#yes these do take place in chronological order

[lupuslikethewolf]

i’m so excited for your fic — the icemav rwrb!au. *₊˚🌷୧

adjsjjs so am i!!!

once the title poll comes to a close, i'm planning on starting posting, with ch 1/2 already finished and ch3 on its way

for now, enjoy a couple sneaky lil extracts:

[fayes-fics]

Lessons In Motion

Lessons Series Masterpost

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: An eventful carriage ride with the boys.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest, dom/sub dynamics - dom!Bridgertons sub!reader, masturbation, dirty talk, mild degradation, light spanking/slapping, hair pulling, vaginal fingering, cockwarming, exhibitionism, breast play, edging, bondage restraint, sensory deprivation (blindfold), anal sex, vaginal sex, double penetration.

Word Count: 6.3k

Authors note: Is this the threesome I should be writing? No of course not. Sorry. This was indeed inspired by the synchronised head tilt in the s3 trailer 🤷‍♀️ Part of Lessons-verse, chronologically this takes place before Lessons in Breeding. Thank you to @colettebronte for betaing. Enjoy! <3

You bounce nervously in your shoes, craning to see the ride you are awaiting. 

You slipped out the side entrance of the music hall, eager to escape prying eyes, leaving them to exit through the front, picking up their family carriage together. Being a guest in the family box for the evening is one thing; an unattached woman leaving publicly with two of the most eligible bachelors in the country is another matter entirely—you have no desire to provoke the wagging tongues of the Ton. But that does not mean you wish for your night with them to be over, far from it.

With a whinny, a two-horse carriage rounds the corner into the quiet street a few hundred yards from the venue and comes to a halt before you. The windows are all obscured by thick, draped curtains. So much so that you hesitate, hang back under the shadow of the mature oak. Until that is, the door swings open, and a very familiar face pops out, expression bemused.

“Does my girl not wish for a carriage?” Anthony teases with an expectant, fond tone.

You giggle and rush towards the vehicle, climbing in quickly. The door slams behind you as a fist knocks upon the ceiling to indicate for the driver to move on. The carriage is dimly lit by one tiny glass lantern flame flickering, both sets of eyes are eager on you, that molten heat in your belly as you sit opposite them, both so handsome.

“Did you enjoy your evening, gentlemen?” you query, feigning innocence.

They both comedically tilt their heads in brotherly unison, matching bemused grins claiming their lips as Benedict giggles behind his fist.

“Considering where you had your hands all night, you know well we did,” he pipes up, raising an eyebrow pointedly. 

“Twas rather a boring recital, sir.” Your invocation of his play title makes his chest swell and his pupils dilate. “Should I not have kept myself sufficiently entertained?” He appreciates your sass, nodding with a knowing smirk. 

Indeed, you were greatly entertained. But not by the singing onstage. Sitting in the Bridgerton family box, a rigid cock in each hand as you teased them mercilessly, the angle of the seating allowing you the privacy to do so unseen by other patrons. Never letting either of them climax, taking them somewhere close then backing off, each huffing quietly, a white knuckle grip on their chair arms, as your fingers were coated with pre-cum. Most entertaining indeed. At one point, Anthony had hissed how he would have you on your knees and down your throat if you prolonged the torture much longer, but you knew it to be an empty (and entirely welcomed) threat. Now, in the privacy of the carriage, you rather suspect you are about to be taught a lesson for that cheeky behaviour.

“I do believe it is time for payback, brother,” Anthony opines, voicing your exact suspicions, them exchanging their trademark glance—so much communication with no words.

“Yes, I rather suspect a lesson is in order: that which you do unto others, you should expect done unto you,” Benedict forebodes.

Your stomach ripples as he grabs your ankle and roughly pushes it out wide, a hand travelling up your leg, gathering your dress around his forearm as he does. Soon, they discover the secret you held this evening: that you wear no chemise, no stockings, no undergarments at all, in fact—just your blue silk dress and ballet-style shoes.

“You filthy little vixen,” Anthony growls as he sees a flash between your legs.

“Do not pretend this type of indecency is not exactly what you want from her, brother,” Benedict counters dryly as his hand trails up your inner thigh, your breath quickening as he reaches your apex. You cry out, staring Anthony down as Benedict's fingers plunge into your pussy, burrowing deep, leaning his head into yours. “Always so hot, wet and wanting, are you not?” he rumbles into your hair as his fingers start to rock.

“Yes sir,” you know better than to ignore a question that is asked of you. “Only for you and my lord,” you add, knowing they always want to hear it.

“That is right,” Anthony preens, fighting with the buttons of his trousers and taking his sizable cock in hand, watching you moan and squirm on Benedict's invading digits, dripping down onto his palm, the sounds he draws from your body already obscene. You have been soaked since teasing them at the recital.

“I bet even the driver can hear this tight little cunt. Our filthy beautiful girl just drenching herself like the bitch in heat she is…” Benedict remarks casually.

You love it when they call you such taboo names in play, an illicit thrill running down your spine as he smiles predatorily and curls his fingers, hooking against your pussy wall, making you gasp. It's not quite enough pressure. Your head swings to look at him, silently requesting more.

He chuckles. “What did I tell you earlier?” 

“Teasing?” 

He nods as you pout, sliding his lips right to your ear, his breath hot there. “Until you are a mindless and trembling creature who will do whatever we tell you to.” 

You bite your lip and exhale raggedly, your belly constricting at the thought and at the sight of Anthony lazily pumping his cock, wanting to ride it so much your fingers flex upon the velour bench seat, rocking your pelvis with each stroke Benedict takes, hoping to catch a dash of friction upon your engorged clit. He tuts admonishingly when he senses what you are trying to do, curling his free hand around your inner thigh and spanking there. A stinging slap that makes you jump and mewl.

“Stop trying to come so hastily, darling girl. We decide if and when that will ever happen…” Anthony calls out from across the carriage, grabbing your leg and pulling it high and wide. He yanks off your shoe and bites your instep, not hard, but enough to make your whole body jerk, so you slide deeper onto his brother's fingers, moaning and throwing your head back, the rocking motion of the carriage somehow making it a worse tease.

“‘Tis not a long ride to either of your lodgings… surely you cannot tease me forever,” you speculate, spiralling slowly under such expert ministrations, an itch in your brain that needs to be scratched, even your teeth feel on edge.

“Oh, my girl, we are not headed to either place. Oh no. We are headed to our country retreat. The ride will take the rest of the night,” Anthony crows. “Our family will be remaining in London. So it will just be the three of us… with hundreds of acres to ourselves,” he grins devilishly, still slowly pumping his cock as he speaks.

“But…” you splutter, “I have nothing with me! No dresses, no shoes...” fretting mildly even as your stomach quivers with the thought of time spent alone with your boys.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Benedict chuckles in your hair,  rotating his fingers so they drag over that sensitive spot that makes you shudder. “As if we are going to let you wear anything except our jewels. You shall be naked for days.”

“If you truly object, say your word now,” Anthony states clearly.  “And we shall drop you at your home.”

Benedict pauses his motions, awaiting your answer, both always respectful of your full consent. You look at them in turn, then merely shake your head fractionally, basking in their wolfish smiles. Wanting to do this with them—a new illicit adventure. The idea of days alone with both of them in a luxury country idyll is so beguiling. And a definite step forward in your dynamic as a throuple.

“Well, then, might as well tear off this dress right now; start as we mean to go on, right brother?” Benedict breezes as he withdraws his fingers from you, making you whine at the loss. But then he trails them across your decolletage, dipping his head to suckle your juices from your skin, his teeth sinking lightly into the swell of your breast, making you groan loudly and push up into his mouth.

“Agreed,” Anthony practically growls, pushing his trousers further down, cupping his balls now with his other hand.

“But my lord,” you stumble, tearing your eyes reluctantly from that tempting sight up to his face. “I need my dress to alight from this carriage when we arrive. Surely your staff should not see me naked?!" Your dissent is light, core pulsing at the mental image of them parading you naked up the front steps of a grand country house for all the gathered staff to greet your debauched arrival.

“Please,” Anthony withers, “what is a touch of nudity when they will likely find us fucking you in every way and place possible? Our darling little plaything, always so keen, are you not?” 

“Yes, my lord, Always.” 

Your whisper is obedient, watching him squeeze his cock more forcefully in his fist, his gaze locked between your splayed legs as Benedict yanks down your neckline roughly. The sound of fabric tearing fills the carriage, then their approving grunts as they realise you are without stays. 

“Get her naked, brother,” Anthony orders brusquely.

He sets about the task with enthusiasm, your dress ripping along the seams as he deploys both large hands and tears the fine silk asunder. It is one Anthony had paid for, so you do not mourn its loss, you rather suspect he will replace it with one identical in short order.

“If I am always to be naked, then will you warm my body when I am cold, sir?” You coquette, batting your eyelashes, playing up the damsel in distress to Benedict as he pushes aside the remaining fabric from around your front.

“Always sweet girl,” Benedict promises duskily, trailing his palm down your flushed skin, pulling you in for a kiss that is all tongues and heat. It has you canting your now naked body into his, desperate for his fingers, or even better, his cock, to be inside you.

As if sensing your need, Anthony intervenes as your lips break apart, perhaps jealous at the amount of time his brother has had with you. 

“Alright, enough of that. I think you are plenty prepared now. Come, my girl,” Anthony pats his thigh invitingly, “come sit on my cock.”

You make a victorious noise and slide out from around Benedict, Anthony grabbing your waist and spinning you around to face away from him. 

“Hello, my darling girl,” Anthony greets, his tone like velvet, pulling you snugly against his frame, the brocade of his waistcoat tickling your spine.

Your responding greeting turns into a cry as he guides you down onto his cock, splitting you open in that way it always does, a stretch that is just the right side of discomfort, that heavy weight pressing far inside that you yearn for.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, grabbing your jaw and pulling you back into a plundering kiss, making you pliant in his arms.

“Fuck me, my lord,” you beseech when you realise he is holding your hips down with a slight force, preventing any movement.

“But we have hours,” he drawls unhurriedly, “how about you sit still and just enjoy the ride, hmmm?”

You mewl in protest; as much as the carriage ride is indeed a pleasant rocking motion, your clit is throbbing, needing friction, craving release. You attempt to coax him by squeezing his cock so he groans throatily.

“Stop that. If you defy me, I will never let you come.”

He forcefully grabs your knees and drapes your thighs on either side of his woollen trousers that are bunched around his hips, then splays his legs wide. There’s a burning stretch on your inner thighs as he now holds you obscenely open. You are powerless to do anything but sit obediently upon his cock, whining slightly as the need claws at the edges of your mind.

Across from you, Benedict watches, seemingly transfixed by the sight of you naked and pinned open, speared on Anthony's cock, whimpering as your attempts to move are quelled by those firm hands clamped on your hips. You watch as he unbuttons and takes himself in hand, just as Anthony had, his eyes hungrily raking over your body. It makes you want to climb into his lap and fuck him over and over. 

“Will you fuck me, sir?” You lobby, hoping it will get a rise out of Anthony, that it will catalyse him into taking you hard, possessively.

“You know I will, sweet girl,” Benedict responds huskily. “But as my brother says, we have hours, and you will learn your lesson today…”

“I promise I have learned my lesson not to tease either of you,” you implore sincerely, hopeful for absolution, but both of them merely huff a laugh, suspecting it a hollow pledge. 

You pout again but relent, leaning back into Anthony, accepting your fate. His lips graze your temple as you rest your head on his shoulder and try to get comfortable. Try to ignore the pulse in your engorged clit with every heartbeat. Try to ignore the press of his frenulum inside, a pressure you feel compelled to rub against. Try to ignore that tingle in your nipples where they pucker hard, desperate for a tongue or some rough fingers.

And that is how you stay for what feels like an eternity. Just the noises of movement and horses upon what is now a dirty track, bright moonlight seeping through the cracks in the curtains as you sit in silent submission, The rocking of the carriage meaning you must occasionally endure the jolts of his cock against your hilt, making your breath catch. Your eyes alternate between fluttering closed and opening to see Benedict idly grasping his cock, but it's too tempting a sight, so you swallow hard and close them again. 

However, with your eyes closed, you see worse images dancing before you, taunting you. Flashes of them both lathing their tongues all over your skin, of you on your knees between them, a cock in your mouth and one pounding into your pussy, a loop of carnal push and pull. It makes you leak more, a trickle leaving your body and pooling at the base of Anthony’s cock, nestling in his hair there.

“I can feel how aroused you are,” Anthony purrs into your hairline, almost startling you after many minutes of quiet. “How it is taking every fibre in your being not to defy me. Let’s see how good you can really be for me. Remember, you may not move.”

That’s all the warning you get before his warm, lightly quill-calloused fingers slide over your clit, rubbing an agonisingly light, slow circle. Not enough to do anything but make you shudder and pant, needing more, tiny sparks igniting through your heavy pelvis. Fighting so hard to keep your hips still, wanting more than anything to buck up, bear down onto the hook of his fingers, frottage yourself until you come clenching around his cock so steely and hot inside you.

“Please, my lord,” you grit out, turning to bury your nose into him, huffing his spicy amber cologne, lips brushing the rasp of stubble on his strong jaw.

