usually would, idle chitchat not to his taste unless Charles is the one making it.

Blue, Edwin wants to answer, out of habit more than anything, but then he stops himself, thinks. This is Charles after all, his best friend in the world, in his life and afterlife, and if anyone deserves an honest answer, it’s him. Even if the question is something so utterly inconsequential.

“Red”, he finally says, without quite knowing why. “It’s red, oh noble spirit.”

I CAN’T REMEMBER MY PARENTS’ FACES, Edwin spells out and every letter feels like the stab of a needle, the slice of a blade. And yet, it should be harder to admit to something so monstrous; and yet, it cannot be, because Charles’ gaze stays warm and understanding, just like Edwin knew it would.

“It’s been a long time”, Charles tells him, “And a lot has happened in between. I’m sure they’d understand, oh my spiritual guide.”

It takes a moment, because Edwin wants to give this idea a chance, because Charles is looking at him with so much kindness, but in the end, there is only one answer Edwin can give. He might have forgotten his parents’ faces, but not their character, not yet.

I DO NOT THINK SO.

A beat, far shorter than it should be, then Charles breaks the unspoken rules of their game and puts a hand over Edwin’s where it rests on the planchette, and holds it tight.

“Then they deserve to be forgotten”, he says, and sounds like he means it.

Edwin wishes he could say the same.

LET ME PUT SOME EYELINER ON YOU.

Charles waggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly, and for a moment, Edwin considers saying yes, just to see the surprise in Charles’ eyes. But it’s the third time he has asked the question, so he will ask again, and the longer Edwin resists, the greater the shock will be.

“Under absolutely no circumstances. Don’t even try it.”

AWW.

“Very well put, noble spirit. Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

DO YOU WANT TO GO ON A TRIP?, Edwin writes and watches Charles’ eyes light up, just like he knew they would. They haven’t done it often yet, usually quite busy with their cases, but they have just survived the Great Debacle of the Double-decker Buses, mainly unscathed even, and Edwin believes they deserve a little break.

“Oh, that would be brills, oh spiritual guide of mine”, Charles tells him, then adds, “Where do you want to go?”

There are a hundred suggestions burning on Edwin’s lips, because he never got to travel when he was still alive, only heard about faraway places through his mother’s library, but they all stay unspoken, at least for now.

YOU CHOOSE.

And Charles smiles at him, and Edwin knows it was the right thing to say immediately.

“That’s almost too much responsibility”, Charles answers, and he sounds a bit like no one trusted him with something like this before; Edwin hopes more than anything that it isn’t true. “I’ll come up with something. Something really good. I promise.”

(They go to Athens, and see the Acropolis and the Parthenon and afterwards, Delphi, and Edwin knows that, even if Charles enjoys it, he’s picked it for Edwin’s sake. Next time, he promises himself, he’ll choose, and they’ll go somewhere Charles will have the time of his afterlife.)

Charles seems to consider the words far longer than he usually would; maybe it should be worrying, but there is nothing about Charles that could worry Edwin, not really.

WHAT DO YOU MISS ABOUT BEING ALIVE?, he finally writes, and there is some fragility in the question that Edwin doesn’t understand and can feel anyway, like an echo of a thought he has had himself.

And he looks at Charles, looks at the space they have made for themselves, thinks of their cases and the souls they have helped, and comes up empty.

“To be perfectly truthful, nothing at all”, he answers, and there is something happy in the smile he gets from Charles in return, something sad as well.

It’s still morning, which makes the candles superfluous, but Edwin lights them anyway, puts them on their assigned spaces on the table cloth they got years ago; something about a séance without them just feels wrong to him.

“Do you want to write today?”, Charles asks from where he is already sitting, looking up at Edwin with eyes that Edwin could draw from memory and yet would never be able to get quite right.

“Yes, why not?”, he answers, like he hasn’t been buzzing with the need for it since the sun has risen. Not because there is something in particular he wants to say, but just because he wants Charles to listen, wants Charles’ gaze on his fingers as he moves the planchette, wants Charles’ attention on him.

It’s a desire that occurs often, at the same time one that Edwin doesn’t inspect too closely.

He sits down once the candles are lit, and it feels a little bit like coming home, because Charles smiles at him, focussed on nothing but Edwin and what he wants to say, even if what Edwin wants to say is nothing at all.

Do you have a favourite flower?, he wants to ask for a moment, then wants to spell, Your handwriting might be some of the worst I’ve ever seen. I enjoyed the last song you showed me. We should go on a trip sometime.

In the end, he writes none of it.

Because Charles looks up at him and there is so much tenderness in his gaze, and Edwin’s heart flows over with the love he has for him.

I LIKE YOU SO MUCH.

And as he reads it, letter for letter, Charles’ face lights up with the same emotion; Edwin knows his answer before he has a chance to give it, has known it all along.

“I like you just as much. Oh, best of all spiritual guides.”

I REALLY WANNA PUT SOME EYELINER ON YOU, Charles writes and Edwin has to do his very best not to smile.

“Absolutely not, noble spirit. I don’t know why you keep asking.”

U JUST WANNA SEE THE BOOK OF KELLS AGAIN, Charles spells and he’s grinning so smugly Edwin wants to groan.

“Absolutely not, I have no idea what you are talking about. Also, please be so kind as to use proper spelling”, Edwin tells him, resisting the urge to fix his bow tie, or smooth down his lapels, before tacking on, “Oh, noble spirit, who I know is familiar with the orthography of the word you.”

It makes Charles laugh, his warm, dark eyes crinkling at the edges, but Edwin ignores that, since Ouija boards do not transmit sound after all.

JUST ADMIT IT AND I’LL TAKE YOU TO DUBLIN, Charles spells out, and the problem, the real problem here, is that Edwin knows Charles means it and they will be through the mirror and at Trinity College within the minute.

The other real problem is that Charles is right, and that he knows it.

“Fine”, he concedes, hissing the word out like it has offended him personally, and then, because Charles’ grin is only widening, adds, “but we’ll also have to pay the Oscar Wilde statue a visit.”

The tip of Charles’ tongue peaks out between his lips as he drags the planchette across the board, quicker than he usually would, like there is a timeline he has to adhere to. It’s distracting in a way Edwin cannot quite pinpoint; it’s not like he hasn’t seen Charles’ tongue before, stuck out behind the back of infuriating witnesses, trying to catch raindrops that just phased through them, or, one memorable time, trying and failing to lick an ice cream cone.

And yet, Edwin cannot keep his eyes off it now, which makes it quite difficult to keep up with what it is Charles is spelling.

DO YOU WANNA GO TO A CONCERT TONIGHT, it reads in the end, after Edwin has patched up the gaps in between letters, and he already wants to shake his head, because good heavens, does he not want to, but Charles is still spelling.

THERE’S A SPECIAL’S CONCERT AND IT’S THEIR LAST TOUR AND I DON’T WANT TO GO ALONE

And he looks up at Edwin and his eyes are so wide and pleading, and Edwin knows he might be signing up for the worst night of a long time, but his head nods his approval before he has been able to form half a thought.

The smile that blooms on Charles’ lips within a split-second is worth all of it.

BRILLS, MATE. IT STARTS AT 8.

(It isn’t the worst night by any stretch of the imagination, not because Edwin ends up enjoying the music or the lights or the crowd, but because he watches Charles dance like he’s forgotten everything around them, because he listens to him belt out lyrics at the top of his lungs although no one but Edwin will hear him, because Charles is having the time of his afterlife and the thought that Edwin almost wasn’t there to witness it, is almost painful.)

LETS GO TO CORK, Edwin writes and Charles looks at him, confused.

“Cork? Why Cork? We’ve just been to Ireland.”

THERE IS A JAZZ FESTIVAL.

“But you’ll hate that. You don’t like concerts, do you?” Charles’ left eyebrow is raised, but he looks excited, and oh, Edwin definitely has made the right choice.

BUT YOU DO. LETS GO.

A pause, their fingers almost but not quite touching on the planchette, and then Charles ducks his head, smiles up at Edwin from beneath his lashes, and it does something to Edwin’s heart he refuses to think about.

“Yeah, okay.” Another pause, shorter this time. “Thank you. Oh, most generous of all spiritual guides.”

There is no Ouija board in Port Townsend, but once Crystal has gone to sleep, Edwin makes Charles go fetch it from their home. This, at least, Charles finds without difficulty.

For once, there is no discussion who will play the ghost, Edwin just picks up the planchette as soon as they have lit the single candle they could find, places it in the middle of the board and waits for Charles’ fingers to join his. They look right there, just barely touching.

“What wisdom do you want to impart on me tonight, my spiritual guide?”, Charles asks, a hint of a smile on his lips although he must know that it feels less like a game to Edwin right now, more like a confession. Edwin would do anything for him.

I’M AFRAID, he starts spelling and his hands are shaking, and Edwin doesn’t waste any energy on hoping Charles won’t notice; he will, of course, THAT YOU WILL END UP LIKING CRYSTAL MORE THAN ME.

There is a pause, and Edwin cannot look up at Charles and see his expression. He won’t find pity there, he knows Charles too well to fear that, but he isn’t sure what else to expect.

The planchette jerks under his fingertips, and then suddenly, there are arms around his shoulders, pulling Edwin closer until the only thing that stops the motion is the table digging into his stomach. Charles is solid against him in a way very few other things are, his head fitting into the crook between Edwin’s shoulder and neck in a way that seems to complete him, and Edwin wishes with something bordering on desperation that he could let out breath deep enough to carry all the tension dissipating from his spectral body.

“That’s never going to happen”, Charles mutters into the fabric of his suit, almost against his skin, and Edwin finally manages to raise his arms and hug Charles back. “There’s no one in the world I could like more than you. Believe me. Not a single person.”