“I could listen to you beg all night,” Anthony confesses and there’s an edge to his voice that is dark, dangerous, unyielding. 

You lament when his fingers disappear, but he rolls his hips with the motion of the carriage, his cock sliding just a fraction deeper, making you cry out, the change of angle promising so much. Your hand flies out for purchase upon something solid but instead seizes the carriage curtain, unintentionally pulling it back so the glass is revealed.

“Oh, excellent idea!” Anthony lauds. “Yes, show yourself to the world, darling girl; show what a wanton thing you are for us.”

By now, though, the busy streets of Mayfair are long behind you. You are out in the darkness past Blackheath, moving fast down the Dover road to rural Kent. If there are any prying eyes, they will only catch a glimpse of you utterly naked, seated upon a clothed Viscount.

“Open the rest, brother,” Anthony clips.

Your eyes ping to Benedict as he releases his cock and pulls open the draped fabric on either side, hooking it back so the inky blackness of night is all around you.

“Imagine being seen, my girl,” Anthony baits. “There could be a highwayman right now lurking among those trees.”

Benedict leans forward, his hand suddenly clasping the jewelled necklace draped around your throat, the one Anthony presented you with just last week. His motion pulls you upright away from Anthony, the tilt of his cock inside you catching your breath.

“They may want this darling girl,” Benedict joins in. “Will you give it to them? Or will you offer something else instead in order to keep it? A more precious jewel perhaps….” He releases your necklace and trails that hand down between your breasts, over your belly, spidering lower until he grazes your clit. “Will you allow him this? Your greatest treasure?”

You moan loudly at his expert touch, a stroke of his middle finger under the hood of your clit making your whole body quake.

“N-no sir, I would not,” you stumble. “That belongs to my lord and to you.”

“Oh, good answer,” he winks, eyes twinkling in the moonlight streaming in as his now wettened finger traces back up over your belly. “But what if that is what we wish? To watch you be fucked by a stranger? A thief in a mask? Would you then?”

“I would do whatever you and my lord want, sir,” you pledge truthfully, then inhale sharply as he grabs the back of your neck and moves in close, his lips ghosting yours as he speaks again, teasing you with an almost kiss.

“I could watch you be fucked by a dozen men and enjoy every single one. I do so love the way your eyes roll when you are being taken rough. How you always, always plead for more, greedy little one that you are.” 

Your eyes flit down to see his other fist speeding up around his cock. It makes you clench around Anthony, who groans hard, the air in the carriage somehow notching hotter, tighter, like it’s a fight to breathe.

“Sir,” you murmur on his lips, “Please help me; I am in such need.”

You feel as much as see that crooked, laconic smile claims his face, his cock still in hand. “What do you want from me, darling girl? Be specific, maybe I will do it…” 

“Suck my nipples,” you request boldly at his enticement as he tilts back to watch you speak. “Maybe bite them a touch? Use your wonderful fingers upon my pearl; you can surely see it is so swollen...”

You know such explicit language will work for him, and sure enough, his nostrils flare as you ask for precisely what you need, his tongue flicking out to trace around his lips.

“Brother, will you allow it?” Benedict checks, his gaze flitting briefly to the man you sit upon.

“I will,” Anthony concedes, “on one condition: do not let her come, not yet.” He grabs a fistful of your hair, making you inhale sharply, jerking you back against his body, trailing his nose over your cheek. “I do so need her desperate and crying pretty tears for me before I shall allow that.”

Benedict slides to his knees before you, between your splayed legs, and you tremble as his damp lips ghost over the valley between your breasts, nuzzling your skin, inhaling deeply, trailing the point of his nose left to your nipple. You moan loudly as he suckles you into his hot mouth, lips pursed around your puckered teet. Then he glances the edge of his front teeth over your skin, causing a shudder down your spine. His hand cups your other breast, fondling your nipple with swipes of his thumbpad, teasing, while his teeth clamp down and tug away—a beeline to your core. 

You mutter a curse and thrash your head a little, settling on pressing your nose into Anthony’s neck and whimpering lightly, so much sensation coursing through you, his cock is still rigid and unrelenting inside you. Muttering as Benedict keeps feasting upon your breasts, biting, suckling, fondling, not allowing you one moment without the tormenting thrill, a quake in your thighs, an odd tingle in your arms, a pressure behind your belly that is a ball of need, wound tight like a spring.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” Anthony sighs, wrapping an arm around your head, his bicep bulging against your face through his jacket. “Now you have some sense of how we felt earlier tonight…”

At that, Benedict slides his thumb over your clit, flicking in a sideways motion that has you screaming into Anthony’s skin, clawing your hands into both of their hair, grasping their scalps and making them both growl.

“My lord, sir, please….” 

It's a broken, pitiful sound, teetering as you are, reality a blur, a buzz in your brain that is febrile. A tear of frustration prickles your eye at the prolonged agony of denied ecstasy. Just as you are incapable of defying them anymore and have to break, Benedict pauses, pulls back, and watches with that killer smile as you protest even louder, breasts wet with his saliva, goosebumps covering your entire body.

“She is so beautiful like this, brother,” Benedict groans, grabbing himself again and squeezing a few times as if staving off his own orgasm. “You should see it from here….” he adds as he falls back upon the opposite bench.

“I want to,” Anthony confesses, kissing your temple. “I want to see what you look like, my girl, struggling like this; I wish this damn carriage had a mirror….”

“There is one way….” Benedict shrugs, probably aiming for nonchalant but missing entirely. “She may do the same to me?”

“Do you want that, my girl? To sit upon my brother as well?”

“Yes, my lord,” you confess, always eager to gratify them both. “Will I be allowed to come if I do?”

He chuckles into your skin. “Not yet. But if you are good for him too, maybe then.”

Hope flares as Anthony closes his legs and hoists you up and off his cock, you emitting a slight lament at the loss of him as he helps you to turn around and guides you onto Benedict’s lap. Before you know it, you are once again invaded intimately, the stretch different in ways you can’t fully articulate but just as wonderful. Sliding deep, Benedict’s responding moan is hot in your ear as you settle upon him. He hooks your legs over his in the same manner Anthony did, pushing his knees wide open, perhaps even more so, and you hiss at the tugging sensation in your tendons.

“See, brother?” Benedict crows. “Look how spectacular she is…” the words are nuzzled into your temple as he drops a sighing kiss there.

“‘Tis quite the sight…” Anthony agrees lowly as he starts to unwind his cravat while sitting back to admire you. “But I feel she may need those rebellious hands restrained….”

Your belly roils as Anthony grabs your wrists, jerking them forward and binding them with the soft white silk, looping the fabrics many times before tying a tight bow that is unyielding. He doesn’t even ask for your colour, knowing such things are always a green light. What’s new is he guides your bound hands up high, then backwards, curling them behind Benedict’s head with an amused arched eyebrow.

“Don’t you dare move those arms until I say so,” Anthony warns, and all you can do is nod and bite your lip.

“Oh, excellent idea,” Benedict rhapsodises, staring fervently down the plane of your body draped naked over him.

It’s all at once similar and yet different to moments ago with Anthony: the stretch of a cock impaling you, the ache in your thighs forced so wide open, but now with the pulse in your wrists with your hands bound behind Benedict’s strong neck, your fingernails sinking into the plush ruched fabric on the wall behind.

“Watch me, my girl,” Anthony commands.

Drowsy and shaky with unmet needs, you observe as he touches himself again, his proud cock still glistening with your juices as it passes through his fist, tempting, teasing you. Attempting relief by undulating upon Benedict, but balance is more difficult now your hands are bound, instead resorting to supplicant pleas, hoping his empathetic nature will win out.

“Not yet,” he soothes through gritted teeth, but you can sense his quandary, wanting so much to rut into you, his hands flexing upon the dip of your waist. 

“You believe I have learned my lesson, do you not, sir?” Your soft appeal is blatant manipulation, reluctantly looking away from Anthony to twist sideways and stare beseechingly into his hazy blue eyes, finding a storm of desire there. Your lips tingle for his kiss as he goes to answer but is interrupted.

“Stop trying to cheat my girl,” Anthony counsels tersely. While he has welcomed Benedict into your dynamic, sometimes residual jealousy rears when you appear to have a moment of connection with his brother, wanting to gain control—the upper hand.

“You heard him. So, are you going to be a very good girl for me?” 

Benedict’s voice is a resonant vibration through your back, his frilly shirt tickling your spine. You would do anything for him when he asks like that. Your resounding nod is rewarded with a kiss, and his long fingers snagging around your nipples, your pussy clenching reflexively upon him as his tongue rolls over yours. It makes him stutter a growl into your mouth, which tastes like sin laced with smoky whiskey. 

And so you do as asked—sitting meekly, submissively, that heavy distracting weight inside you keening quietly, throbbing between your legs as Benedict tweaks your nipples almost lazily between his paintbrush-calloused fingers, his lips on your neck, sucking gently, a sensation that is all soft, wet heat. Your hooded gaze is glued to Anthony idly stroking himself, only a fraction of movement designed to keep himself aroused, no doubt. 

Minutes tick by, so you lean back into Benedict’s body as his touch softens, allowing your breathing to syncopate to his, his chest rising and falling against your back. Despite your thrumming arousal, the effect is soporific, and you find yourself growing so sleepy, eyelids too heavy…

…“Wake up, sweet girl,” Benedict’s bemused voice rings in your ear.

You startle, having no concept of how much time has passed. You are impressed when you realise he is still rock-hard inside you, your legs closer together now.

“For how long was I asleep?” You query, stifling a light yawn. A warmth blooms behind your ribs when you realise that, at some point, they unhooked your arms from behind Benedict's head, your hands resting in your lap, still bound in Anthony’s cravat.

“About a quarter hour,” Anthony chuckles. “You looked so peaceful, but we decided to rouse you to deliver the good news. We believe that you have indeed learned your lesson, sweet girl….”

“Yes, my lord, I have!” You enthuse, suddenly awake again, feeling an instant quickened throb in your clit, hoping it means they will finally take pity on you, fuck you, let you come.

“Then it is time for your reward…” 

Anthony’s tone is both benevolent and filthy as he flicks open a small vial that he must have retrieved from somewhere while you were sleeping. He shuffles his trousers down his legs a little further, the smell of olives and clove swirling in the air as he pours the oily substance onto his cock. 

“What is my reward, my lord?” You ask as your stomach clenches. 

But you already know. There is only one reason he does this. It’s when he wants to claim your bottom, not your pussy.

“You get both of us inside you at once, darling,” he answers with a dangerous smile, and Benedict groans as again, on instinct, you clench around him in excitement.

“She likes that idea, brother,” Benedict offers sardonically from behind you.

“Use your cravat, sir, blindfold me,” you petition, twisting your head to look at him, wanting to feel as much as see tonight.

“By god, I adore you,” Benedict gruffs, his voice laden with admiration and arousal as he dives in for a quick kiss. 

Then you feel him fighting off the teal silk behind you, unwinding it rapidly before settling it gently over your face, the gossamer soft fibres still warm from his neck, scented lightly of him. He ties a bow behind your head and then drops a kiss on your shoulder. Then two sets of hands assist you up off of Benedict's cock. You revel in their touch as they gently spin you and guide you backwards onto Anthony’s now bare lap, his trousers around his knees.

As the carriage rocks gently, two oiled fingers slide between your cheeks, and Anthony whispers sweetly as he swirls a finger around your bottom, extolling soft praises as he always does when he takes you here, preparing you for him. 

When you murmur that you are ready, you exhale shakily as you feel that intense blunt pressure, now more familiar to you, as he breaches your tight hole, your body stretching to accommodate his oiled cock, slowly sinking into his lap as you take slow, relaxing breaths. 

“Exquisite,” he stutters, his hands moving to hold your waist tightly, guiding you the last few inches until you are seated to his root—the utter fill like a sense memory. After a few moments of allowing you to adjust, Anthony changes his stance, pulling your legs open wider and shifting inside in a way that feels pleasurable and makes your hands flex in your binding.

“You like that, do you not?” you can hear the smirk in Benedict’s voice even if you can't see it, feeling his intense gaze upon your body as you raise your head to the sound of his voice and nod.

“Hands above your head, my girl,” Anthony instructs, and instantly, your hands shoot up, the silk binding on your wrists flexing as Benedict grabs your arms and hooks them behind Anthony’s head, his heat looming over you as he does so.

“Good, now are you ready for me too?” he checks, and you just know he has an arched brow, that menacing look; you can hear the pump of his cock in his fist, saliva gathering in your mouth at the very thought.

“Yes, sir.” 

“You do not want gentle tonight, do you?” Benedict intuits, likely seeing the hunger writ large across your blindfolded face as he kneels on a little footrest; you can feel his hips at the perfect height, the edge of his cropped jacket snagging the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“No, sir.” 

“So very different to the first time we did this,” Anthony remarks knowingly in your ear, invoking the memory of that landmark night in your burgeoning dynamic—the night you truly became a throuple.

It makes you almost wistful even in this carnal moment, that now familiar press of both their bodies, of being sandwiched between them as Benedict leans in. Although tonight, it is not warm skin upon yours, but the slight scratch of wool, the tickle of silk as they remain clothed. 

“Perhaps we indulge you too much, with both of us at once…” Anthony chuckles.

“No! Let me have both..” you twist back to implore him, even though you cannot see. “I need you both so much, my lord, sir, I am aching…”

“Well, I cannot deny such a pretty appeal as that, brother,” Benedict avows, and that is all the warning you get before he guides himself into you. 

You groan loudly as his tip nudges into your pussy, the stretch of two cocks always making your eyes roll, your toes scrunch hard. Anthony’s hands grasp your thighs, holding you open as Benedict slides deeper inside, their breath uneven, knowing they can likely feel the pressure of each other as much as you can. A curse slips from your lips as they both finally rest entirely within you.

“Darling girl, you always take us so well,” Benedict’s voice lauds, dark and decadent, “so magnificent.”

Your eyelids flutter hard against his cravat, bound and blindfolded, split open upon two cocks… you can think of nowhere else you would rather be.

“Please fuck me…” you entreat, feeling as if you have been pleading for hours with them, your mind scratchy, clawing, like a wild beast clambering up the sides of the carriage, wailing to be sated.

You almost howl as finally, finally, they take pity upon you. Benedict withdraws and then thrusts back into you, aided by the rocking motion as the carriage hurtles through past the fields of Kent, the journey seeming to speed up, mirroring the fevered atmosphere within.

Blindly, you seek a kiss from them both, swivelling to Anthony, then Benedict. Desperate, hot, open mouths meet as you start to set a rhythm together, the friction and fullness radiating pulses of pleasure outwards from where you are joined.

You love it when you are caged between them like this, pinned, hands tied, unable to see. Unable to do anything, indeed, but submit to their whims, entrusting your body and gratification utterly to them, to lay back and take it. Take the endless surges of pleasure, the push and pull, the drag of them both inside you as they change tempo, catching you unawares and making you moan and babble. The noises they wrench from your body are drowned out by the thrum of wheels upon dirt, by the thundering of hooves before you, all of you chasing destinations, literal and ephemeral. Windows fogging with panted breaths, the carriage air almost cloying, all three of you moaning unfettered as pleasure mounts.

“Do you think the coachmen above can hear us?” you gasp out, eyes rolling at the overwhelming sensations of both moving within you, their hips snapping roughly.

“Do you honestly care?” Anthony challenges, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he rolls under you.

“She wants them to watch, most likely,” Benedict pants, his hands a vice-like grip on your waist as he fucks into you.

When you do not respond they both huff a laugh.

“Your silence says so much,” Anthony remarks and suddenly, your hair is in his fist, the force making your back arch, sliding both of their cocks deeper, your moan unbridled. “Whose good little whore are you?” he demands hotly, a glance of his teeth upon your jaw.

“Yours,” you rasp, eyes fluttering against your blindfold, head tilted to the carriage ceiling, feeling the burn on your scalp, your nipples pebbled hard against the rough rasp of Benedict's jacket lapel.

“Then repeat it,” Benedict bites out, his mouth sucking harshly upon your shoulder, leaving his mark, a darkened patch you know he will have you look at in the mirror in the coming days.

“I’m your good little whore,” you echo breathily, for them both, the degrading words ratcheting you higher.

They both groan at your utterance, their hands becoming a more urgent hold. Fingertips grazing and tweaking your nipples, you know not whose. Teetering so close, you beg. Beg them to go faster, to touch your clit, to hold you down, be rough, do anything to make this fever upon your skin, buzzing in your mind, break over you, release you from this prolonged heightened state, leaking profusely around their cocks, slack-jawed, strung out with need.

When a hand worms between your bodies, snagging against your clit, you convulse around them, both groaning at the restriction, curse words falling from them in harsh pants as finally you reach the peak you have been seeking forever. One flick of a thumb, and you are gone.

The intensity of your orgasm is breathtaking: transported and hurtled into the skies far above, your whole pelvis contracting and rippling around both of them as they cry out as your vice-like grip. Static buzzing in your skull as they seem to sandwich into you even harder, your lungs gasping for air as your body feels rearranged, your mind floating on a sea of bliss as their movements become harsher, more desperate, you pulling them over the edge with you. Benedict withdraws suddenly, a warmth splashing upon your lower belly as Anthony growls hard under you, feeling the ripple of his cock as he releases inside your bottom.

For a few moments, it’s just panted breaths, all slumped together in a damp pile. Exchanging sated smiles as they tenderly unwrap the cravat from around your eyes and wrists, delicately kissing your skin as you rearrange. Playtime over, back to yourselves, a shared affection between that is undeniable now.

“How much longer until we reach your country home?” you ask as you curl up into their joint embrace, hands caressing your skin in soothing swirling patterns, a languorous pull in your bones now that you are finally satiated. A flickering glow behind your ribs at the idea this is just the start of something new with your boys.

“I have absolutely no clue, my darling,” Anthony confesses with a carefree bubble of laughter, “and I do not particularly care as long as you are in our arms, right brother?” he adds, tilting his head leisurely towards Benedict.

“Absolutely,” Benedict concurs, “If only all carriage rides were this stimulating…” he jests wistfully.

“They could be… if you always take me with you,” you breeze, giving him a chaste kiss.

“We shall never travel again without you,” Anthony attests over a stifled yawn, his stubble abrading your collarbone as he burrows his head into your neck and sighs contentedly.

And that is how you all finally rest, a tangled pile of limbs, your naked body warmed by their tight hold as the carriage whisks you through the countryside under a blanket of stars. 

Taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @kisskissshutmydoor @y0ur-favgerman @sya-skies

[vixstarria]

My Fanfiction Master List

All fics can also be found on my AO3.

The following have accidentally turned into a series, although each can be read as a standalone.

Mostly Astarion x female Tav / reader, although other characters do make appearances.

Most are shameless reader self-insert, too.

To summarise: a take on Astarion's relationship progression with a hectic, unhinged bardlock Tav. Mostly humour and banter, fluff with light angst. And then there's the smut.

Ongoing series

Bloodbang Chronicles - post-game continuation of my bardlock series (see below), Astarion x f!OC

Masterlist | chapter 1

One-shot series:

Fluff

In chronological order, as they would take place in-game:

Where my nice, simple plan fell apart - scenes of Astarion x Tav relationship progression in Act 1 generally

Another Gift - Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion, reflections on vampirism / Astarion's past

Mark me as yours (Astarion POV) - takes place the morning after 'Missionary with the lights off' (filed below under smut) - a day of pining in camp in the life of Astarion

Down by the river (alternating POV) - 18+, takes place immediately after 'Mark me as yours' - Astarion and Tav spend a night by the river, away from camp

Something real (Astarion POV) - An evening in camp, Astarion and Tav are finally alone

Are you mine? (Astaion POV) - just flirty pillow talk and comfort

Gentle Warding Bond - short & sweet, Astarion finds the "true love's caress" and "true love's embrace" rings in the Shadow-Cursed lands and makes a decision

Admit that you love me - Act 2, Gale fucks around and finds out, Lae'zel becomes poetic and Astarion most certainly does not tell you that he loves you

Confession (Astarion POV) - title self-explanatory, love confession, tooth-rotting sweetness

The Morning After - short fic, follow-up to 'Confession', morning in camp - banter, humour, etc

Intimacy - Astarion's struggle with sex and intimacy, includes some fairly softcore smut

Communication - It has been nice, but it's time Tav and Astarion actually figured out what it is they're doing and what comes next [Most recently posted oneshot]

A night at the inn (part 1) - the gang gets a chance to let loose for a while. Humour, banter, and a lead-up to something smutty to come [Parts 2 & 3 under smut]

Smut

Also part of series.

Missionary with the lights off - Uh. Some really mindblowing sex here. No, really. Porn with plot, fluff to smut

Seeing stars - Astarion is jealous. What's more, he's eager to prove that no one could possibly compete with him.

A remedy for sleeplessness - porn no plot, Tav can't sleep and Astarion takes matters into his own hands

What do you want to do with it? - porn no plot, dirty talk, 'use your words', oral sex (male receiving) (kinda)

A night at the inn (part 2) - porn, Astarion x Halsin x F!Tav/Reader, dirty talk, oral sex, PIV and more

A night at the inn (part 3) - continuation of porn, Astarion x Halsin x F!Tav/Reader, vampire bites as an aphrodisiac edition

The Sheath of Frontiers - Wyll's never been with a man. Astarion and Tav decide this must be rectified. (and yes that was an anal pun)

Challenges, shorts and misc

'Erotic Misadventures' - my entry for the BG3 April Foolishness challenge: 'write something spicy that uses the worst possible terms for body parts, sex acts'. Reader beware.

Untitled - Ask reply HC, Astarion accidentally attacks Tav during a nightmare

A cut - Tav accidentally cuts themselves, and Astarion scampers over like a cat to a can of tuna

Untitled - Ask reply, bonus scene following Seeing Stars - jealous giddy Astarion enacts revenge on Wyll after his failed awkward dance seduction attempt

'Gentle Warding Bond' should rightfully be here also, but it's too relevant to the 'plot' if you can call it that

My OC bard (bardlock) headcanon

(the lady in all the above fics)

OC Questionnaire

OC more in-depth questionnaire

Another 'get to know your Tav' post

OC songs and outfits

Why my Tav fell for Astarion

Why Astarion fell for my Tav

Going strong and planning to do more.

P.S. I am a whore for comments, and nothing sparks joy and feeds further inspiration quite like a simple "HHHNNNNNG ASFKJAGJLKSJF" in comments or reblog tags.

P.P.S Feel free to leave a comment if you'd like to be added to a taglist. :) And if so, do let me know if there are any categories you would prefer to be excluded from.

[sen-ya]

Sen's Comic Master Post

Last updated 4/28/24

For Life After you can visit the Life After Master Post

HI HELLO. I did a shit job of posting my little comics in the order I personally intended them to be read! I was super nervous when I started posting stuff and never really shared my writing like this so long story short they were posted in the order I was comfortable sharing. Idk how often I'll keep this updated but I will do my best for my own sanity. Below you'll find categories of comics and the order in which I imagine them happening sequentially, you'll be able to tell very easily when things were drawn in a different order than the chronology lol. Anyway bwomp

Lawlu - Main Timeline This is how I referred to this in my own files. Basically these are the Lawlu/Lulaw comics I drew as I was reading the manga. They'll mostly follow the canon timeline.

I know the feeling

Gay panic

Yeah, Strawhat

black cat energy

Bad dream?

The best sleep of your life

This should calm you down

Is this what you wanted?

Feeling anxious?

Keep it up, Straw Hat

how to ask

Sober up

Breakfast

Law's good mood

playing dress-up

we did it!

shachi always knows

I didn't mean to say that

i luv u i luv u i luv u

he knew

sleeping in

And they were in an alliance (oh my god they're in an alliance)

TRAFFY U WERE A SLUT?!

Yes, captain

waiting in wano

catch yourself [pt1]

catch yourself [pt 2]

Focus up

The importance of tone

The trouble with worrying

Relationship reveal

Close your eyes

Recharge

Law loses

It's that easy

Lawlu - The Worst Timeline Where everything is bad and there are only tears!! Angst, angst, angst. This diverges in a few places.

waiting in wano

Why do you get to pick a fight and I have to get hurt?

Brothers helpin' out

I know I fucked up

For someone so smart you sure are dumb

Immortality

Are you happy, Strawhat?

Sinking in

My captain

very bad dream

ALT: Immortality surgery but Luffy stops it

Lawlu - Older AU Comics that take place ~7-10+ yrs post canon.

Info on one of Law's new tats

Don't ignore me!!

Say that again?

It's okay, they knew!

Rocy's favorite aunt/uncle

the next king of pirates

Zosan - Mostly Goofs I didn't do many comics when I was in my Zosan era but when I did they were...mostly goofs

Reconnecting

You're different

EMOTIONALLY AVAILABLE

Have you considered therapy?

I think you're good

He grew out his hair (just a little)

Heart Bros Timeline order for Law, Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi only. Includes divergent timelines (the worst timeline) & main timeline (basically just my hcs about these losers). They're brothers your honor.

Stay gone

Good.

I want a tattoo

show us your tits!!

This is fine

Everyone gets a turn on the Shachi

bepo wake up

we should do it together

Shachi always knows

Waiting on Zou

waiting in wano

Brothers helpin' out

Are you happy, Strawhat?

Sinking in

My captain

bait

Heart Pirates For any Heart Pirates shenanigans that aren't about those four bein' bros.

T4T

Captain loves sweets

Trouble in the engine room

Hakugan gets caught

Shachi's birthday toast

Cora, did you see?

Law loses

new nightmares

Penguin x Uni My personal delusion I just think they're neat

Don't look

[powerfultenderness]

That Time...

That time you maybe sorta accidentally almost had phone sex with König

Rated: Mature Word Count: 2097 Notes: [Neighbor!König] 1. Chronological order? Never heard of her. 🤷‍♀️ (what happened before he left is an event for another chapter). 2. Sorry for the hiatus. IRL, you know?

König retreated to his temporary quarters with a sigh. It had been nearly 72 hours since he had proper sleep. A few naps in a jostling humvee was nothing compared to his bed at home. Free of gear and mask, he gently laid down on the stiff bed, wishing he was at home. This mission, already supposed to be a long one, had gone haywire before he even arrived. Meaning he first had to take control of the situation before he could even attempt his mission. Lucky for him, that meant he’d get bonus pay. 