They’re back in London – finally – and yet it doesn’t feel as triumphant as Edwin had hoped it would. Niko’s loss is a wound that Edwin cannot stop prodding, although it hurts every time his thoughts brush up against it, and even if he has come to like Crystal quite a bit, there is still a part of Edwin that misses how it was before she was there, when it was just Charles and him.

And maybe Charles can sense it in him, maybe he feels the same; what Edwin knows is that the first evening, after Crystal has gone back to her hotel to have a long shower and whatever the minibar has to offer, Charles walks into their game closet and comes out of it holding a familiar, battered black-and-white box.

“Let me write this time?”, he asks, and Edwin nods; how could he do anything else?

They set up their little séance, the white tablecloth, the dried flowers, the dripping candles, and although he was the one to suggest it, Charles’ hands hesitate for a moment before settling down, fingertips barely touching the planchette.

He has beautiful hands, Edwin allows himself to notice this time, strong and yet elegant, and Edwin remembers how the left one felt, even through their gloves, when Charles had put it over his own, expecting to be sucked into oblivion any second.

ABOVE ALL, Charles writes, then pauses, like he has to collect his thoughts, and Edwin will give him this time, will give him all the time he needs, whenever he needs it. I AM GLAD YOU ARE HERE.

They look up at the same time, and Edwin’s tears are glistening in Charles’ eyes, and part of him wants to reach out and hug Charles and feel him solid and real against his chest, part of him wants to stay like this forever, looking at Charles and being looked at in return.

Edwin does a third thing.

ME 2, he writes, orthography be damned, and then grips Charles’s hands in his and vows he won’t let go until he has made him smile again.

HOW MANY LEGS DO YOU THINK A MILLIPEDE REALLY HAS, Charles asks weeks later.

They have exhausted all other kinds of questions, the sun almost rising between the skyline of London, and Edwin can’t help but chuckle. Charles quirks an eyebrow in response, an invitation, and he’s so pretty, so carefree and relaxed that Edwin wants to reach out and touch him, no matter in which way, in hopes of some of it rubbing off on him.

“Do you really want to know, oh noble spirit? Because I can find the appropriate books to answer your question”, he asks, but allows his fingers to slide just a little closer to Charles’ on the planchette until they are touching in the most insignificant, the most important way.

YEAH, GO ON.

And it hurts to break the contact once more, but it’s worth it to read Charles page upon page of The Complete Encyclopedia of Common Insects on their sofa, Charles’ feet resting in Edwin’s lap and Edwin’s fingers slowly moving to circle Charles’ ankle; not a shackle, but an anklet, a piece of jewellery.

DO YOU KNOW ANY POEMS? Edwin asks, because he’s spent the day buried in volumes of Byron’s prose, and Charles looks like he might start laughing; Edwin isn’t sure why.

“Sure do, oh greatest of spiritual guides”, he replies, and it definitely isn’t the answer Edwin expected.

WHICH IS YOUR FAVOURITE?

“Whichever it is you’re reading to me at the moment”, Charles answers easily, and Edwin isn’t sure how he ever could not have fallen in love with him.

LET ME PUT SOME EYELINER ON YOU, Charles spells out, familiar words and an even more familiar grin on his lips.

“This is the fourteenth time you asked me that, noble spirit”, Edwin points out, and cannot help but smile back. They were so busy on back-to-back cases that it feels like he hasn’t had time to look at Charles properly in far too long. He’s beautiful like this, bathed in candle light and the silence of their agency, and Edwin aches with it in the most pleasant of ways.

YOU COUNTED?

“Of course.”

A pause that lasts maybe a second too long; Charles’ fingertips are pressed against his, and Edwin cannot feel, and feels them still.

I DID TOO.

YOU WERE QUITE BRILLIANT TODAY, Edwin spells out, because it’s true; Charles’ quick thinking had saved them all that day, battering the right one of three vessels on pure instinct alone.

“Ah, shush”, Charles says, but he is ducking his head, smiling; Edwin loves him so much it feels like a physical weight in his chest, grounding him in the best way. “Couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

THEN WE WERE QUITE BRILLIANT TODAY, Edwin tries again, in case it will be easier for Charles to take the compliment this way. He tries for a smile as well, and Charles’ eyes go soft at that; their fingers are touching, but it almost feels like Charles is trying to press closer still.

“That we were, oh sweetest of all spiritual guides”, Charles concedes, and for a split-second, the brightness of his smile is enough to let Edwin forget about anything else, but only that.

Sweetest?

MY FAVOURITE POEM USED TO BE FIRST MEMORY BY LOUISE GLÜCK, Charles writes, apropos of nothing, on a calm summer night when Crystal has long since gone back to her apartment and the only thing they have to do is tell silly stories, taking turns with the Ouija board.

“Your favourite…?”, Edwin starts, but it’s true, he has asked about it before. He stops for a moment, Charles watching him, and rifles through his memories to find the poem in question, before stopping dead in his tracks.

It makes sense, too much of it.

“Oh, Charles…”

Without thinking, he puts his hand over Charles’ on the planchette, even if only for a moment, because Charles is writing more.

IT’S NOT ANYMORE.

And Charles gives him a smile, and it’s not broken and not brittle, and so Edwin chooses to believe him, and smiles back.

“Give me a minute to get some books”, Edwin says, and gets up before Charles has the opportunity to answer, “We will find you a new one.”

Edwin waits until Charles has sat down and put his fingers where they belong, then writes, WHAT WERE YOU TWO TALKING ABOUT?

It sounds jealous, but that is not what makes Edwin ask the question, it’s genuine curiosity. He had been setting up the Ouija board when Crystal had returned to the agency, having forgotten her keys, and Charles and her had been talking for a few minutes while Edwin had spread the table cloth, fixed the flowers, lit the candles and the incense.

“Oh, nothing really”, Charles starts, half chuckling as he pushes a hand through his hair. It musses up his curls and Edwin desperately wants to reach out to fix them. “She asked about the séance, and I tried to explain it, but I don’t think she got it.”

HOW SO?

“Oh, she told me to “just start communicating like adults” or something like that”, he answers, and there is something bashful about it that Edwin doesn’t associate with him at all, something that looks sweet on him and yet feels strange. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it. She just doesn’t understand it.”

LET ME PUT SOME EYELINER ON YOU.

The same request, the same grin on Charles’ pink lips; it’s the sixteenth time he has asked Edwin this, and he wants to refuse out of habit, but he’s been wanting to see that surprise on Charles’s face for so long and maybe Edwin is just tired of waiting.

“Alright, oh noblest of spirits”, Edwin tells him, and the astonishment on Charles’ face was worth the wait and then some.

I’M GLAD I TOLD YOU, Edwin spells and this should be harder to say, should be something he doesn’t want to remind Charles of, but it isn’t. BACK IN HELL.

And he’s right to say it, because Charles’ eyes soften, and he smiles, and Edwin loves him so much he almost tells him again.

“Me too”, Charles answers, and it makes Edwin shiver; Charles moves his left index finger so it is resting on top of Edwin’s. “I’m honoured, even.”

Charles seems to hesitate for a moment, before he starts to move their hands, touching and yet not intertwined like Edwin imagines them being sometimes late at night, when they are wrapped up in companionable silence on their sofa, also touching, but never quite in the way he wants them to.

I THINK I HAVE A NEW FAVOURITE, he spells. POEM, I MEAN.

“Oh?”, Edwin asks, and for some reason it feels like his pulse should quicken, like this should be a confession and not just a statement of facts. Something about Charles’ eyes when he looks up at him again from the planchette, something about the quirk of his lips. “Which one is it?”

THE 2ND ONE YOU READ LAST NIGHT.

The problem is that Edwin has read so many poems over the last months, all to Charles, all on their sofa, almost all with Charles’ feet in his lap, Edwin’s fingers resting on or around his ankle.

So he says, “Oh. I am glad you enjoyed it.”

And vows to look it up afterwards, especially when the look, that strange, intense look doesn’t leave Charles’ face for the rest of the game.

“Can I tell you something?”, Charles asks him, rocking back on his heels, and Edwin is struck again by how much of Charles is just motion, even if it must be the hundredth time he’s noticed it. And how fitting it is, too, since Edwin life had never felt like it was moving, yet in his death, the Universe never seems to have stopped spinning: Charles is the centre of it.

“Of course”, he says easily, and Charles gives him a quick smile that Edwin will treasure like every other one he has ever gotten.

“Like this?”, Charles adds, and puts down the Ouija board in front of Edwin, which he must have been hiding behind his back. It’s a surprise; usually it’s Edwin who uses the barrier the board offers much more than Charles does, and nothing has happened in the last few days that Edwin could imagine rattling Charles so much he feels the need of it.

Yet, he nods immediately, and there is another smile, a little brighter this time.

They set up the candles and the incense and everything else, even if it is Edwin, who is doing most of the work, because Charles seems to be distracted, having to flick the lighter several times to produce a flame. Edwin would be worried, but Charles doesn’t seem scared, doesn’t seem to be hurt, just seems… distracted.

He sits down as soon as Edwin puts the planchette on the board, his fingers finding it like they have been itching for it.

“You ready?”, he wants to know, and Edwin has to stop himself from asking what is happening, instead just sits and nods, placing his fingers delicately next to Charles’, making sure they touch just so.

“What do want to tell me, noble spirit?”, he starts, and hasn’t even finished the words before the planchette is moving; Charles is looking at it intently, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his plush lips, and Edwin would be mesmerised by it, if he didn’t have to know what Charles wants to tell him so desperately.

I REALLY WANT TO FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU.