He sighed again as he flopped over on his stomach, arm dangling off the edge of the bed, and eyes drifting to the small, much too small, desk. Some paperwork and a canteen of water sat on top. In the little drawer a pen and, the most important item he carried here, his personal phone.

He blinked and pushed himself up a bit, black paint leaving a small stain in his pillow and reached for the drawer. He had to lean over a bit more to reach, but he found his phone after a few blind taps. After a quick unlock he looked at his only text conversation. Yes, only. Very few people had his personal phone number, and all but one of those contacts communicated with him solely through calls. Ever since he exchanged numbers with you, you texted him quite often. Mostly quick questions: would he like to join you for dinner? Can you stop by real quick? Things of that nature.

He actually hated texting. The keyboard was too small for his big hands and auto correct proved not to be his friend. Still, he put up with even the small amount he did for you. 

He glanced at the time, doing quick mental math to determine what time it was at home. It was late, but not too late, and you had a habit of staying up late. He could- the phone slipped in his hand and, 

Shit!

He quickly sat up as he accidentally called you, finger hovering over the button to end the call. What if you answered? He desperately wanted to hear your voice. He loved his job but,

“König?” 

His stomach flipped and his heartbeat spiked as he faintly heard your voice. He swallowed thickly and put the phone to his ear.

Your voice, slightly creaky, started to panic. “König? Is everything alright? Are you back?” 

“Yes. I’m fine, darling. No, I’m not back yet.” He answered in an even and calm voice, feeling both guilty and touched that you were so worried about him.

You sighed and there was some faint shuffling, “it’s…” you paused and he could just see you biting your bottom lip. “What’s up?” 

“I.” He swallowed nervously again. “I just wanted to hear your voice.” 

…

The only thing he could hear was his blood pounding in his ears as he waited for your response. 

“König?”

“Yes?”

“Do you…miss me?” Your voice pitched up teasingly; he’d heard the tone enough to know that you were grinning.

Grateful that you couldn’t see how flushed his face was, he took a moment to push himself up the bed enough to lean back against the wall. “Y-yes.” He mumbled into the phone. 

“Aww! That’s sweet!” 

“It is?” 

“Yea.”

His heart, his stomach, his blood, fluttered again as a relieved smile crossed his face. “Do you,” he licked his lips, “do you miss me?”

You coughed on the other end of the call, “uhh…welllll….”

König gasped, “you don’t miss me?!” 

“What! No! Of course I do!” 

“No. You forgot about me the moment I left, didn’t you?” He sniffled dramatically, even placed a hand over his heart even though you couldn’t see him.

“Noo, König! I DO miss you!” You half giggled as he played with you.

“Oh? Then why the pause?”

“Uhm…” 

You looked around the room. His room. You really didn’t know how to explain this without coming off as creepy. (does that mean you are, in fact, creepy?) 

König saying your name, and not one of those cutesy nicknames he often used, drew you out of your thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s just. Uhm. You see.”

Now it was his turn to be worried. “What is it?”

You took a breath, “ok. I. I thought you were coming home tonight.”

He sighed, “I know, angel. I’m sorry, some unexpected-”

“No, no! That’s ok! I’m not upset about that!”

“Then what?” “I mean, I’m not upset at all!” 

“Ah. I was right. You don’t miss me.” 

“König!” 

He chuckled, “what are you trying to tell me?”

“Like I said, I thought you were coming home tonight. So I, uhm, used the key you gave me to cook dinner at your flat. I thought you might like to have dinner in the comfort of your own home.”

König’s heart thumped in his chest. In only a second the image of going home, to see you waiting for him, pampering him, feeding him, caring for him all flashed through his mind. It was an image he very much wanted. Your name quietly slipped past his lips, but you had only paused to take a breath and continued with your rambling.

“But then you didn’t and that’s fine, like, you said you were only estimating when you’d be back and then I started cleaning and, uhmm…” “Don’t tell me you burned down my flat?” 

“No!” You barked out a laugh, a little thankful that he interrupted before you could fully embarrass yourself. 

You sighed, you knew he wouldn’t drop it now. Sure enough you heard him once again asking you to just tell him. Instead you pulled your phone away from your face and turned on the camera. You snapped a quick selfie and after a breath, sent it to him. 

König’s phone buzzed in his hand just as he called your name again. He blinked and opened the text message you just sent him. His eyes widened and he quietly gasped as instead of a text, you sent a picture. It was nothing provocative, but it was you. Of you in bed. His bed. His blanket pulled up to your neck as you smiled sheepishly into the camera.

“-And then I got tired and laid down in your room.” You finished your explanation, unaware that König was still staring at the picture you sent. Unaware that he was now imagining what his life could be like if instead of staying on base after a long shift, he spent the extra time to go home and crawl into bed with you. 

“König?” You asked, voice tight with anxiety. “Are you mad at me? I’ll leave! And I’ll wash-” “No! No! I’m not mad! You can sleep there!”  Please sleep there!

“Are you sure? I get it, if I crossed a line-”

“I’m sure. Don’t leave. It’s late and it’s cold out.” 

It was late, sure, but it wasn’t cold; it was still summer. It was an excuse you both accepted.

“I am just surprised. You hate sleeping in your day clothes.” He tried to joke, to reassure you that he absolutely did not mind you sleeping in his bed. At least someone was enjoying it. Even if he did wish that he could enjoy it with you. 

You coughed nervously again, “well…”

Dear God. If you told him that you were sleeping naked in his bed? He’d abandon his post, steal a helicopter and fu-

“I kinda borrowed one of your shirts to wear as a nightgown. Is. Is that ok?” 

Oh. That made more sense than you climbing into his bed naked. He took a deep breath. “Of course, darling.”

You sighed in relief. The fact that he switched back to your normal nickname put you at ease. "Oh, good. It really makes for a comfy nightgown, so I can sleep in your comfy bed." 

You teased and chuckled at the groan he let out, assuming that it was his bed that he was missing. 

König chuckled with you, relaxing against the wall, and licked his lips as he felt another spike of anxiety flutter in his stomach. “Did you borrow a pair of my shorts too?” 

“What! No!” You laughed, “are you kidding? This shirt is so big on me, it can be a dress.” 

He closed his eyes and let his head drop against the wall. “Good. That is good.” 

“What? Why?”

He hummed as he imagined crawling into bed, flipping you onto your back so he could settle between your bare thighs, his hand grabbing a fistful of your smooth soft flesh until he was gripping your hip. 

“König?”

He froze, only now realizing how hard he was getting and where his free hand had been. He cleared his throat, “ah. It’s nothing, darling. I just want you to be comfortable.” 

“Me? How comfortable are you right now?” 

“Not very.” He answered honestly. The bed he was currently sitting on was too small for him, it was both stiff and lumpy, and the blanket was thinner than his shirt. “My couch is more comfortable than this.” 

“I mean, you do have a really comfortable couch.” 

“Hm. Especially with you on it too.” 

You blinked, stomach alight with butterflies. You must have heard him wrong, or he must have misspoke. He must have meant that his couch was more comfortable even if he had to share it with you. “Well, there is enough room for both of us.” 

“Yea.” He agreed, eyes closed as he thought about the night he left. Of the little shorts you had been wearing, so short that his hand hit the elastic of your panties before the fabric of your shorts when he “casually” dragged his hand up and down your body. “Enough for you to lie down with me.” 

You let out the quietest little gasp, a shiver running down your body as you remembered the feeling of his hands on you. “Oh. Yea…I was…kinda on top of you, though.” 

König grunted, now palming himself through his pants. He had a hard time forgetting the feeling of you grinding your hips into him. “A perfect fit.” 

That night had started out normal enough. Maybe it was the calming scent of the candle, or the steady rainfall and rolling thunder. It was not a cold night, but you still just wanted to cuddle with him. And he obliged.

You sighed over the phone, into König’s ear. He was so solid. And warm. You bit your lip, thighs clenched at the memory of his meaty thigh between your legs. 

Just a breathy whisper of his name had his eyes rolling back into his head, his free hand desperately pulling at his belt. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“König!” The voice of one of his men interrupted him before he could even fully undo his belt (thankfully). 

He growled and pulled the phone away from his face, “shit! What!” 

You jumped when König started yelling, there was some shuffling and more shouting. It gave you a moment to collect yourself, to realize what you were about to do, and think of an excuse to get off of this phone call.

An excuse you didn’t need, as he sighed and put the phone back up to his ear. “Listen, darling, I have to go.” 

You nodded, you expected as much after all that commotion. “Be safe.” 

“Yea. You too.” 

You stared at your phone once the call disconnected. He was always worried about you even though he was the one running into what you presumed to be an active war zone. You felt a little guilty that if things hadn't been so urgent on his side, you were about to end the call before things got even more intimate. (It was late! And you had to work in the morning!) What if you made it up to him?

Before you could chicken out, you quickly turned on the light and set your phone up on the nightstand to get a picture of you on the bed. You hadn’t borrowed one of his t-shirts, but a tank top, with a comfortable scoop neck on him. But on you? It dropped deep enough to reveal plenty of cleavage. 

Then you snapped a few pictures and choose the most flattering flirtatious one and quickly sent it to him, with the message: “thanks for letting me borrow your shirt!” 

To say that König was surprised when he returned to base was an understatement. How in the world was he supposed to concentrate on his work now?! 

[Neighbor König Masterlist]

Neighbor König taglist (blurbs): Please let me know if you wish to be added or removed.

@warrior-of-justice  @cumikering @ihateuguys @rand0m--fangirl @keiva1000 @dtftheavengers @takeyour-pants-off @aeeliy @milenko115 @sodonuthideout @onegami @nadiauddincrafts @nadiauddincrafts @grizzersmamma @flooftoof @techs-ass @virginalsacrifice @s0rc3r3r @sleeplessskeleton @introvered-violinist @tizylish @romula96 @peach-habibitch @mitchlow @queenotaku27 @fenixnegras @emmbny @love-dove-noora @lesbianmitsuri @supergirl16 

[post-it-notes7]

PiN7's Mirrorverse Masterpost

A collection of my various posts, art, and comics surrounding my take on a Kirby Animeverse Mirror World, complete with the occasional game element thrown in here and there. The questions/titles listed below are paraphrased, and each links to their original posts, which will go more in-depth. They are not in chronological order, but sorted into groups based on their relation to one another. If you're confused, don't worry! Mirrorverse wasn't designed to be digested all in one sitting, but taken piece by piece as it continues to be built up. Browse around, you may find something interesting.

General Knowledge:

Get a basic feel for the Mirror World

Can reflections make themselves look like their counterpart?

How DMK got that scar

How does a reflection know if their counterpart has died?

Views On Shattering

How common are medics and healing items?

More information on how Mir Falspar’s shoulder works

doodles

fresh wound(?)

how does it feel

Is Mirror Galaxia Sentient: Yes!

That weird sword? (NOT Galaxia)

Mir Arthur and the General Gemstones: Some More Information 

What do they do

Can someone be sensed and/or tracked?

A Helpful Timeline

-

Chronological Events:

(Most Recent In-Timeline)

The Mir Falspar Sleepless Saga

Something’s up

Watch him, will you?

Uh oh, DMK’s here

It’s not like he’ll know

Wake up time

DMK suffers the consequences (part 1)

DMK is tired of the consequences  (part 2)

Wait—Mir Arthur did what?

Dreams?

Guess it all lines up

The Grind Never Sleeps (meme)

Crossroads with Mirror Galacta Knight?

Going to meet the new reflection

DMK mentions The Cave Incident

The Cave Incident

A few days later…

Mir Garlude Resigns from the Mir GSA

The Attack

She’s Gone

Dragging DMK Back

Telling Mir Arthur

Recovery Period

(Bonus meme) Friendship Ended with DMK

Training with Mir Garlude: The Seven Part Comic

Start Here (page links are provided on original post)

Bonus Page (takes place modern day)

(^Least Recent In-Timeline)

-

Characters of the Mirror World:

Unlike MK, how does DMK feel about his wings and face?

Can DMK cook?

DMK is Dark Mind’s protege?

Can DMK hold his own in a fight?

That time Mir Falspar punched DMK in the face 

What is Mir Falspar and Mir Dragato’s relationship?

A crucial difference: Mir Falspar’s and Mir Dragato’s take on shattering

Tell us more about Mir Dragato

How do Mir Dragato and DMK interact?

DMK has a crush? (he doesn’t know that’s what it is)

What’s up with Mir Falspar’s shoulder?

Mir Falspar’s gloves?

Can Mir Falspar leave the Mir GSA?

Mir Falspar is not thinking about the cave incident

Intro to the Illusionist, Mir Arthur

Has Mir Arthur used illusions on others before?

Mir Arthur’s limits?

Is there a significance to the color of Mir Arthur’s red, blue, yellow magic?

Does Mir Arthur control the edges of his cape?

Does Mir Arthur know what’s up with Mir Falspar’s injury?

What is Mir Arthur teaching DMK?

What is Mir Nonsurat like?

Mir Galacta—The first appearance

Mir Galacta—a brand new reflection?

What does Mir Galacta look like without his mask?

Where is Shadow Kirby?

What about Mir Garlude and Mir Jecra? 

Mir Jecra in the Mir GSA

How is Mirror Jecra doing?

Mir Garlude’s approach to training DMK (meme)

How Mir Garlude viewed DMK

(Mir) Cera, the background Medic

-

That's it for now, this masterpost is sure to be updated in the future!

[itsclydebitches]

Things I Adore About Diamond Dog Trent (in Chronological Order):

Intense confusion over Beard barking that becomes Roy scaring the shit out of him (again) as he slams the door

"Oh, I'm in." IMMEDIATE. NO HESITATION. 100% COMMITMENT. Keep in mind that he's just been told they share their "most initiate thoughts, feelings and experiences" like oh, I don't know... the fact that you're gay? But Trent is Ted's The Lasso Way's #1 Fanboy so he's feeling safe and validated, baby!!

This is very much enhanced by the return of the rainbow mug

30 seconds into his new membership and Trent has gotten used to the barking enough that he can manage an awkward little wave of acknowledgement. 10/10 very cute

Subtle eye-narrowing of judgment at Ted right after Beard's "Unbelievable." They really are on the same wavelength this episode I'm digging it

"Can I just talk whenever?" OH I'M SORRY, IS TRENT "BRINGING THE HEAT" CRIMM POLITELY REQUESTING PERMISSION TO ASK POINTED, PERSONAL QUESTIONS? We love us some character development, yes we do

Teeny tiny smile when Higgins agrees with him. He's! So! Proud! Of! Himself! And he should be!!

Copying Beard's pointing. It reminds me of him subtly flipping Jamie off but also kinda pretending like it's a coincidence. Trent wants to be included so, so badly and he's someone who displays that by mimicking the actions of those around him. Something, something, Isaac's study of body language

The fact that for once Trent isn't holding his notebook and doesn't stop to grab it. He has a good handle now on what can and cannot go into his book. "Don't print that" is a running gag he no longer needs

A more meta-y take, but I love that Trent's first meeting is the perfect example of what the Diamond Dogs are meant to be accomplishing. It's not just a place to vent or get platitudes (though it's that too), but rather to receive the honest, sometimes hard-hitting advice so you can make better and more informed decisions. Ted went in looking for sympathy and got a doozy of a wake-up call instead, which I think highlights the group's purpose for Trent far better than many other meetings might have

You can see Trent open his mouth a little bit while the others are howling like he wants to join in (because he does HE DOES) but doesn't quite have the courage yet. It's only when the others quiet down - when he's not 'imposing' on 'their' thing - that he lets out that little *woof!* of his own

The woof. Yes, that gets its own bullet point

[katamaricule]

What is dmbj? I've googled it but idk if it's one of those 'I love it and recommend it' shows or a 'I love it - pls never watch it <3' kinda show yk lol

Is there an answer somewhere in the middle? Because that's where it should go.

DMBJ is a franchise based on a set of novels by an author we'll call NPSS. These are mostly first-person tales narrated by a spoiled little dipshit named Wu Xie, as he and his friends go on tomb-raiding adventures, encounter supernatural obstacles, and learn about all the ways snakes don't work. The series has several giant holes in it, as NPSS tends to get bored and wander off mid-story. Several dramas and movies have tried to adapt various pieces of this gap-ridden, wholly unresolved saga, to varying degrees of success.

So to answer your question: There are installments of DMBJ that are a hoot that you should watch, and then there are installments of DMBJ that are also a hoot but you shouldn't watch before you have an affection for the franchise as a whole, and then there are installments of DMBJ that you should not watch even if you are a fan of the franchise because they are just not worth your time.

The problem is, not everybody agrees on what goes in which category. But if you're interested and want to give it a go, these are my personal takes on what's what, in chronological order of events as they happen in the series:

The Mystic Nine

Good starting place: Yeah, actually!

Requires prior knowledge: Nope

Actual ending: No resolution whatsoever

Wu Xie: He's not in this one

Best part: Charming characters you love or love to hate

Warning: Very cheaply produced, with cuts that render significant parts of the story incoherent

Worth watching: Yes, if you're willing to accept the jankiness

The Lost Tomb

Good starting place: Weirdly, no, considering that it's the first series they made

Requires prior knowledge: Not really

Actual ending: Oh, heavens no

Wu Xie: Cardboard twerp, kinda cute

Best part: There's ... some antics, I guess?

Warning: Makes some bizarre additions, condenses several books, just ... isn't very good

Worth watching: Not especially

The Lost Tomb 2

Good starting place: You could do worse

Requires prior knowledge: Some, but who knows if it helps?

Actual ending: Ha ha ha you're funny

Wu Xie: Breathtaking idiot twink street-parking a Maserati

Best part: Wu Xie and Pangzi are in love

Warning: Interminable bronze tree plotline, incomprehensible timeline especially at the ending

Worth watching: Sure, but bring a book for the long stretches

The Lost Tomb 2: Explore With the Note

Good starting place: It doesn't matter, because you're not going to watch this one

Requires prior knowledge: It can't save you

Actual ending: Nothing of the sort

Wu Xie: Shove that whiny nerd in a locker

Best part: There is no best part

Warning: Don't do this to yourself

Worth watching: What do you think

Ultimate Note

Good starting place: It seems like no at first, but it actually is!

Requires prior knowledge: It helps, but you can get by without it

Actual ending: Complete cliffhanger

Wu Xie: Precious muffin

Best part: Everyone is so cute, also heihua

Warning: Tonally way goofier than the other series

Worth watching: Yes! This one's so fun

Tomb of the Sea/Sand Sea

Good starting place: If you like things on Hard Mode

Requires prior knowledge: The main character doesn't have any, so why should you?

Actual ending: It thinks it does, but it's stupid and slapdash and leaves a million loose ends

Wu Xie: Mafia widow (also he's not the main character)

Best part: Seeing from the outside how fucked-up the whole Tomb Raiding Industrial Complex is

Warning: A hot mess, but occasionally a beautiful one

Worth watching: Yes, but maybe save it for later

Reunion: The Sound of the Providence

Good starting place: Shockingly, yes

Requires prior knowledge: No, though it recontextualizes everything once you know more

Actual ending: Yes! Holy shit! We got an ending here!

Wu Xie: Consumptive angel with a gun

Best part: Some truly impressive performances from Actual Actors, Wu Xie and Pangzi are married

Warning: Honestly, just watch this one first so you don't know what you're missing, because once you do, you can't unsee it

Worth watching: Definitely

I hope that ... helps? Or at least doesn't make your confusion worse?

[sgiandubh]

Machiavelli took a day off

... when the Telegraph article was written in great haste, by someone blatantly given a last minute task, who had no fucking idea to whom she was talking and what exactly meant the PR vetted or even prompted questions.

Instead of a line-by-line analysis, we'll take things differently, on this page, using the '5 W rule of journalism' (or even non-fiction writing, in general, if you ask me):

Who? SRH, EP of the OL series and one of the two male leads of the TCND series, which will be shortly broadcast by Channel 4, in the UK and IE only (and Movistar in ES). The rest of the world is not concerned.

What? A promotional article, focused on the actor's personality, CV and projects.

When? At a particular moment in time, just after the SAG-AFTRA strike and before shooting OL's eighth and last season.

Where? Crucial to place it in LHR (to imply he is 'just visiting') and God forbid it would be in GLA, which (for some curious reasons) seems to be off-limits.

Why? An actor with solid credentials hopes to keep agents and employers interested, after above OL project is done, which is rather sooner than later. Also addressing (as per the actor's PR agent specific requirements) three particular issues: the Palestine letter, the Bond project and his 'private life'.

Onwards to the three issues at stake, which probably prompted the article. In chronological order, this time. And no, I am not going to address the Scottish independence mention, because this is a sincere, well-known position of his and this page never bitches about people's convictions - also because I educated myself on it and I agree with S.

Palestine:

It was important, for obvious reasons, to push damage control a tad further. Also, strictly from a hypothetical POV, I would be very curious to read your compare and discuss thoughts with regard to this particular post on this page:

A sort of answer came in the Telegraph paper, too. Not only to me (I am less than nobody), but to all the people (of which we were many) who thought he should not get involved in this type of debate:

This is not the first time he uses this specific talking point. Last time known to me was on the day the Queen died, on X (I looked for that post, but can't find it, because I am just a filthy lurker, like that: but it is there).

The really interesting question, therefore, is: does he/somebody monitor what is being said on Tumblr? The answer is, I think, yes, and it shows. Will it stop me talking in here? Nope, as I trust my discerning abilities, for the moment. Other than that, his damage control op does not bring anything new to the table.

Bond:

What can I say, Sir? While there's life, there's apparently hope. But that doesn't translate well, given the context of your interview. That spells desperate and it's not a great picture. Also, let us keep a pious moment of silence in fond memory of a 25 year old who had a dream and the dream went to Daniel Craig (who I detested as Bond, because every girl has her Bond and mine is Pierce Brosnan, amen).

I know people still speculate about it. I have very high reservations and I cannot, for the life of me, seriously consider even thinking about the possibility. He could do it with flying colors, no doubt. Does he stand a chance? I prefer to have zero expectations on it and be floored if it happens. If he naively still yearns/pushes for it, this interview could very well be as abysmal as C's VF tantrum.

'Private life':

Ugh. Slippery when wet. I have already touched the subject in a reactive re-blog of @samheughanswife's post about it and I will not get back to what I said even without reading the article.

Some more extraordinary wording, in here: 'there might even be space for a personal life' - begs the question 'when?' In general? (in general, all men are created equal, too - it's practice that kills the theory) Now? (it is my staunch belief the answer is yes). After OL? (then and now and after Hiroshima, too). Can you program these things? (nope, stars simply aligned) Heh. Enough said. Also, 'might' spells cheap insinuation to me. But that's just me, a blonde voice in the audience.

Now, onwards to the daughter thing. I believe this specifically addresses the cheap, abundant clickbait content on You Tube, hence the vague 'online' reference (not Tumblr, not fans, not blogs - he is not C, he kept it clean). Such as this very recent one (last 'clip' on the topic was five days ago):

The two I chose to share here, which are very conspicuous FAKES, are originating from the same 'source', an account that seems obsessed with S&C and has no problem changing its narrative three times a week, if needed. My opinion? PR induced shite, to prod numbers/interest and see what sticks.

No newborn daughter? I hear no lies.

As for OL leaving 'no time for relationships', ahem. *urv will be thrilled to read that, I bet the farm. As will Flukenzie Floozy, at least her - damn, she was persistent! Also, hello, back to 2014-2016 playbook, aren't we?

No new relationships? Whatever for, when IYKYK? I hear no lies.

'I want a cat' ('because she's great', says my shipper brain on autopilot), 'but I am too scared even for that'. Humph. A very poor lie. But admitting you wanted and got a Ca(i)t scares the bejesus out of you, since 2016. I hear no lies. Yes, I am being tongue in cheek and damn the consequences.

Morality of it?

The easiest solution is never to take personal questions in interviews or panels. Why These Two still do it completely mystifies me.

[katerina-marie]

The Hot Mic Incident (Feel Like Falling in Love)

Sukuna x Reader

A sequel to this and part 2 of a larger (unnamed) series. I do recommend reading part 1 first to be able to understand certain references in this one.

If someone asked you who was most likely to accidentally spill the beans about your new (and still secret) relationship with Sukuna, your answer would have to be your white-haired co-star. But when an unintentional hot mic reveals to the world what wasn't ready to be shared, let's just say it wasn't Gojo Satoru at fault for once.

Notes: A continuation of my Sukuna x Reader celebrity!au inspired by music (though only loosely, so don't look too closely at lyrical meaning). In this case, it's Feel Like Falling in Love by MeloMance. I'm writing this series as inspiration strikes, so these fics may not always be posted according to the series' linear timeline. I will make sure to note when each chapter takes place in relation to the others (this one takes place a couple months after part 2). I will also get around to making a master list of them in chronological reading order as more comes. I hope you enjoy:)

Content: bandmember Sukuna x actor female Reader (referred to as such, but left descriptively vague), no y/n, manager Nanami, bodyguard Toji, actor Gojo, other favorites who have small supporting rolls, all fluff, crack, and humor, innuendos, illusions to sexting, but no actual sexting occurs (sorry), so please read accordingly, out of character and fluffy Sukuna. Please let me know if I miss something!

WC: 4.3k

——————————————————————————————————————————

“Isn’t it a little early in the morning to be sending naughty pictures to your boyfriend? It’s like 7:00 am.” 

You jumped half a foot in the air and clambered to juggle your phone in your hands before it tumbled out and slid four feet across the backstage floor of the talk show studio. 

“You need to be wearing a bell, Satoru,” you hissed over your shoulder at the menace that had appeared behind you so suddenly, “and it was not an inappropriate photo. I was completely dressed.” 

You teetered over in your heels to grab your phone off the floor and prayed that it wasn’t cracked down the middle, lest you make Satoru cough up punitive damages to make up for it. 

“In my experience, being fully clothed is not a prohibiting factor.”