Edwin doesn’t have to breathe and yet the words suck the air right of the room; he doesn’t have to drink and yet his lips and throat are dry; he doesn’t have a heart that beats and yet it stops.

There are no thoughts left in his mind, but when he looks up from where their fingers are touching, Charles is already looking at him, eyes wide and earnest and almost pleading; he’s not scared, he’s not hurt, he’s… excited. This is Charles before an adventure, Charles packing his backpack and ready to leave, only waiting for Edwin to stop fussing, Charles like he always is, in motion, in flux, in the centre of Edwin’s universe.

Are you certain?, Edwin should ask, but he won’t insult him like this; Charles would never say something so momentous if he hadn’t put the thought into it before.

“Okay”, he says instead, and still feels breathless, feels starved for any additional kind of love Charles might give him that he hasn’t been allowed to taste before. “Brills. How do we- how do you want to start?”

A smile blooms on Charles’ face that rivals the sun, the stars, the candles illuminating the single most important being in Edwin’s life, and he shrugs. Their fingers press together a little more, although Edwin isn’t certain who of them moved them.

I DON’T KNOW, Charles writes, and Edwin isn’t certain what his heart is doing within his chest, only knows that it is bright and warm and overwhelming, that it is the closest he’s ever gotten to Heaven. I THINK I’VE ALREADY STARTED WITHOUT YOU.

And if possible, his smile gets brighter still, happier, and Edwin’s heart is pressing against his ribs, trying to escape them so Edwin can lay it at Charles’ feet and ask him to take care of it.

“Alright”, he says, and doesn’t know how he is still speaking, how he is having a single thought. “Then, what do we do?”

Charles hesitates for a moment, and Edwin needs the reprieve, because he would have been happy with loving Charles from the little bit of distance between them, would have taken every word and every touch and every glance and treasured them without ever asking for more. And yet, here is Charles, the sun behind his eyes, saying that he has already started loving Edwin back. That he wants to do so even more.

The planchette moves, and it’s the only thing that breaks Edwin out of his reverie, because whatever Charles wants to say, he needs to listen to.

KISS?

And maybe Edwin doesn’t have to listen after all, because the word buries itself into his very soul, digging itself so deep into his mind he’ll never think of anything else again, because -

He is nodding before he can comprehend the motion, and for a moment, Charles just looks at him, happy and still excited and maybe, just maybe, a little loving, and it’s all the warning Edwin gets.

There are lips on his, and they are soft and warm, and Edwin doesn’t even have the mind to consider the feeling of them, because Charles is kissing him and Charles is kissing him and Charles is kissing him.

A hand cradles Edwin’s cheek and tilts his head just so, and then Charles kisses him differently, his tongue teasing at Edwin’s lips until he parts them, and it’s bliss, it’s Heaven, it’s everything Edwin never thought he would deserve.

Edwin does his best to kiss back, and Charles sucks in a breath they do not need, before he kisses him with even more fervour, making a sound at the back of his throat that Edwin drinks down like it is ambrosia.

It lasts forever and it lasts no time at all, and when they part, Charles leans his forehead against Edwin’s, so that they would be sharing air between them, would share their very breaths.

“Definitely started without you”, Charles whispered into that hallowed space between their lips, and there is laughter in his voice, there are tears.

“I did, too”, Edwin replies, and knows that he sounds just the same.

Their hands, still resting on the planchette, are intertwined, and without looking down, Edwin knows they’ll stay that way forever, now.

______

Here's the two poems mentioned: First Memory by Louise Glück Like Air by Laura Hershey (and yes, Charles meant this to be a love confession, but unfortunately not even Edwin's brain is big enough to retain all poems he has ever read.)

[miryum]

Foundling Villa- Chapter 1

Royal!Charles Leclerc x Reader. Princess Y/n is arranged to marry Prince Charles. There will be many ups and downs that the author hasn’t planned out yet, but read along to find out more! (Yes, I know that sounds super cheesy) Warnings per chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: Swearing, arranged marriage, and a mention of misogyny

ao3 link   next chapter>>

“My lady, we’re crossing the border into Enza. We should be arriving in an hour.” You nodded at your maid, indicating that you had heard her. You didn’t look away from the window. 

“What do you think the prince will be like?” A younger maid gossiped quietly. The older maid shook her head at the inexperienced one, shushing her. “Sorry, ma’am,” the youngest maid whispered in your direction, head hung low. You think she’s named Elena. Your other maid who had been with you since you turned fourteen was a lovely woman named Sara. She knew not to interrupt your stupor. 

Elena’s words dug at you, though. What was he like? The prince and you had only communicated through one letter. Your family had urged you to write to him, and so you did. You received a short letter in reply. There hadn’t been any communication since.

Your mother had told you the carriage ride would be short. She was wrong. It was too quiet, giving you time to dig up anxieties you had attempted to repress.

You were starting to feel guilt about your last days in Williams- the kingdom that your mother and father ruled. You had avoided your family during the final nights of your stay. You weren’t sure if it was out of contempt or not wanting to see your brothers and sisters pitying faces. You had stayed huddled in your room, watching stoically as Sara and Elena tried to get your opinion on what to pack. 

At first, when your parents told you that for the prosperity of the kingdom, they were marrying you off to an obscure prince in Enza, you were angry. You had watched your older sisters get married off, one by one, each with varying results. One of your sisters gained a connection with their husband and fell in love. Another sister became sweet friends with their husband, and while there was no romantic love, there was a strong platonic relationship. Your last sister was married to a prick and rightly hated him. He was misogynist and had anger issues that bullied your sister into submission. 

If you got nothing else, you were satisfied with being friends with the prince. 

So your anger turned to sad acceptance. At least Enza was a beautiful place.

Your older brother had his choice of mistresses for his bride, in which all had been vetted to see if they were a proper fit to be Queen of Williams. Your youngest brother still had some years of freedom before your parents started pointing out the eligible ladies in court. 

But the prince of Enza had no choice. While his older brother needed a suitable queen and therefore had his pick, the younger prince was just another pawn in the game of hierarchical chess. The kingdoms of Enza and Williams both had something to gain from the other and you and the prince were simply the bond of that compromise. Enza, being the bigger and stronger empire, would protect Williams in times of need, while Williams, being a small mining community, promised to supply Enza with gold and iron. Neither kingdom could stab the other in the back with their heirs married.

“There’s a house,” you spoke for the first time during the trip. “A couple kilometres away from Enza’s palace. We’re going to pass it soon. It’s not far from the border.” You took a breath, shaking with the realisation of your future. “I’m going to buy it. The prince isn’t in line for the throne, so I’m not required to live at the palace. It has five bedrooms with adjacent bathrooms. The kitchen is a small thing, but manageable. There’s a sweet little fireplace in the sitting room, which, with a little bit of rearrangement, can double as a dining room. But my favourite part,” you paused and pointed out the window. “Look, there it is.” The two maids stared out the window with you, all three of you taking in a large farmhouse in the distance. Compared to William’s palace, it was small, but any peasant would think it was an empire. The house was three stories and coloured a light baby blue. The windows were painted a bright white that stood out in contrast. There was a wrap-around porch that a small swing hung from. “You can’t see it,” you said, “but the best part is in the back. There’s this large field that leads to a forest.” The house was long gone, but you still gazed out the window hopefully. Sara and Elena exchanged a glance. “I’m hoping to employ a small staff. I’ll have to get a cook, of course, and maybe a cleaner. And then a stable master.” 

“A stable master, my lady?” Sara wondered if she heard you right. 

“Yes. Wouldn’t it be lovely to finally buy a horse or two? You know that mother never wanted me to ride, so I’ve only ridden a couple times. I would love to choose a name and develop a connection with a horse.” 

“And what about the prince, ma’am?” Elena wondered. 

You shrugged. “He can choose whatever he wants. After the wedding night, I’m not required to stay. Neither is he. If he wants to stay at the palace, he can. If he wants to visit me, I’ll allow it. And if he would like to try and live with me… we’ll see how it goes.” After a moment of thought, you said, “I think I’ll name the house the Foundling Villa.” 

The countryside slowly changed to a small village and then a quaint market. You saw people milling about, carrying a carton of eggs, hauling water from the well, or dragging a cow through the street. Most people stopped and stared at seeing an aristocratic carriage prance through their streets. You pressed your body against the seat and stared straight ahead, knowing that it made it harder for people outside to see you. You didn’t want them to see you. You couldn't have them see you. 

Elena peeked out the window and a little girl waved excitedly at her. Elena waved back. The girl clapped happily and tugged at her mother’s arm. 

Slowly, the carriage turned to an inclined road and the palace came into view. Sara sucked in a breath and blinked owlishly at the sight before her. Elena muttered an, “Holy shit.” You frowned at it. It looked like it was overly compensating for something. It was a massive building built with large blocks of brick and stone that looked like it could house the entire population of Williams. The flag of Enza flew proudly from the spires. An impressive perron stood imposingly before you, laid with a red carpet. The King, Queen, and the three princes of Enza stood on the steps to welcome you. 

The reality of it all finally crashed down on you. You were supposed to marry a man who you had only heard of through one letter. You had only seen him in portraits. You were expected to move to another kingdom, which you had never set foot in, and never return home unless accompanied by your new husband. 

You shook your head widely and your hands clutched around the dress you’d chosen this early morning. “I can’t.” You stated, “Turn this around. I want to go home. Turn the carriage around.” 

“My lady, you must go,” Elena pleaded. “They’re waiting.” 

“No!” You cried, “I am not going to marry him! You can’t make me! I will not walk out there to my doom. Take me back to Williams.” You tried to sound stern, but emotion cracked through. Outside, you saw the youngest brother whisper something to your fiancé.

“Milady,” Sara tried her hand at calming you down. “Princess. Y/n!” You whipped around to look at her. “All you have to do,” Sara leaned forward and clasped your hands in hers. “Is go out there and bow to the King and Queen. That’s it. Then Elena and I will be with you the entire rest of the way. We’ll be by your side walking through the doors, finding your room, getting you prepared for dinner, and if you want, we could even take dinner in your room instead of with the family. But you must step out of the carriage.” 

Your jaw clenched and reluctantly nodded. Sara smiled softly and then knocked on the wall. The footman jumped down and opened the door for you. You exhaled, your heart pounding like you just lost a sprint, took the footman’s hand, and stepped out. 

And then you make eye contact with Charles Leclerc, Prince of Enza, and your future husband.

[thebestpumkin]

- title - love letters.

- pairing - osamu dazai x reader

- word count - 353

- summary - a valentine's day love letter from your lovely osamu.

- tw - reader is referred to as belladonna but otherwise gender-neutral, kinda depressing (it's osamu, though..) but not too bad i think, also new format specifically for letters (lmk if it sucks), lmk if there are any to add!

- a/n at the bottom!

- For Osamu Dazai's beloved's eyes ONLY!! -

- Please refrain from opening until February 14th...how cruel of me. :) -

Dearest belladonna,

I do hope you've heeded my warning and it's February 14th...otherwise this is just another love letter instead of a romantic Valentine's letter. Though I suppose I must get on with it and hope you listened.

I also hope it's not too late to ask you to be my Valentine. Just because we're dating doesn't make that automatic, my dear. It also won't stop me from constantly keeping you on my mind, nor will it stop the accompanying thought - how did I get quite so lucky? You are truly the closest thing to perfection that's ever lived, do you know that? And I'm not entirely sure what I did to have you, but I'm not gonna question it, I'm just going to enjoy the gift.

I owe you my life, belladonna, as insignificant as it is. It's laughable, really, how a mere few years ago I was trying to end everything. But then you came in - you and your eyes that shine like the star we've dubbed ours while you tell me about your day. You, and your sweet honeyed voice praising me, and holding me while I tell you how vile of a human I truly am. You, who look at me through your gorgeous lashes as if I'm worth something. You, you, you. How I love you. How I love that you've given me reason to live: I want to spend more Valentine's days with you. More days with you, simply.

I already have our day planned, my love, and I plan on saying this multiple times today - though I suppose it's different when it's written, don't you agree? - I love you. I hope you'll accept my poor soul as yours for years to come, but let's start small: Will you be my Valentine?* I'll leave you with that, belladonna. I look forward to hearing your response...and hopefully to see you dolled up for our plans tonight.

Yours very truly,

Osamu Dazai

*P.S., I must say I do hope the answer is yes, considering that I made the reservations already...maybe I should have asked sooner.

pumkin speaks: still sorry for disappearing for like 2 months..my bad 😦😦 i hope this (and the other (very few) love letters i've got) will make up for my absence (i say as if i have a double digit following). anywho! i have some referenves to my absolute most favoritest book ever in here, and since i do the opposite of gatekeeping, pleasepleasePLEASE read Almost Home by Joan Bauer. okay, that's all i have, so see you soon! hopefully it's less than 2 months this time...

as always, likes, reblogs, requests, and feedback are vv appreciated! divider credits go to r0se-designs :)

[marauders-bs]

an inherently sad thing about pandalily

word count- 802

The first time Pandora Rosier realized she might have had an abnormal upbringing, she was eleven and serving detention for Professor McGonagall. She'd asked a question, followed immediately by not fighting just asking. After all, it was common in her house. Wouldn't want her parents to think she was being combative. McGonagall had looked at her a bit sideways, though. Like it was strange.

The second time, she'd been twelve and helping Lily Evans with her Astronomy in the dead of night. She’d said something about the time she'd painted the stars on her ceiling and her dad had painted over it. It was one of her “funnys” as Evan called them– just something stupid that made all the Skittles laugh. Lily, however, had been horrified.

The time it had really hit, Pandora had been fourteen. She’d been double DADA with the Gryffindors when the Unforgivables had been brought up.

“Can't you use Cruciates for, like, punishment?” Sirius Black had asked.

“I think you can, mate, that's what Dad always says,” Barty had agreed.

Pandora had nodded along with them. “Imperio as well, for punishment.”

Their professor – and most of the other students – had looked like Lily atop the Astronomy tower two years before. “No,” he’d said gently. “Never, under any circumstances, are those curses forgiven.”

Pandora had exchanged a look with Barty, both remembering the scars across their bodies. Maybe, Pandora thought, her parents had done something wrong.

When she was fifteen, on top of the Astronomy tower with Lily, Cassie, Marls, Andy, and Mary. Ali and Ciss left only a little bit before.

“Dora?” Lily asked, turning down to face Pandora. She wasn't too happy that the silence had been disrupted, but Lily was still running her fingers through Pandora’s hair.

“What's up, Lils?”

“I think you should stay with me over Christmas,” she said, not taking her hand from Pandora’s hair or her eyes from the stars. “I don’t want you going back to them.”

Pandora raised her eyes to Lily, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of ginger hair behind her ear. “I don't want to endanger you.”

Andy, who was finally seventeen and would be free of the Blacks imminently, cleared her throat. “I can help, if you want. Make the place Unplottable, or whatever.”

Lily looked down at Pandora, and she felt the weight of the love the people sitting on the Astronomy tower had for her

“Yeah,” Dora decided. “Yeah, Lils.”

At seventeen, Dora had to leave. She broke off from the Rosiers and went to live with her best friend and probably the one she'd end up marrying if only to piss off Evan– a Ravenclaw her age named Xenophilius.

Lily showed up at their door in August of ‘78, wedding ring sparkling on her finger in the moonlight.

“I’ll see you,” Dora told her, giving her a cup of tea and a kiss to take with her.

“I’ll see you,” Lils agreed, running a hand through her hair.

In 1980, Lily Potter disappeared with her husband, James, never to be seen alive again.

Dora was nearly mad with worry, the urge to begin blowing things up again almost unbearable.

But Dora promised Lils that she would keep herself out of trouble, and she had to do that. Especially once the letter came.

Dear Pandora,

I don't know if you remember me, but my name is Sirius. This letter will burn once you have read it, so my news – and likely the Potters’ lives – is safe with you.

Lily and James are still alive. Lily made me promise to write to you, I don't know why.

Please do not reply. They – and you, I hope – will be safe and hidden until the war is over.

Yours truly,

Sirius Black

And, quite suddenly, Dora had a reason to live again.

Twenty-year-old Dora sits in her sitting room with Xeno, baby Luna napping on the coffee table. An owl flies in through the window, open to let in the cold November air.

This time, however, the owl carries not a letter from a good friend of Lily’s, but a Daily Prophet containing a list of the dead, those in jail, and those still missing.

This time, the paper identifies Andromeda Tonks and Alice Longbottom as still missing, as well as their husbands.

This time, it claims that Bellatrix Lestrange and Barty Crouch Jr are Death Eaters, in addition to Sirius Black, the very boy who wrote to tell her Lils was safe.

This time, Evan Rosier, Regulus Black, Dorcas Meadows, Marlene McKinnon, James Potter, Peter Petegrew, and Lily Evans are on a list of the dead.

And that is what finally undoes all the healing Lily helped along. Pandora puts down the Prophet and heads upstairs. She wants nothing more than to blow something up.

[moutainrusing]

dance

816 words, @regulily-microfic

At first, Lily had been excited for Slughorn’s Christmas party. She’d written to her parents to share her visceral joy somewhere, because there had been so much bubbling inside of her.

Her parents had been elated by almost double the amount, oblivious about the wizarding world so all the more enraptured by it. They’d been proud of her for being a miracle-worker at making potions for horny slugs, a rather interesting career choice in their opinion, but very much supported (Lily had snorted, debated whether she should correct them, then left it).

They’d said that because they couldn’t keep in the overwhelming love for their talented daughter, they would tell all the neighbours she was an expert in chemistry, perhaps. They loved talking about Lily; her mum wrote that her father always got this soft smile on his face thinking about her, her dad wrote that her mother always got this light in her eyes sharing memories of their little girl.

Lily felt her eyes water sentimentally, wanting to hug both of them for how amazing they were.

Their reaction when she told them she was going with her crush, Regulus, that she was nervous yet thrilled for the chance to dance with him, was as approving and protective as she’d hoped it would be.

Then came the letter from Petunia.

Her sister wasn’t happy. According to her, Lily was wasting her life away being useless and unproductive. A wizarding career wouldn’t benefit society at all. A club for freaks? Was Lily bonding with people over how they were problematic urchins with no meaning in their lives? And Regulus? What sort of freak name was that? Of course Lily would fancy a weirdo. How else would they get along?

Petunia was normal. Her boyfriend was Vernon, a much more acceptable, normal boy. Not a freak with strange, unnecessary eccentricities.

Lily felt her eyes well up and spill, saltwater dribbling along the downturned corners of her mouth.

She couldn’t please everyone. She’d always sought her parents’ approval and her older sister’s. She was younger, after all. Eager to learn from the more grown-up figures in her life. But Petunia rejected her. Tossed her away like nothing, even when Lily desperately clung to her.

Lily was sorry. She didn’t mean to be a thief of their parents’ love. But Petunia did get their affection all the time Lily was at boarding school. Their parents did love both daughters equally. Petunia didn’t see it, and that made Lily sob even harder.

“Lily?” Regulus asked quietly, carefully walking up to her as she broke down in the owlery.