Satoru snickered at the look of disgust on your face and gave you a small shrug, “Who knows, maybe Sukuna’s into th—,”

You threw yourself forward to try and cover his mouth with your hands, but even in heels you still lacked the necessary height to make contact. You settled for pinning him in place with a glare.

“Will you keep quiet please? I swear, if you and your fat mouth reveal this to anyone, I’m going to have Toji leak that photo of you from one of our nights working on that period piece last year!”

You watched with glee as Satoru’s eyes widened in abject horror, and he reached out to grip the tops of your arms and drag you close to his face. A quick peek from your peripheral confirmed that the staff lingering around the studio probably hadn’t been close enough to hear, but they were certainly watching with poorly disguised interest. 

Were you and Satoru contracted into a false relationship in order to help promote the upcoming movie the two of you were co-starring in? No, that only happened in fiction. Was it firmly implied by the producer that some offscreen tension and chemistry during the course of the film would promise to be advantageous to you both? Yes, and you presumed that in the pursuit of a paycheck some simple flirting couldn’t hurt anyone…though that was a year or so ago, and you were now closer to sending Satoru to an early grave than jumping in bed with him like fans and media were hoping for. 

“Suguru swore he made you delete any evidence of that!” 

You stuck your tongue out at him and pulled back against the hold he had on your arms, but he didn’t loosen his grip in the slightest. 

“He did, but didn’t bother to check with Toji. Looks like that weird phobia you two have of him is coming to bite you in the ass now.” 

Satoru released you with a shiver and took a large step back, his eyes roaming the expanse of the studio as if he expected your bodyguard to be summoned out of thin air at the sheer mention of his name. You didn’t blame him, however, because Toji had a habit of doing just that. 

“It’s not a weird phobia,” Satoru muttered, rubbing his throat absentmindedly and pouting down at you, “it’s PTSD.” 

You snorted. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was too!” Satoru cried, “He punched me in the throat and nearly sent Suguru through a wall!” 

“You and your idiot manager were trying to break into my house at 2:00am, drunk as skunks I might add! What did you think was going to happen? We barely knew each other then.” 

Satoru looked down at you aghast, stunned that you didn’t sympathize with his emotions. You considered it even more bewildering that he seriously thought that you would pick his side. You were about to let him know such when your phone dinged twice in quick succession, effectively capturing your attention. 

“Look,” you huffed at him, waving your phone in front of his face so he could catch a glimpse of the time (and hopefully ignore who’s name had popped up under it), “we only have like thirty more minutes before we have to get out there and I need some time to decompress, so I’m going back to the dressing room.” You started to turn away before throwing over your shoulder, “Don’t get into any trouble in the meantime.” 

Satoru rolled his eyes at you, and—in that intolerable way of his—couldn’t let you possibly have the last dig at him and jerked his head to the phone in your hand. 

“It’s not me I’m worried about. Have fun sext—,” 

“Goodbye, Satoru!” You made yourself scarce before he could say anything else, eager to find the privacy of your dressing room so you could fawn over your boyfriend in peace. 

By the time you made it into the safety of your dressing room a few minutes later, your heart was pounding—and not just from getting lost in all the maze-like hallways—and you tried to decide if hiding in the attached closet to talk with Sukuna on the phone or sitting on the couch in the open with a lovesick grin on your face would look less suspicious should someone walk in. Neither option promised much. 

Before you could make up your mind, your phone was ringing, so in order to be able to answer the call as quickly as you could, you dove for the couch and tried not to sound completely breathless when you answered with a quiet, “hi, good morning.” 

“Hey,” Sukuna replied back to you, voice equally soft but tinged with a dry hoarseness that usually followed him out of sleep. It made your toes wiggle uncontrollably against the floor. 

“Oh I’m sorry, did I wake you with the picture? That wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to keep you up to date with my day,” you murmured to him. 

“Don’t worry, you didn’t. And besides, even if it did, it’s not a bad way to start my day.” His words made you melt back into the cushions and you kicked your feet in silent giddiness before tucking them underneath you. “You look stunning, by the way.” 

“Thank you,” you giggled, “though getting here to get ready while it was still dark outside was borderline torture. I’d say that it’s an unfair slight against women, but I’m pretty sure Satoru’s hair and skincare routine took just as long.” 

Your boyfriend let out a disgusted scoff at the mention of your costar’s name, “Please tell me that q-tip is behaving himself.” 

“Sukuna!” You chastised, though you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up in your throat at the comparison, “You can’t call him that…even if it is somewhat accurate.” 

“It’s one hundred percent accurate,” he argued, “but I won’t call him that to his face…probably.” 

You shook your head in exasperated amusement, nibbling on the bottom skin of your lip before continuing on, “He’s behaving for the most part, aside from his two insinuations that our conversations this morning were of a sexual nature.” 

Sukuna was silent on the other end for a moment before replying back in a low voice with something that had you choking on your spit, “Would you like them to be?” 

He could be heard laughing as you nearly coughed your way into a premature death.

“I’m about to go in front of a live audience and on live tv!” You exclaimed.

“That’s not a ‘no’,” Sukuna pointed out hopefully.

“No.” 

He let out a dramatic sigh and you reached over to a nearby coffee table to unscrew a bottle of water and chug half of it down in the hopes it would help cool you off. 

“Speaking of,” he said, sounding just a tad hesitant, “I’ll uh, tune in to the show to watch if that’s okay with you.” 

You heart skipped a silly little beat at the idea that he wanted to watch some cheesy talk show just to get a glimpse of you. 

“I don’t mind,” you told him, “but it’s going to make me a little nervous knowing you’ll be watching as I stumble through this interview.” 

“Don’t be,” he chuckled, though something in his voice sounded just slightly wicked, “now you’ll get an idea of how I feel when I have to perform.” 

The innuendo had whatever sweet reassurance you had poised at the tip of your tongue fly out of your head, and you scrambled to come with a response that could be said back without implying anything further. The swinging open of your door, however, saved you from the task. 

“Hey, Princess,” Toji called as he leaned his torso around the door, “you need to be out there in five.” 

You startled from your spot on the couch, surprised to realize that your leg was bouncing from where it was propped up on your knee and your finger was twirling a piece of your hair.

Love made you stupid. 

“Toji,” you snapped, “have you ever heard of knocking?”

Your bodyguard rolled his eyes, “I did. Twice.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, especially because you could hear Sukuna cackling through the phone, confirming he heard what Toji just said. 

“Oh…I’ll be right there, okay?” You shooed him off with a flick of your fingers and Toji smirked at you as he began closing the door.

“Don’t be late or I’m sending Gojo in to fetch you.” 

The door closed shut before you could get a word in and you leaned back with a heavy sigh before returning your attention to your phone call, “I’ve to go. I’ll call you when the whole thing is over and I’m back home, yeah?” 

“Sounds good to me. I’ll be waiting for you. Good luck, okay?” 

You weren’t sure if it was all in your head, but you swore you heard a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Thank you. Bye, Sukuna,” 

“Bye, Princess,” he sing-songed, and you couldn’t help but smile as you clicked off the call. 

——————————————————————————————————————————

Twenty minutes later found you and Satoru sitting next to each other on a platform stage surrounded by bright lights, a large live audience sprawled in front of you, and an all too perceptive interviewer who had started the interrogation just a couple minutes prior. You wiggled in your seat, uncomfortable from the various wires and clips that secured your mic to your back under your dress. 

“So,” she began, nailing you with a look that promised nothing good, “you and Satoru were supposed to film an advert on the beach early this last summer, but it ended up being you and the so-called ‘King of Curses.’ Tell me, how did that come about?” 

You hesitated a moment, thankful the question wasn’t anything too invasive, but you were still hoping to avoid talking about Sukuna altogether. Usually Nanami would heavily emphasize what could and couldn’t be spoken of before these appearances, but since he wasn’t here, you assumed it had been left to Geto. In that case, you knew he couldn’t be bothered since predicting whatever was going to come out of Satoru’s mouth during these things was an art not yet mastered.

 “Well,” you started, clasping your hands together so they didn’t shake, “it really just came about out of well-timed convenience and a favor to the director. We didn’t want to waste any of the crew’s time or have to worry about re-aligning schedules, so Sukuna saved the day by offering to help. Plus, ‘The Curses’ new song at the time got to debut in it, so it was a win-win for everyone! Except for maybe Satoru, of course.” 

In an effort to divert attention from your answer, you threw Satoru a faux-friendly smile and urged him with a widening of your eyes to explain his part. 

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, adjusting himself in the seat and setting a convincing pout on his face. “I just happened to get pulled into something personal last minute and was going to be late to the shoot. I’m appreciative that the “King of Curses” was able to step in and save the day.” 

You didn’t miss the obvious sarcasm dripping from Sukuna’s nickname when it came out of Satoru’s mouth, and you had to hide a giggle behind your hand at the thought of your boyfriend cursing at his TV at home. 

“But,” Satoru continued, jolting you into awareness when he turned to you and ran a long finger down the bare skin of your arm, “I’m super bummed I missed our chance to get wet together.” The smirk on his face was downright evil, and you just knew your face was a picture of stunned disbelief. The audience was tittering with amusement.

“You wear me out, Satoru,” you hissed at him, batting his hand away from where it still traced slowly over your skin. 

Satoru laughed and threw his head back against his chair before taking a quick look at the camera and then leaning in towards you until your noses nearly touched, “I’m flattered you’d admit that on live television.” 

Your jaw, and everyone else’s for that matter, fell to the floor and you could only gawk at him. Over the interviewer’s shoulder, you could see Toji backstage laughing his ass off as Geto stood at a respectable distance next to him shaking his head. 

We better get those damned bonuses from the producer.

“Well!” The interviewer laughed a bit nervously, breaking the tension in the room and turning to the main camera in front of you all, “That was surely something. We have to go to a commercial, but we’ll be back with these two in just a couple minutes!”

The outro music sounded over the speakers and you and Satoru were released from your chairs to scurry backstage. In between sending friendly waves to the audience and starting the walk backstage, you flipped the switch on your mic off. 

“I’m going to kill you, Satoru,” you spat under your breath as the two of you left stage.

The idiot had the gall to laugh, and in your frustration you took a couple large steps to get a head of him. And because the universe didn’t hate you enough, you felt the toe of your heel catch on a stray cable on the floor, pitching you off balance. In your flailing, you reached out to grasp at whatever object could possibly break your fall, and in doing so latched on to Satoru’s sleeve, jerking the poor bastard off his feet and onto you as you both tumbled to floor in a heap of tangled limbs. 

Your back hit the ground first, your mic digging painfully into your back with a suspicious crack of plastic followed by Satoru landing on your front, pushing all the air from your lungs with a painful “oomph.” 

You stared at the ceiling of the studio, wondering how quickly things would go if one of the giant studio lights fell from above and crushed you under it. You were never going to live this down, especially since it happened still in view of the cameras and the audience if the raucous laughter was anything to go by.

“You know, I never imagined I would actually get you under me,” Satoru mused, staring down at you for a second before lifting his giant self off and then pulling you up to follow. He held a hand against your lower back as the two of you made it to the cover of backstage. 

“Honestly,” you admitted, still a little dazed, “I never would have thought so either.”

Staff fluttered around you a minute later, offering water, smoothing your hair out, and ensuring neither of you were hurt…at least not physically. Your pride was a whole other matter. 

“Oh no,” you groaned, catching Satoru’s attention once everyone had cleared out around you, “he was watching. He just saw me eat it on live television.” 

Your co-star cocked a confused eyebrow at you, “You mean Sukuna was watching?”

“Oh please,” you muttered, “like you didn’t guess. And yes, Sukuna was watching, and now I’m not going to be able to look him in the eye this evening.” 

There was a general increased noise coming from the front of the studio, but you were too preoccupied with your own embarrassment to think much of it. 

“And why is that?” Satoru asked. 

You threw your hands up purely because you didn’t know what else to do with them, “I don’t really know exactly, but there is still something supremely humiliating about doing something embarrassing like that in front of my new boyfriend. He makes me nervous enough as is.” 

There was a sudden outbreak of hollers and clapping from out front, and you swung your head around to look and see if anyone had a clue as to what was going on. It took you a minute before you could see Toji running at you with a wild look on his face. 

“Toji, what the hell—?” You didn’t get to finish your question before he was spinning you around by the shoulders, yanking down the zipper of your dress, and ripping the mic from your back. You shrieked in disbelief as you whirled back around to figure out what in the world he had been thinking. 

“Toji!”

“Your mic has been on this whole time,” he growled, showing you the blinking green light on the cracked plastic box. You swore you had turned it off, but seeing as how it took the brunt of the impact when you fell on it earlier, you supposed it wasn’t unlikely that it had turned back on. 

With sudden cold rushing through your body and a sick ball of dread settling into your gut, you looked between Satoru’s dumbfounded expression and Toji’s face of pure exhaustion and immediately decided that if the ground wasn’t going to swallow you up whole, you were going home.

“Get me out of here!”

——————————————————————————————————————————

After finally making it to some undisclosed back alley across from the talk show studio, you were assisted out from your crouch in a trash bin by studio security and ushered to a small nearby out-cove to wait for your bodyguard. 

And you just wanted to be famous soooo bad. Glamorous life, my ass.

As luck would have it, you were made aware today of just how famous you, and especially Sukuna, were. For all the grief you gave Satoru about not accidentally spilling the beans about your newly minted—and still secret—relationship with Sukuna, you were the one that had the unintended pleasure of doing the grand reveal. So now the world was free to stir whatever frenzy they saw fit, from the intensely devoted fangirls of Sukuna’s band, to the entire acting community, and the worst of all…your mother. You suspected you were a couple minutes away from an angry phone call demanding an explanation as to why she had to find out from the internet that you were dating a boy with pink hair and face tattoos and how much longer it would be until she had grandchildren. 

All of this chaos and Nanami just happened to be in a whole other country. 

You suddenly regretted sending him on that vacation.

A sharp squeal of tires caught your attention and you looked up to see a shiny sports car peal around the corner and come to a rumbling stop a couple feet in front of you. Before you could even begin to guess who it could be, the head of your bodyguard appeared as the tinted black window of the passenger side door rolled down.

“Get in the car,” Toji hissed, eyes darting to and fro. 

You wasted no time and nearly dove through the open window in your haste to escape broad daylight. You had just finished buckling your seatbelt in the back when Toji mashed the gas pedal and the car leapt forward.

“Christ, Toji!” You gasped, clasping the headrest of the seat you were just flung into, “Whose car is this? It’s certainly not yours.”

He snorted. “Yeah, cause you don’t pay me enough.”

“Rude,” you muttered back to him, “and not true.” 

You tried to squint out the front windshield to determine where you might be, but brick buildings towered on either side of you still, and you assumed Toji was taking some alternative route home. “Seriously though, whose car is this? It’s not one of mine.” 

“Does it matter?”

You rolled your eyes at his bored tone, “Yes, it does. Toji, I’m not your wife, but—”

“Thank God.” He sounded entirely too relieved about that.

“Still rude!” You yelped, but brushed aside the sting of offense to figure out whose leather seats your dress was currently dropping glitter all over. “I’m not your wife, so I don’t particularly care to know what unscrupulous activities you get up to when I’m not keeping you busy—,”

“None,” he deadpanned, shooting you a glare through the rear view mirror.

“—which I’m pretty sure I had you sign a non-compete, but that’s besides the point. I really need you to tell me where you got this car. In case you aren’t aware, my name is going to be plastered on every social media post, blog page, and headline in the next 24 hours and I’d rather that not include my mugshot with “accomplice to grand theft auto” under it. So tell me who this car belongs to right now or I’m jumping out.”

Toji had the audacity to chuckle at you before reaching back to pat your knee.

“Relax a bit. You know I wouldn’t ever put you in harm’s way on purpose. This is Gojo’s car. Ours was being swarmed by the media out front after your little slip up, so I threatened Geto for the idiot’s keys cause I knew it was out back and the quickest way I could get to our little rendezvous point.” 

“Oh,” was all you managed to get out. Letting your racing mind settle down a bit, you snuggled deeper into the plush leather seats and kicked your feet up onto the center console. You got two seconds of peace before Toji opened his mouth again.

“I’m going to have to call Nanami.” 

“No!” You gasped, springing upright again and feeling a warm sting creep to your eyes as your throat began to tense up. “He’s on vacation! I promised we wouldn’t bother him unless one of us was dying. I’d never forgive myself if he had to come home to clean up my sloppy love life!” 

Toji shook his head and shot you a sad smile over his shoulder as he reached for his phone sitting in the front cup holder.

“We may not really have an option, Sweetheart. Not only is Uraume going to be a huge pain to deal with since this could affect Sukuna’s band, but you’ve also got contracts and appearances promised that may get shaken by the fact it’s been revealed to the world that you've been secretly dating the music industry’s favorite ‘hate to love’ rockstar. We can’t fix this without Nanami.” 

The panic that had been brewing in your stomach this whole time was starting to make your head spin up, so you blamed it on that when you lurched out of your seat and nearly over Toji’s shoulder to snatch the phone out of his hand before he could hit ‘dial’ on Nanami’s contact. 

Your bodyguard swore when you knocked him in the face with your elbow in your clamber and his hand gave a vicious jerk of the wheel that had horns blaring from either side of your car as Toji swerved to correct it. You were thrown back into the seat you had just previously been in and you waited with heaving breaths as the car jolted sideways once more before continuing on straight. The fact you barely missed crashing was a testament to Toji’s reflexes.

“Don’t you ever do stupid shit like that again, you hear me?!” You’d never heard Toji raise his voice at you and it did nothing to help quell the tears about to start pouring from your eyes, “I know you’re stressed and something big has just happened to you, I get it, but that’s no excuse to do something dumb! You just about gave me a heart attack,” he finished, his voice still at a higher volume than normal, but it was softened by the edge of panicked concern and the worried glances he was giving you. 

That was enough to push you over the edge.

“I-I’m sorry, Toji,” you sobbed, upset at yourself for messing up again, “I wasn’t thinking, and I don’t want Nanami to feel like he has to babysit me for the rest of his life, or you to think I’m an airhead or something. I also really like Sukuna and I don’t want him to hate me because of what I did!” 

You let your head fall into your hands and hiccuped through another shuddering cry as you struggled to get ahold of the overwhelming-ness of it all. You felt Toji’s hand on your knee again. 

“Hey, hey, take deep breaths for me. No one’s thinking that, I promise you. And I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. It was wrong. It’s no excuse, but that scared the crap out of me and I thought we for sure were getting into an accident,” he admitted. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

You nodded through your tears, unable to respond to him in any way that was legible. 

“Look, we’re almost home. Try and deep breathe for me. Once we get there I’ll help you get comfortable and we’ll figure this out together, okay?” 

As was frequent with Toji, you valued his ability to keep you calm when you got into the worst of yourself and you were grateful for his steady confidence. You reached out and clasped the hand he still had stretched back on your knee to give it a squeeze, hoping it could convey all the thanks you had for him. The two of you kept driving in comfortable silence until you felt the car slow and saw a flash of a familiar gate out the front windshield.

“Hey,” Toji started, his voice suspiciously light, “you think Gojo would realize if we never returned his car?” 

——————————————————————————————————————————

Thank you for reading! I've got ideas for parts 3 and 4 already, so I'm hoping to work on those in the next coming days.

I'll also be posting this series on AO3 under Katerina_Mar if you would prefer to read there:)

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #52: Trust

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: kidnapping, rescue, comfort, vampire whumpee / caretaker / whumper, whumper turned whumpee turned caretaker, caretaker turned whumpee, begging, humans as livestock, mild classism?

Whumpmas in July Day 12: Search & Rescue

here it is! i've been trying to write this one since literally april, sorry it took so long. i imagine the present arc as divided into 3 parts.

this is the finale of part 1!

-

It had been six months since Jim brought him home, and Kane was fully on a human schedule. He'd gotten into human music as well, with Jim bringing home new CDs for him on a regular basis. He liked to listen to them before bed, after Jim had locked him back downstairs and the sun had set. He would take notes on the music, his hand no longer shaking with weakness. And when he was done and the basement he'd come to think of as home was silent again, he would drift off to sleep. Plagued often with nightmares, but he always knew that he'd wake up safe and unharmed.

A quiet, peaceful life. Kane got a shallow bowl of fresh blood each day, Jim never hurt him, and he had his own little space with possessions of both need and want. He didn't care that he was a prisoner, that the now-fixed door bolted shut each night, that he was made to wear chains upstairs, that he couldn't leave if he wanted to. He was safe. He was happy, something he never thought he would be again.

So it was all the more worrying when his quiet night was interrupted by the screech of tires and the sound of someone's frantic struggling with the front door.

Kane got up from his desk and went to bed immediately, wrapping himself up in his blanket as his mind raced with possibilities. The hunters, always his first fear. It made no sense, they'd handed him over to Jim willingly, but he couldn't stop picturing it. His tormentors coming to snatch him away from his new, peaceful life, where he didn't hurt anybody and nobody hurt him, bringing him back to that horrible place where there was only pain. He shuddered at the thought.

The front door clicked open upstairs, the right key finally inserted. "Jim!" Liz's familiar voice cried.

Kane allowed himself to relax, somewhat. Yes, a hunter, but one who he knew by now wouldn't hurt him without cause. He could never bring himself to feel fully comfortable around her, but she hadn't harmed him yet. And if he kept being good, maybe she wouldn't ever.

Jim's footsteps came quickly, and though Kane couldn't make out the exact words of their conversation after Liz's initial shout, he could tell it wasn't good. She was crying, he was pretty sure.

Kane slowly got out of bed, concerned. Something was wrong, that much was obvious, but he was locked in the basement, and there was nothing he could do. He crept over to the stairs, but didn't climb them, unwilling to get closer to the silver door.

"They took Laken!" Liz sobbed. "They're gone!"

Kane felt his heart drop into his stomach. There was only one thing Liz could have meant by that, only one they she could have been talking about. The relief he would always feel when one of the more sadistic hunters never came back, his gratitude that vampire hunting was such a dangerous job, come back twisted and cruel. The kindest hunter he'd ever met had been taken.

He imagined Laken, always sweet and friendly, Laken who fed him with their own blood as his birthday present, alone and scared and in pain. Shipped off to the blood farms, or kept as someone's personal blood source, their mind stolen from them over and over until persuasion erased their warm, loving personality entirely.

Tears sprung to his eyes at the thought. He couldn't breathe all of a sudden, Liz's sobs perfectly encapsulating his own roaring despair. His head fell into his hands as he cried along with her, sitting on the bottom step. Laken was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Wasn't there?

Kane picked his tear-streaked face up as the gears started to turn. He stood and knocked on the wall, unable to touch the door itself. "Hello?"

"Kane, man, just- not right now, okay? Go back to bed," Jim called, voice choked up.

A direct order. Jim hardly ever gave those. Kane scurried obediently back to bed, listening to the humans cry.

It was only a few minutes before he got back up. He was defying orders, now. He hadn't defied orders in years, hadn't ever defied one of Jim's, not since coming here. His legs felt like gel, his hands shaking at the prospect. But he had to.

He knocked on the wall again. "Jim?" he asked, wincing preemptively.

The door flew open, revealing Liz: bleeding from a wound on her jaw, her eyes red and puffy from crying, glaring down at him with unrepentant disdain. Stakes and nasty silver weapons still hung from her belt.

"What? What could you possibly want?" she snapped, her voice breaking.

Kane took a few steps back, heart pounding as he stared at her weapons. He'd disobeyed, and now the hunter was angry with him. He knew all-too-well that hunters always got more sadistic after they'd lost one of their own to his kind.

"I- I'm sorry, never mind," he backtracked, cowering away from her.

Jim peered over from behind his sister, wiping his face. "Lizzie-"

Liz paid him no mind, stomping down the stairs. "What? What is so important right now?" she demanded through tears.

Kane felt sick with panic, his safe haven suddenly horribly unsafe. He'd been doing so well, and now it would all be over, pain introduced back into his life. He bumped back against the wall, no more space for him to put between himself and the hunter.

"No, no, please!" he begged, holding his hands up defensively. "I'm sorry! I'll stop, please don't hurt me!"

"Liz?" Jim came down after her, arms wrapped around himself, looking haunted.

She kept her attention squarely on Kane. "No. I want to know. What?"

He should just make something up, he really should.

But Laken.

"I had an idea." He drew out each word as if to stall, his voice barely above a whisper.

Liz's voice came deadpan, devoid of anything besides resentment. "An idea."

Kane couldn't bear to look at her. He looked past, at Jim. Jim who had never hurt him, who had assured him over and over again that he was safe here. "I could- if you allow it, I could go over and try to bring Laken back?" he squeaked.

Liz pounded her fist against the wall next to him, making Kane yelp and duck for cover. Jim winced at the sound.

"Are you fucking serious!?" she shouted, her features contorted with fury. "Now? You're using this to try and escape, now of all times? What, so you can go join the party and take a human too?"

He cowered on the floor, breaths coming quick, like he couldn't get enough air. He knew this would be a mistake. "N-no, that's not what I meant! I'm sorry!"

Jim approached slowly, stepping past his sister despite his apparent fear. "Kane, you can get up. It's okay," he said softly, eyes distant.

"It's not okay! Nothing is fucking okay!" Liz screamed. She kicked the desk hard, and both men flinched. She sobbed and kicked it again, shaking.

Jim uncurled his arms from himself. "Kane. Look at me."

Another direct order. Kane looked up.

He had never seen Jim so serious. "Do you really mean it?"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, I really didn't mean anything bad by it, I'll-"

"Did you mean it?" Jim repeated. "You could get them back?"

Kane knew he should be begging for mercy right now. The last thing he should do was double down. But... it was Jim. Jim was safe.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I would need more information." He glanced briefly at Liz, still sobbing brokenly, before looking back to Jim. "I'd need at least a description of who took them. I'm sorry. Please- I was just trying to help." He wrung his hands anxiously. "I care about Laken, too."

Jim stared at him long and hard. "I've really tried to help you, you know that, right? Make life here not suck."

"I know." It was the one constant in Kane's new life. Even when he got scared and panicked, he knew Jim would make it better, help him calm down. "I would do anything to make it up to you. If you let me go- I would try my best to find them, and I'd come back either way. I'd go back down in the basement and you could still keep me here. I don't mind. I like it here. Please, I swear I'll come back." He stood up. "Please let me help."