She quickly wiped her eyes, using Petunia’s letter because she hated her, but she didn’t, now she was crying again—

“Hey,” Regulus murmured gently, taking out a handkerchief from his dress robes. Shit. Lily was missing the party, so caught up in the letter that she didn’t even remember what had started this.

“Sorry,” she stuttered between shaky breaths, but Regulus shook his head, merely dabbing her face with his handkerchief, R.A.B. embroidered on the corner.

“I’m glad I found you,” was his only response. Lily threw herself into his arms.

Initially, he startled back in shock, before tentatively wrapping his own arms around her.

“I’m sorry,” Lily whispered again. “I should’ve been at the party with you, but Tuney— Petunia. She— She sent me a letter, and— You’re not a freak, Reg.”

Regulus pulled back to look her in the eye. “Oh, I think I am a freak. Everyone’s a freak. We’re all different from each other, after all.”

“I wish I could tell Petunia that,” Lily muttered, gaze drifting to the side.

“I wish I could tell Sirius that,” Regulus agreed, gaze fixed on her face.

“We have a lot of wishes,” Lily noted sadly.

“We’re allowed to make wishes about our family. They’re still a part of us; good, bad, whatever. We can break them off, they can cut us off, but we’ll always wish something about each other. Make all the wishes you want, Lily.”

“They won’t come true,” she sighed.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t make them,” Regulus shrugged. “Hope is something which connects all of us. We’re all freaks wishing for things other people think are stupid, yet those people wish for things we think are stupid. In the end, it’s all down to opinion. And in my opinion, you’re an amazing witch.” He said it so matter-of-factly, indifferently, yet Lily could see that deep down, he cared.

She cleared her throat, and grandly announced, “In my opinion, Regulus Black is the wisest, kindest person in the world. And it’s my wish to dance with him, even if it’s not at the party. Just… anywhere.”

Surprisingly, this wish came true. They danced in the owlery, Regulus in his elegant dress robes, Lily with her face a mess. Regulus smiled at her like she was beautiful.

[theothernads]

౨ৎ Scrapbook love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚꒰

𐙚╰┈➤𝖡𝖿!𝖲𝗎𝗇𝗈𝗈×𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 pairing౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ ☰

S𝐲n𝐨p𝐬i𝐬: Where you want to surprise your boyfriend for his birthday. 𐙚 ₊˚⊹♡ [𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐀 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄] ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

𖤐⭒๋࣭ [Nadii notes]: Yall, I know it's late, but I couldn't resist writing for my man lmao. REBLOGS are appreciated and so are COMMENTS.

☰ ❛❛Warnings!: kissing, skinship, swear word (like 1)𐙚

---✄┈┈┈┈

You had it all planned out. Sunoo's birthday had to be something unique, something you haven't done before. You want him to melt into butterflies once he sees what you have planned.

Therefore, it brings you to now. You're waiting for Sunoo to come out the shower, swinging your legs off the bed and pouting deeply.

The plan should get to work if Sunoo ever came out of the damn bathroom.

"Sunoo?" You called out from the bed, whining almost. A hum came from the bathroom, as if to let you know he was right there. You gave out an exasperated groan, whining his name once more.

"Sunoo, baby?"

"Yn, I'm right there, I swear." He reassured you and came out as he sensed your growing impatience. Once the door opened, Sunoo appeared with his green sweater, denim jeans, and blonde locks that unfurled messily over his forehead, but it made him all the more adorable.

"Finally..." you pouted as you got up, throwing your arms cheekily around Sunoo's neck, your soft smile reflecting the crescent appearing in his eyes. He bent down to kiss you on the nose before playfully scowling at you.

"Why are you so eager, angel?" Sunoo inquired, tilting his head and giving the perfect angle to see his amber eyes.

Before you got distracted, you poked his full cheek. "It's a surprise. A double surprise."

"A double surprise?" Sunoo repeated incredulously, running a hand down your sides to rest on your waist. Enthusiastic, you nodded, to which he nodded in defeat.

"I'm sceptical, but I trust you."

"Good, because I'm your girlfriend," you snorted before leaving his embrace to, instead, intertwine your fingers with his and pull him along.

---✄┈┈┈┈

"Yn, where are you taking me? People are going to think I'm being kidnapped," Sunoo murmured with a demure chuckle following after. You slapped his back lightly at his joke. He whined.

"Ah, yes, a girl is definitely kidnapping her boyfriend. You're so dramatic, Sun." You pulled his hand as he had a hand over his own eyes. He didn't dare disobey you, knowing how sulky you would become if he had 'ruined' the surprise.

"Okay, well, don't trip me, angel," Sunoo uttered dramatically as you dragged him along. In return, you gave a scoff. You are always careful with Sunoo, you thought as he tripped when he stepped into a pothole.

Sunoo yelped, stumbling as you mercilessly pulled him along. "Yn- slow down-."

"We're here! You can open your eyes," you said, totally ignoring his pout. Begrudgingly, Sunoo uncovered his eyes to see a photo booth studio, the brown letters staring out to him in the reserved street.

When he looked inside, it was scarce of people, only the receptionist walking around. Peering at his face, you saw the ghost of a tender smile lingering on his lips, the face he had when he saw the sunrise for the first time.

"Do you like it?" You asked quietly, glancing up at him. He only replied with a dramatic gesture by cupping your face, looking serious as ever.

"Angel, I love it. I love anything you give me," Sunoo replied with the utmost firm voice ever. It made a deep flutter in your chest emanate across your body, and a heat grew up your neck from how he was holding you.

With a shy smile, you took his wrists and detached his hands from your face. "I'm glad-."

Before you could finish, Sunoo was the one dragging you inside, and impish grin on his plump lips.

After quickly registering your name, you and him entered a small room with one side having accessories of vibrant colours, including sunglasses, plushies and bizarre hats, and the other side with a camera that had the small remote attached. The backdrop was a simple white, and Sunoo led you in further, totally gravitating towards the colours like a child.

"Angel, we need to try these sunglasses!" Sunoo exclaimed as he ran to the accessories and held out red love heart glasses, the tinted glass having 'XO' on separate panels of the plastic. You giggled as he slid them on you, and he did the same.

"Do I look good?" Sunoo leaned down to your height, making you leave a fleeting kiss on his lips as a response.

"You always look good," you said, ignoring his flustered, little smile as you pulled yourself away to explore. The 1 hour session made you eager to start the pictures, wanting enough memories to be made and engraved in your heart.

So, you and Sunoo began taking pictures. With the remote in his hand, he took many: he took one standing behind you, giving the warmest hugs around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. Another one where you were on his back, and he carried you (though you helped take the picture since he was doing the work).

And another where he was sitting on a stool, his gaze on you when he craned his neck up, amber eyes fluttering to meet yours. Before you pressed the button to take a picture, you leaned down and found his rosy lips before the flash went off. His sneaky hands pulled you between his legs, encircling around your waist and continuing a heartfelt kiss, lips moving softly.

"You're so sweet, angel, just like your lips..." Sunoo murmured against your burning face, eyes closed even when he left a minimal gap between the two of you. A flutter erupted from your stomach, and you tightened your hold around his neck, hugging him.

"You deserve it, Sun. Seriously." You kissed his nose, running your fingers through the unkempt but charming mess of his blond hair, and he hummed, a smile tugging at his lips.

You took the photo, and he chuckled. Spinning you around, he made you sit between his legs on the small available space for you. Obliging, you sat there comfortable, his broad torso pressed against your back, a hand resting softly on your thigh.

"You're a little handsy today," you commented, teasing him as you readjusted your hair on your shoulders to frame your face right. A bashful giggle escaped his lips, pressing against the soft skin of your neck, the warmth of his breath making you smile.

"Can't help it when you're so pretty. And when I love you, you know?"

You shook your head in feign annoyance, a smile betraying how your heart ached for more of his precious words. Fiddling with the remote, he finally got into position, chin resting on your shoulder, 1 arm around your waist whilst the other rested on your hip. And honestly, it was one of your favourite pictures when you and him were choosing which ones to take away.

It was strenuous to choose which ones to take home. It felt as if you had to choose your favourite kids (if you and Sunoo ever had any) and you failed to pick a small amount.

Even if you had a similiar one of him in the same position, the only difference being his chaste kiss on your neck, you still bought both.

---✄┈┈┈┈

"What else are you planning? I swear, Angel, if i don't see gold in my present, I would be thinking you're ignoring me." Sunoo rested his back against the door. You were currently locked in the shared bedroom, not letting him in, but he heard an awful lot of scurrying within.

"Angel? What are you hiding in there?"

"Sun, be patient! I'm nearly done!"

Sunoo gave out a doleful and exaggerated sigh, loud enough for you to hear.

Deciding you were done with your present, and his sighs, you went to the door and opened it, welcoming him in. Sunoo finally pushed himself off the wall and glanced at you.

"Finally, Angel. What were you-."

Sunoo paused when he saw something on the bed. Surrounded by scraps of paper, there was a book, little bits of paper sticking out. It was a ringed book, a plastic cover encasing it. Enraptured, Sunoo sat on the bed, nearing the small, ringed object and seeing his name in a green gel pen. And below that, a polaroid stuck beneath displaying you on one of your first dates.

You watched with a held breath as Sunoo opened the book, eyes glistening with interest as he peered into the first page. All pictures and words of affirmation and memories written into the paper, the ink and the washi tapes with a multitude of stickers stuck in the corners, displaying each milestone of yours and his relationship. Each one revived a memory locked away in his mind, reliving promises and shared, intimate moments.

His silence was a little nerve-wracking, and you thought that he was going to give you a deadpan expression of disappointment. But, upon reaching the last page, he saw the pictures you and him took today, and he froze. A little message was written on the side.

'Dear, Sunoo.

Before you cry because I'm an AMAZING girlfriend, let me appreciate you first. I enjoy your clumsy moments, and the photos you send me when you're away, and your long voice messages that exceed 5 minutes (idc because I love your voice), and your hugs.

I wouldn't trade it for anything. I realised how important these photos were to me. And how else to show my happiness than through scrapbooking it? I purposely got a ringed notebook so we can add more photos. And made sure it was small, so you can carry it around when you miss me.

Kim Sunoo, I declare I love you more than anything (tho, you already knew that). Happy Birthday, my love <3

When Sunoo finished reading the message, he sniffled, his eyes already blurring with tears, an endearing pout on his lips. You thought he was upset, but when you approached him, he immediately tackled you to the bed and you landed with an 'oof'.

"Fvck- Sunoo, are you okay?" You lifted your head from the bed to see him buried into your neck, hugging you as if you were his saviour. Only then did you feel the tears on your shoulder. In an instant, you sat up.

"Sun..?" You lifted his face, and he wiped his tears with your thumbs, an earnest smile on his lips as he cupped your face back, memorising the way you gazed at him with worry and genuine concern.

"Do you like it?" You asked quietly, holding onto his wrists gently. Sunoo scoffed, wiping his tears and started attacking your face with elated kisses at every corner and surface of your skin.

"Okay- you do like it." You laughed as he kissed your jaw with pecks of his heartfelt love and gratitude. Finally, with one swift movement, he kissed you deeply on the lips, hovering over you on the bed with his fingers cradling your face.

The butterflies fluttering in your stomach could not be contained, and you breathed into the kiss, your hands clutched his green cardigan that fell off his shoulder. A warmth sparking undeniable electricity from you to him, and in that small gesture of one kiss, you felt as if you didn't need a photo to capture this particular moment because it was already burned into your mind.

---✄┈┈┈┈

A/n: can someone reenact this with me 😓 also, I know Sunoo's birthday was nearly a month ago, but oh well😀

[talulajones-stories]

For Now

She turns the knobs to the shower, steam immediately gathering in the clawfoot tub. And she slips the thin straps off her shoulders, peeling the dress downward over her lace bra, commencing to rolling it over her curves when her phone dings, pulling her focus.

‘Punta Cana?’

She bites down on her lip, but the smile finds its way through. Damon is nothing if not persistent.

She thumbs back, ‘Close.’

Damon has been texting her daily, taking shots as to where she might have run off to.

“How am I supposed to stay out of trouble with you gone.”

“Try your best.” She texts back, though she is not attached how he behaves anymore, not like how she used to in the past, the encouragement is rote. 

She watches the text bubble appear and then disappear, and then reappear with his response. “Are you saying I’m on my own?”

She then wonders if he’s okay, if home is okay, biting at her nails, instead of making any effort to ask him that.

He double texts, probably just as nervous of her response and she was to answer it. “Send me a pic. I’m beginning to forget what you look like.”

She swishes her mouth to the side, staring at his request.

The last time they saw each other was at that biker bar, when he found her after her running into his brother.  There are holes in her memory of what all happened between them, some of them lost to that bottle of Jack Daniels they finished, and some she does remember, but doesn’t know what to make of them.

Like the way she felt when he straddled the stool next to her, his legs open, blocking her in, letting everyone in the bar know she was with him. He had leaned into her, drinking from her glass, placing his mouth on the imprint of her lip gloss, his eyes locked on hers. She had asked him why he was there, frustrated that he had tracked her down, only for him to simply smile and say, “Haven’t you heard the saying, Bonnie? The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

She swipes at the steam on the bathroom mirror, leaving a clear streak for her to see herself and approve.  She thinks she will send him something to throw him off. Send him a selfie, with the angle just right, undoing her braids and tousling her dark strands, letting the light shine on her bare shoulders, giving the semblance of not only being naked, but that wherever she is, that he doesn’t know about, she’s having a lot of fun.

She snaps the pic and lowers the phone, finger poised over the button, wishing she could be a fly on the wall to see his reaction—when it hits her. The rest of the fragments of that night. Hearing herself, distant, arguing with him in the gravel lot outside the bar, him holding her keys out of reach, and her shoving him. “You treated Enzo like he stole something from you the entire time we were together.” And then him grabbing her, the keys digging into her skin so deeply she can feel it now, his mouth so close to hers as he spat, “Because he did.”

With a decisive flick, she locks the screen, the image unsent, and finishes undressing to take her shower.

+++

Bonnie scrubs her skin raw with the loofah, butterscotch skin smarting red and irritated as she is as she stands under the hot spray of water.

She wasn’t even angry with Damon anymore. She had been, at first—violently so. But she’d had years to get through that. Enzo helped. And she’d come to accept the fact that Damon was always going to be, well, Damon.

He had gone on and on about how she should have read his letter when they were being civil in the bar, when she was actually happy he had found her. He said if she had read it then it would have changed everything. She told him she didn’t want to hear another fucking word about that damn letter.

She still has it, though. The letter. It’s packed up with the rest of the things she hid in boxes out in her Gram’s garage.

She pulls down the shower head, sets it to massage, and angles it between her legs, trying to find release. Closing her eyes, she pictures a stranger, maybe that biker, maybe someone else with dark hair.

Her mind drifts, uncooperative. It clings to Damon and his apologies. “I shouldn’t have said that about Enzo,” he’d said, blocking her from leaving him alone in that parking lot. Gravel had crunched beneath their feet, her vision blurred with hot tears as his leather jacket had blocked her view of the car. He had lifted her braid over her shoulder, tucking it behind her so he could cradle the side of her neck, holding her still to get her to hear him out, his voice a broken whisper when he said, “Don’t go, Bon.”

She focuses on the water pressure and the pounding sensation, longing for it to bring her to the present moment. But it doesn’t. Her body refuses to respond.

Her phone dings again. Of course, it does.

She slams the shower head into place, and reaches for a towel.

There was a time when Damon was who she wanted—like when her life was tethered and traded away in a spell that put her best friend into a coma, or when a militarized faction of hunters was trying to track her down to use her in their twisted experiments. But he made a choice, and he left her to sleep in box.

She ends her conversation with Damon, texting back that he didn’t have to keep checking up on her; she was good.

[poledancingdinos]

Hostile Territory - Chapter 26

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 3.7K

Warnings: Dom/Sub Undertones, Video Chat Sex/Masturbation, Shibari

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @athenepromachos @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction @hannah9921 @valacircareads @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019 @rosecentury @wa-ni @secretdream2 @missemrose

Masterlist

Day 351

Sitting down on the opposite side of the table, Ethan pulled Leah’s sketchbook out from under her pen and began to flip through the pages.

“Coleman, come on, you’ve been exclusively drawing crows for weeks, you gotta give us something different.”

“They’re ravens,” Rohan corrected, coming to sit on Leah’s left across from Ben.

Ethan frowned at Rohan, shaking his head. “What’s the difference?”

“Same family of bird but ravens are bigger.”

Leah did indeed have a book full of ravens. With forming hundreds of feathers being so intricate and tedious, it kept her mind focused on her task rather than on how much she missed Sy. The only problem was that she’d had so much practice over the last four months that they were actually becoming easy.

But that was not, in fact, the only thing she’d sketched lately and she prayed that Ethan wouldn’t flip to the back end of her sketchbook.

“Fine,” she said, waiting for an appropriate time to reclaim her sketchbook, “name an animal and make it hard.”

The boys took a moment to think before going around the table and naming their picks, beginning with Rohan and ending with Jer on her right.

“Lion.”

“Peacock.”

“Elephant.”

“Crocodile.”

The boys looked at Jer like he’d just said unicorns were real. It was an unconventional choice, sure, but it definitely met the assignment. She would have to learn the shape and texture of the skin. And, to fit on a single page, it would have to be a close up of its face which also meant teeth.

“I guess I have never done a croc before,” she said.

“That was obvious,” Ethan said, thumbing through the pages and showing off the dozens of animal pictures and the briefest glimpse of one that was much less PG. Read not at all.

Leah slapped a hand over the sketchbook. “Okay, I get it. No more ravens.” She slid it back across the table and set her small pencil case over it. “Was there a reason you guys came in here in the first place? You know, other than to criticize my artistic choices?”

“We’re going into town for a drink. You should come with.”

Leah wasn’t in a particularly social mood but she’d been waiting for an excuse to go into town and visit a post office. She had a letter to send out that she did not want associated with the US military in any way.

An hour later, they were walking through the streets of the German city they called home. When they walked past the store front, Leah held back, telling the boys she would catch up with them in a minute. They offered to wait for her but she waved them off, not wanting to risk one of them seeing something they shouldn’t.

Once inside, Leah headed straight to the section that held the shipping supplies. Double checking that no one was looking over her shoulder, Leah pulled her sketchbook out of her backpack and slid out the image she had carefully cut from the book before leaving the base.

Sy had decided to live off base for the first time ever so he now had a postal address that went to a private residence. Like she’d done the last time she’d given Sy one of her drawings, Leah put it between two pieces of cardboard before sealing the envelope and paying for everything with the bored teenager behind the counter.

Day 362

The incessant buzzing drew Leah from her sleep. She wasn’t sure who the hell decided to put up shelves in the middle of the night but she was going to give them a piece of her mind. Only, when her eyes blinked open and she looked at her nightstand, she realized the buzzing wasn’t coming from a power drill, it was coming from her phone.

“H’llo?”

“What are ya doin’ to me baby girl?” The tone of Sy’s voice made her insides flutter. It was… Leah squinted as she looked at the overbright phone screen. It was two in the morning, six o’clock back in Colorado. Leah had one guess as to what had possessed Sy to call her as soon as he got home from work, time zones be damned.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“No?”

“No.”

Sy hummed. “See, I think ya know exactly what you’re doin’ and you’re lyin’ about it to be a brat. Because only a brat would send their boyfriend a sexy little drawing of herself naked and tied up while he’s a world away and can’t do a damn thing about it.”

There was a brief pause as Leah’s sleep-addled brain processed his words. “Does that mean you like it?”

Back home, Sy stared at the picture as he repeated Leah’s words in his head. Does that mean you like it? As if there was even the slightest chance that he could not like the image of Leah laying on her stomach, tied in ropes from shoulder to ankle with her tattoos peaking out. The amount of time she must have spent getting every strand of rope, every knot perfect was unfathomable.

“Darlin’ even if there was any blood left in my brain for me to describe how much I like it, I don’t think the words actually exist.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Do you… Do you want to show me?”

A crooked smile pulled at his lips at the invitation in her words. “You wanna see what you do to me? Maybe you also wanna watch me take care of the little problem ya caused?”

From what Leah had seen, there was no ‘little’ about it.

“Can I?” she asked on an exhale.

As Sy took his boots off—something he hadn’t done in his rush to open Leah’s letter—he switched the call to a video, waiting for Leah to accept. When the image came on screen, it was fully dark. He heard the bed squeak as she moved to turn the bedside lamp on and her face came into view.

He was relieved to see that, although a little sleepy, she didn’t look tired. She wore a thin camisole and he was willing to bet she was only wearing her typical boyshorts underneath. Making his way to the bedroom, Sy continued his study of his girlfriend.

Due to the time difference and the fact that Leah was constantly being shipped out on ops, they hadn’t had many opportunities for face to face conversations. It was reassuring to see she looked healthy and injury free.

Stripping out of his uniform one handed would pose a challenge so Sy propped his phone up on the dresser and took a step back.

“See this? I didn’t even have time to change. I opened the envelope the moment I walked through the door.”

He shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it over the edge of a nearby laundry hamper. His shirt came off next before his hands moved to his belt. Leah licked her lips, her eyes traveling up and down the screen.

His hand slid into his pants, grasping his shaft over the cotton of his underwear. “I gotta say baby girl, I’ve never had a drawing make me hard before.”

He’d also never masturbated on camera but there was a first time for everything. Apparently he’d reverted to ‘horny teenager’ status now that he had his first steady girlfriend.

“You were the one who wanted to watch. Tell me what you wanna see. Should I sit or lay down?”

“Sit.”

Sy looked around the room, spotting the phone holder he used to watch videos while he cooked or cleaned. The angle on it could be adjusted so that the phone was almost completely vertical.

Still in his underwear, Sy walked to the bedside table to grab the stand then returned to the living room. He set the phone down on the coffee table, adjusting it at what he hoped was a good distance from the couch. Before he could talk himself out of it, Sy stood in front of the camera, hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear and pushed them down. His hard dick sprang up to rest against the patch of hair on his lower stomach.

Leah was silent but the slight hitch of her breath and the quickening rise and fall of her chest told him that she was turned on. His chest and thighs filled her screen, showing off his hard earned physique. 

“Makes you hot, don’t it? Knowin’ ya drive me fuckin’ wild.” He stroked himself as he spoke. There was no way he was just going to let any length of silence linger. “Bet you’re drippin’.”

Properly phrased dirty talk was something Sy had learned she really enjoyed. If she was in the mood it made her wet but even when she wasn’t it was like it reassured her to know that he could want her without acting on it. Leah didn’t always want to touch or be touched but hearing verbally how much Sy was attracted to her gave her confidence that she was enough just as she was.

Sitting down, Sy recentered the phone on the table. “You gonna help me baby girl? You gonna let me see you too?”

Leah bit her inner cheek, looking off to the side. For a second Sy wondered if that was too far but then Leah pushed the blankets down to the end of the bed and rested the phone against them.

She disappeared long enough to turn the main light on then came back to kneel on the bed. Her hair was tied in a messy braid over her shoulder, leaving the swell of her breasts on full display. The tight fabric of her white camisole left nothing to the imagination.

As Sy continued to look his fill, his hand returned to its task, slowly moving up and down his length. A groan unconsciously rose from his chest when Leah shifted her knees further apart, revealing the wet patch on her indigo boyshort.

“You gettin’ a little needy there?”

She couldn’t speak but the hitch in her breath was answer enough. In an unexpected move, Leah’s fingers trailed up her stomach to pinch her nipples through her shirt. Even if she had admitted to getting aroused when they were together, she had yet to act on it in front of him. If he’d known that having the protection of a phone screen was what it took to help her trust him, he would have suggested it earlier.

“You gonna make yourself feel good, baby girl?”

She squeezed her tits, pinching her nipples one more time before peeling the camisole off. Sy’s hand paused around the base of his shaft and squeezed. He’d missed that sight. Leah was, hands down, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“I’ll try.” It wasn’t exactly a sexy answer but it was the truth. She would only get more stuck in her head if she made any guarantees but she couldn’t find the words to explain that.

Luckily, Sy understood what she meant. He moved to pick up the phone, looking straight at Leah as he spoke. “Good girl, for tellin’ me. No pressure, okay?”

Leah took a deep breath, giving him a small nod. “Okay.”

He gave her a reassuring smile before putting the phone back on the holder and leaning back in the seat. “Take your panties off. Show me all that sweet wetness you made for me.”

Shifting to lay on her back, Leah raised her legs to show her ass off as she obeyed his order. Once the scrap of fabric dropped to the floor, she leaned up on her elbows and let her knees fall to the side.

“Fuck me.” Sy resumed stroking his cock. Her entire apex was shiny with the evidence of her arousal. “Did ya also get this wet when you were drawin’ yourself all wrapped up for me?”

“Maybe…” She had most definitely gotten wet after hours of researching different shibari patterns. Actually, she’d gotten wet just remembering when Sy had first showed her what he could do with a rope. Though she hadn’t realized it at the time, she liked the idea of being at his mercy.

Her fingers found her clit, drawing slow circles around it. Just the soft touch sent a spark of electricity down her spine. Her climax built as she watched Sy chase his own peak, the filthy words never ceasing to fall from his lips. Her mouth watered when she spotted the first drops of precum leaking from his tip which he immediately used as lube to tease his sensitive glans.

It wasn’t long before he was spilling himself onto his stomach, his abs clenching with every jolt of pleasure coursing through his body. Head tipped back, Sy caught his breath but his eyes immediately shot open when Leah found her release, moaning his name as she did.

Day 209

“Stop abusin’ that cheek, baby girl.” Sy’s thumb brushed over said cheek, pulling Leah’s attention away from a random spot on the floor. “No sense in worryin’ about what happens when we get back to base.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.”

“Will ya let me try something with you?” he asked, putting the last of the freshly cleaned dishes away. “Something that I think ya might really enjoy and that will take your mind off worryin’?”

Leah frowned, feeling wary of the oddly vague request. Planting her hands behind her, she hopped up to sit on counter. “You’re gonna have to give me more detail than that.” 

Coming to stand between her thighs, Sy took the dish towel from her hands and draped it over the oven handle.

“I think you need to give up control and not just the way we’ve been doin’. Actual submission for a scene where ya pick a safeword and we negotiate everything before it starts. Then I want ya to give me full control.”

“How is that different from before?”

“Because before you could have said or done anything ya wanted at any time and I would have followed your lead. Here, once we start, I’m askin’ that ya let me do all the thinkin’. You let me make all the decisions knowin’ that everything I do is in your best interest and will follow exactly what we agreed.”

That did sound appealing. She couldn’t tell how many times she’d wished her brain would quiet down rather than running a million miles a minute but she wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by ‘negotiate’.

Although, she did vaguely remember the contract scene from when she’d watched the Fifty Shades of Grey movie.  She’d seen it during a weekend leave and had fallen asleep halfway through so her memory of the whole experience was rather foggy.

Plus, that movie was basically just porn with a lot of plot and she would never take relationship advice from porn videos so she definitely wasn’t going to take any from a movie that couldn’t capture her attention enough to stay awake for two hours.

Pursing her lips, Leah chewed on her inner cheek until she realized what she was doing. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips instead and she gave a small nod.

“Alright,” Sy said, running a soothing hand over her right thigh. “Here’s what I would like to do. I want ya to kneel for me while I tie a rope harness over your chest. If that feels okay, I might continue makin’ a pattern down your leg.”

“What do you want to do once I’m tied up?”

“Nothing. If I finish makin’ patterns down both your legs without ya askin’ to stop then maybe I let ya sit with the ropes for a bit but, otherwise, I’ll take ‘em off right after.”

Leah frowned, she was definitely curious even if she still didn’t know how it was supposed to help her relax… Or what Sy was supposed to get out of the deal. 

They’d messed around a few times since their little tryst on the roof and she was becoming more comfortable with him. She found that she was much more willing to engage in something sexual knowing that Sy wouldn’t push to go outside of the limits she set out beforehand. There had still been a few times where she didn’t want to do anything at all but he seemed to sense it—or maybe her behavior was more transparent than she thought—and he hadn’t initiated anything more than kisses and cuddles.

“You wouldn’t want to get off after?”

“No. Even if you said yes to me now I don’t trust that you’ll be clear headed enough to stop me if you change your mind later. If this works like I want it to, it might make you feel a little groggy.”

“Oh.” She was still skeptical but if Sy thought it would have that much of an effect then she wanted to believe him. “That sounds fine. I don’t have any issues with that.”

He asked a few more follow-up questions before sending Leah to change into leggings and a long-sleeved shirt.

While Leah did as he asked, Sy pulled a few lengths of climbing rope from where they had been stored after their hike. Leah had noticed that one of her old ropes was beginning to fray so she had cut it and put it aside to be dealt with later. It wasn’t made for shibari but he was going to stick to basic patterns that put little to no pressure on Leah’s body and her shirt should protect her from rope burn if the harness shifted as she moved.

After finding a pair of scissors in the kitchen, he climbed the stairs to go join Leah. Her bedroom door was open and Sy walked in just as she finished pulling the shirt down her stomach. The room wasn’t abundantly spacious but there was enough space on the floor for Leah to fully stretch out onto her back which was all they needed. 

“I’m just going for something decorative here so you shouldn’t feel much pressure but if anything pinches or feels remotely wrong you need to tell me. I’ll stop and fix it before I do anything else.”

That was easy enough. She already had an idea of what level of pressure was too much from aerial hammock. Sometimes the fabric could be constricting which required her to loosen it before comfortably moving on to a different pose.

Leah watched as Sy took a throw blanket from the end of the bed, spreading it on the floor then putting a pillow in the center. There was no way of knowing how she would react until they started and he did not want to risk her panicking and rolling off the bed. He made Leah test the position, confirming that she was comfortable before sitting on the ground next to her.

“Have you thought of a safeword?”

“Valkyrie.”

“Good. If you say that, I stop. If it’s too much of an emergency for me to untie you, I’ll cut the ropes off,” he explained, pointing to the scissors.

Sy encouraged Leah to close her eyes as he worked to focus on the sensations. Every step was described as he wrapped the rope and he frequently checked in before moving on. By the time he’d finished with the simple harness, Leah’s head was falling forward.

“Leah, can you sit for me and stretch out your legs?”

He kept his hands on Leah’s waist to hold her steady while she shifted onto her hip then uncurled her legs from under her. Despite putting her hands on the ground, she wobbled when her arms gave out, feeling boneless. Seeing her falter, Sy moved the pillow and made her stretch out on her back rather than sit.

The next few times Sy checked in, Leah gave him a slurred ‘fine’. The pressure of the harness was… Nice. Relaxing like a long hug. Though her legs weren’t restrained, they still somehow felt heavier with the presence of the ropes. Her head, on the other hand, felt light and floaty.

Scratch that, her whole body felt floaty, like she was being lifted in the air.

“You with me, baby girl?”

Leah hummed.

“Open your eyes for me?”

Her eyes fluttered open, finding Sy much closer than she expected. That was when she realized they weren’t on the floor anymore and she was laying over his chest on her bed.

“How’re you feelin’?

“Good. Great actually. What the hell kind of magic was that?”

Sy smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “People often call it bein’ ‘rope drunk’.”

“I can understand why.”

Running his fingers under the ropes, Sy made sure that nothing was pinching her skin after the change in position. Noting that there were no danger spots, he started slowly undoing the ropes from her left leg.

“How did you get into this anyway?”

“Back before I became an officer we were out on this training exercise. They rushed us to this rendez-vous point only to tell us that we had a thirty-six hour wait ahead of us. Anyway, we had nothing by means of entertainment and one of my squad mates was a real kinky fucker so he ended up showin’ us a bunch of basic ties and shit. I liked the idea of it enough to do some more research and learned how to do it safely.”

That was typical. ‘Hurry up and wait’ was a common practice in the military. The most surprising part of that explanation to Leah was the fact that shibari required research beyond knowing how to make pretty knots.

Sy massaged Leah’s legs to make sure the blood flow returned once the ropes were off. He couldn’t help but picture the marks that would have been left had Leah not been wearing any clothing. Or how sexy she would have looked with the ropes still on. Going off Leah’s positive reaction, he allowed himself to look forward to doing it all again in the future.

Chapter 27

[floredaqueen]

True Story

18+

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This is a true story ..

The knock at the door was jarring, especially with what happened last night. Mercedes was still cleaning up after everyone that morning while trying to contain her reckless feelings that were unleashed that night as well. She put down the sculpted glasses that were used for the banquet, her rich, melanin hands running through her perfectly quafted silk press put her hair through to distract herself.

The walk to the door was draining, every step she was contemplating if she should just let someone else get it.. but when that thought paused, she was already right in front of the crimson double doors. She opened one of them, her eyes fluttering up to see the beautiful blonde she wished she could erase form.

About all the lies I've fantasized..

"Hey, uh–" Immediately , she interrupted his lightly spoken words, all the way her eyes struggled to stay on his. And so she diverted to hay that he sported backwards on his ashe blonde locks that seemed to have no clue was gravity was unless they were contained by the cap.

"What is it, JJ?" She didn't really give a fuck about what he wanted. Mercedes couldn't stand to even look at him, let alone actually want to give want he wants.. and yet she stood there, obviously worn out and disheveled as she heard him out.

"I just.. wanted to know if you needed help cleaning up," He proudly, boyishly held up a bucket, a pair of yellow rubber gloves, and an industrial scrub brush.. The funny thing was the bucket contained a whole bunch of cleaning supplies that Mercedes could tell he just bought. As if she didn't have enough already.

"I have maids to help me do that, thanks." Her voice got softer as she thought about the kind gesture even as her mind pictured the worst of the night before.

'Bout you and I..

"Yeah, but I know you like doing it.." JJ's eyes smiled along with pretty curve of his lips, the mouth she envisioned all over someone else. Erstwhile, she searched for wine she hid and those stupid love letters she wrote to him but was too chicken to give him. The very fact that it warmed her heart frustrated her.

"Since when do you presume to know anything about me?" She'd scoff, her voice still weakly soft. If she raised it at all, she knew it would break. Instantly, the Pouge was taken aback.

This is a true story

"Woah, okay. I'm trying to be nice here," he spat out, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He could see the hurt in her eyes as she took a small step back from him, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. Mortification flooded through him as he realized how harsh his previous words must have sounded.

It wasn't intentional, he never meant to ridicule her or smash her heart to pieces. But he had a habit of speaking without thinking, rationalizing his own feelings without regard for how it affected others. In his mind, he was just being honest - but the words had come out all wrong.

He tended to disconnect from emotions, both his own and others. It was easier that way, or so he told himself. But now, looking at her as she tried to hold back tears, he saw the damage he had caused. If only he had taken a moment to pause, to consider her perspective before blurting out a response fueled by his own discomfort.

About all the games

But it was too late now. The words hung heavily between them, cutting deep. All he could do was apologize sincerely and hope, hope that she knew he never intended to hurt her so callously. But the damage was done, and he knew it would take time to heal those painful bruises to her heart. Time and care that he hoped, next time, he could give before it was too late.

"Well, I don't expect you to. You can leave," *She was quick to try and close the door on him, JJ being more than quick enough to catch it before it did. Mercedes flinched a bit, JJ noticing too late. He was still stuck on the complete rejection she just gave him.

I know you've played.

"What the hell's your problem?" Did he really just say that? 'What's HER problem?' His seeming oblivion pushed her right to the edge. Her cheeks blew themselves out, Mercedes just trying to keep her eyes from going glassy.

"My problem is you, JJ! I hate you!!" The silence between them was damning, the girl feeling the shake of her hands. She didn't mean that, not in the way she said it. JJ on the other hand felt his hard gaze soften, finally understanding where her despair accumulated. His own thoughts reverted back to the night before, the ashe blonde rather having his tongue down some other girl's throat than to have to be alone with the girl he had real romantic feelings for.

Boy, this is not what I need. (Give me your love, give me your love)

Mercedes found them together, her heart dropping to meet the dead butterflies in her stomach. Her head was pound as she dropped wine she copped from her kitchen. She couldn't breath. She couldn't think. The Kook princess just felt hard.

"Oh, god.." "Oh my God.." "Oh my God.."

The last thing she remembered doing was sobbing in her locked room until she passed out.

Not what I want. (Give me your love, give me your love)

"'Cedes.." He started, not getting very far with the way tears quickly swelled up in Mercedes' eyes before they boiled over like a steaming hot pot of water.

"I HATE the way you make me feel.." That was true, even through her resurrected sorrows just by looking at his sweet face. Her heart contorts, her face gets hot, the he makes her smile, the way he smiled, his laugh and the butterflies start swarming..

"'Mercedes"

"Then I find you mid-fuck with Adrisa in the goddamn game room-" Voice already broken, Mercedes choked on her words. It.. might seem stupid.. they weren't even together. They were just friends, but the way she wished it was her lips he was locking with her own while his hands struggled to pull off her dress.. out of passion, our of desire and built up want. It was the only thing she was holding onto after saw JJ.

It's NOT gonna happen to me. (Give me YOUR love, love love)

"You don't get to make it all better after you made the shit worse!" JJ froze as her words cut through him. Even then, JJ selfishly acted, the beautiful blonde boy dropping the supplies in his hand before those same hands pulled the sorrowful girl in. Mercedes trembled, the trauma still raw within her even as heir lips met with a hungry passion, yet also a healing tenderness. JJ cradled her gently yet firmly, pouring his care and regret into the kiss. Mercedes clung to him, taking what comfort she could in his strong embrace.

For a moment, all else faded - only this connection between them remained. An anchor in the storm of her grief. She came to her senses then, her face contorting as her tears continued to uncontrollably stream down her cheeks. A second after, she shoved him away, running him out of her home with one thought.

"Get OUT!!" Slammed the door behind her before sliding down it and shielding her shiny dark crown.

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I wrote this as a way to immediately heal from the situation I just went through. Is it like anything real? Just wishful, dramatic thinking. Thanks for putting up with it. I know it's not good, it's jumbled emotions I'm trying to piece together with characters I'm currently obsessed with. Okay bye.