Liz was paying attention again, but the fury had faded. "What's in it for you?"

"I just want to help." Kane had nothing more than that. He had no way to prove himself. All he had was his word, and given what he'd done, his hopes that they would believe it were slim.

The Liebermans shared a glance.

"I think he really means it," Jim offered.

Kane couldn't believe this was happening. Jim actually believed him.

Liz sighed wearily. "It was two of 'em. They were wearing the same clothes, like a uniform."

"Blood farms," Kane realized. That was good- it would be a lot easier to get them from one of those than someone's house, and there would be a lot fewer places to check. "I mean- a blood processing facility. I can find them. There's only so many of them nearby."

That broke her. For once, Liz looked at him with something other than poorly disguised hatred or the bare minimum of tolerance- she looked hopeful. "Please bring them back to me. I can't lose them," she pleaded.

It was surreal. A hunter had never begged him for anything before.

"I will," he promised. "Jim, could I borrow a suit?"

-

Kane was ready. Jim only had one suit, and it didn't fit him quite right: Jim was a few inches taller than him, and while Kane had made a lot of progress in the past five months, he still hadn't completely recovered from his years of starvation. But it would have to do. He looked more like his old self than he ever had, now.

He stepped into the front doorframe. He was outside, at night, fully fed and able to run. He'd never thought this would happen again.

"I'll see you soon. With Laken," he promised, determined. He put his hand forward.

Jim nodded. "Alright. You just- yeah." He shook Kane's hand, like they were making a deal, one Kane would be sure to honor. "Stay safe out there."

"I radioed base and let them know what's going on, so you shouldn't run into trouble with any hunters as long as you stay in our district on the way to the border," Liz added. "Straight shot."

The thought that every hunter in a 100-mile radius knew where he was and what he was doing was horrifying, but this meant he had permission. This was safer, he told himself. "Thank you."

And with that, he ran off into the night.

Kane hadn't run like this in years, hadn't even been physically able to until recently. There were no chains binding his ankles, not the hunters' cruel burning ones or Jim's soft padded ones. There was no weight of starvation sucking the muscle out of his body and the energy out of his stride. He ran faster and faster, and he would have laughed gleefully into the cool October air if he weren't so worried about Laken. Even the fact of being free brought fear- Jim wasn't here to protect him if something happened.

Despite his nerves, he crossed into vampire territory without issue. Like it was easy. Like it wasn't something that had been an unattainable fantasy just months ago.

It was only about two hours before he made his way to civilization. He slowed as he got to town, got to people- it was the middle of the night, and the streets were full of vampires, like him. He didn't have to hide. He didn't have to be afraid. He stopped for a few minutes and just watched, mesmerized. He hadn't seen more than Jim, Liz, and Laken since Jim rescued him, hadn't seen another vampire in so long-

"Doesn't that guy look like Kane de Sang?" a woman whispered to her friend, a hand shielding her mouth like that would prevent her from being heard.

"Stop reading tabloids. He's dead," her friend reminded her with a roll of her eyes.

Right. Father was a very public figure, his death must have made the news. He couldn't deal with this right now. He had to find Laken.

Kane hustled away. He almost went into a store to buy a map, before he remembered that he had no money. It was a strange feeling, not having any money, one he'd never experienced before. Technically he hadn't had any money since his capture, but he hadn't been in a position to buy anything either, so it hadn't come up. But now, he really could use some.

His bank accounts would be closed, of course. Not only did he have no money, he had no ID. He felt like one of those older vampires who complained that everything required paperwork these days, like Father.

That was one way he could solve things, he supposed. He could go home to Father. The thought of confronting him with the fact that he'd been held captive by humans all this time was unbelievably unappealing, but he would of course do it if that would help him save Laken. Though, his father would surely put a stop to any plans for him to take a human from the blood farms, no matter what excuse he used, naming it an embarrassment to the family. Nobles were supposed to catch their own prey, demonstrate their superiority.

But those women had mentioned a tabloid. That would mean his face was known, wouldn't it?

Kane ran a hand over his cheek, hardly even sunken anymore.

He was Kane de Sang. He just had to act like it.

-

It took him a while to find the closest blood farm, the one most likely to have Laken, but he found himself there eventually. He strutted in like he owned the place. Confident and assured, everything he used to be and wasn't anymore.

The blood processing facility was not a customer service establishment, and there was no obvious place to go to find someone to talk to. He approached a man carrying buckets of human food, foul-smelling as always. Cereal, he was able to recognize one as, after months of sitting with Jim as he ate his meals. The other contained some sort of organ meat he couldn't place, aside from the fact that it thankfully didn't smell human. Jim didn't eat meat anymore, said he'd stopped sometime after his escape.

"Excuse me, I need to speak to a manager?" His first words to another vampire in years.

The man eyed him up and down. "Yeah, place is too spread out for you business-types. They really should put some signs up. Follow me."

"Thank you." He definitely wasn't acting like his old self. The old Kane de Sang wasn't polite to commoners. But after years of having politeness drilled into him, it was hard to stop, and he saw no reason to.

The man took him to an office, Kane thanked him again, and it was over. He wanted to take the man's hands and weep, tell him how he was the first vampire he'd spoken to in years upon years, but he couldn't do that. He just watched him walk away to deliver the food to captive humans.

Right. Captive. Everyone in this place was keeping defenseless humans captive. They'd likely taken Laken, and even if they hadn't and Laken was at a different facility, they'd taken so many more.

He knocked on the office door twice before pushing it open. A normal office, an environment Kane was more familiar with.

"Hm?" An older man, clearly a manager, looked up from his desk.

"Ah, yes, I'd been told you're the manager? Kane de Sang," he introduced himself.

The manager raised an eyebrow. "Like the dead noble?"

"Like the living noble," Kane corrected. "I've been living off the grid, as they say."

The manager squinted at him, shock slowly dawning on his face. Perfect: he was recognizable enough to be believed. He wouldn't have to involve Father.

"I see. And what can I do for you, Mr. de Sang?"

"I believe a couple of your employees accidentally snatched up my escaped human." It was a lie that would have been completely unbelievable for anyone else except for him, given his lack of persuasion. "It wouldn't be hard to find mine, one with blue hair, just brought in earlier tonight?" It was possible that Laken could be at a different facility, but this one was so close to where they'd been captured that Kane was almost certain it was this one.

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Mr. de Sang," the manager said. "All of our humans are sourced directly from human territory. If you lost track of your human so much that it was willing to make it back there... well, a human belongs to whoever's taken it over the border."

There was no way a commoner would speak like that to any other noble besides him. The old anger rose up in him, like being back in vampire territory had allowed his old self to come crawling out of where Kane had buried him. He almost went to push away the bubbling rage, but...

He didn't need to anymore. He wasn't in danger. He was in vampire territory, and this man was keeping Laken away from him. Keeping Laken captive, hurt and scared-

Kane slammed his hand on the desk. "You will return my human at once!" he shouted.

He winced at his own outburst, visions of punishments flashing through his mind, eyes wild with fury and terror. Still, he did not stop. "Or I will do everything in my power to ruin you, through means legal or otherwise. I am not leaving without my human."

The manager seemed to mull over the idea before deciding that dealing with Kane was far more irritating than losing one human. He sighed, standing up. "Very well. Follow me."

Kane pulled his hand back, trembling. He should be punished for that. The hunters would have a field day with him if they knew how he'd acted out. Though, he doubted they'd care that he was disrespectful toward a fellow vampire.

"Yes, sir," he said on instinct.

The manager didn't seem to take it as unordinary, nodding and leading him to where the humans were stored. Kane followed along, bewildered it'd been that easy. They passed hundreds and hundreds of humans with dazed eyes and gone minds, packed into livestock pens. He was just glad they were too far-gone from persuasion exposure to feel anything at all.

Past that were closed rooms. Kane could hear someone shouting expletives behind one of the doors, like he had when he'd first been captured, and someone crying behind another, like him in all the years after. But he couldn't do anything about that: he had to focus on Laken.

"We keep the new captures in isolation," the manager explained, briefly peeking through small peepholes in the doors.

Kane remembered how Jim was when he first brought him home, a defiant teenager who hadn't yet learned fear. "That makes sense."

At last, the manager stopped in front of one of the doors, satisfied with what he'd seen through the peephole. "Blue hair, brand-new capture. This one was reported as a hunter, though, so probably not yours. I can-"

Kane practically leapt at the doorknob. "No, this one's mine! This is my human, you must be mistaken! Open the door!"

The manager sighed again, but obliged, unlocking it.

And there they were.

Laken sat huddled in the corner inside, just like Kane had been in his cell, stripped of their hunting tools. They were in bad shape: it was obvious they'd put up a fight before being taken. Their shirt was torn in a huge gash at the side, blood staining the edges, though Kane could smell that they weren't bleeding anymore. They clutched their arm to their chest defensively, like it was hurt, and looked up at him with fear in their eyes.

But he couldn't comfort them yet. "This is my human," he insisted.

"Kane?" Laken asked, voice drenched in fear and betrayal.

It broke his heart to see Laken so terrified. Of him, at that. They either didn't realize what his plan was, or... didn't think him morally capable of coming to their rescue, after everything they must have heard from Jim about what he'd been like in vampire territory.

"Huh. I guess this is your human. Up you get, then." The manager waved them over.

Laken slid up the wall and shuffled over, shaking.

Kane scooped them into his arms, careful to avoid aggravating their injuries. Laken was bigger than him, but far weaker, he realized. He was strong now. He'd been strong for a long time, ever since Jim started feeding him. He just felt so consistently vulnerable that it hadn't really sunk in until now.

Laken didn't resist, the fact of their helplessness equally obvious to them.

"Thank you," Kane told the manager, curt. He turned and hasted toward the exit, relieved it had gone so smoothly.

As soon as they got out, he opened his mouth to start explaining, but Laken beat him to it.

"Kane? Buddy?" Their voice was too strained to sound natural as they peered up at him with nervous eyes. "We're friends, right? Remember when we did your birthday together? Listen, if it's my blood, you can have some! That's fine! I just-"

Kane hugged them close. "I'm here to rescue you," he choked out, trying not to cry. "It's okay. You're safe now."

He felt Laken untense all at once. "Oh, thank fucking god. I totally thought..." They laughed giddily, wiping their tears away with their good arm, but more came anyway. "Dude, you're a lifesaver. Like, literally."

"I'm- I'm trying to be good. I want to be better." Not just well-behaved. Good.

"Well, you're being pretty damn good to me right now." Laken reclined in his arms. "Hey, how fast can you get going? Those assholes who took me were pretty fast, and they didn't even seem like they were trying all that hard. What's, like, the fastest you can get?"

Kane burst into a grin. "You want to find out?"

-

He could tell it wasn't as fast as he'd ever gone. Kane was still in the process of recovering all the muscle he'd lost during his captivity, and though his speed was still at least forty miles per hour if he had to guess, it wasn't top-level for a vampire. Still, Laken seemed impressed, so he took it as a win.

Liz was waiting on Jim's porch, Jim just inside, talking to her through the window. As soon as he set Laken down, they ran at Liz, but not as fast as she ran at them. They met in the middle with such force that Laken cried out in pain, but neither stopped, wrapping each other in a tight embrace.

"I thought you were gone!" Liz wept. "You were gone, they took you!"

Laken laughed, alight with joy. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

Jim opened the front door, and almost took a step out onto the porch, but hesitated, obviously frightened by the night's events.

Kane scampered up to him. "I came back. Just like I said," he reported, grinning.

"You really did. Huh." Jim stared at him like he'd never seen him before.

"And- and now you know. You know I'd always come back. And if anyone ever tried to take you, I'd bring you back, too. Just like how I saved Laken." Quieter, he added, "Just like how you saved me."

Jim smiled at that, finally finding the courage to step onto the porch. He nudged Kane's shoulder. "Right back at you."

Kane beamed. Jim had promised him he was safe from the hunters over and over, but it felt different this time. Not an attempted comfort during an episode of panic, but mutually-assured protection. There was something to it that felt stronger, more real. A bond.

"I'm gonna take Laken to the hospital!" Liz called back. "And hey, Kane? Thank you."

A thank-you from Liz was almost as precious as the fact that she was trusting him unrestrained, alone with Jim, at night. She still wore her hunting gear, but she felt less scary for once.

He nodded back at her. "Any time."

"See you guys!" Laken gave them finger-guns, punctuated with an "Ow," when they moved their injured arm wrong.

Liz laughed and helped them into her truck, leaving him alone with Jim.

"I'll go back in the basement," Kane promised. "Just like before. Nothing has to change."

Jim blinked with disbelief. "Are you kidding me? Kane, I'm not gonna keep you locked up anymore. I'm not saying I'd never be scared around you again, but... you're not a prisoner anymore."

Kane should feel happy about that, shouldn't he? That's what he'd wanted for so long, trapped in his cell back with the hunters.

Why did it make his stomach turn with dread?

"Um, I don't-"

"I mean, there's not enough time left before sunrise for you to get home tonight, especially if you wanna pack first. But you're not trapped in my basement anymore. You're free to go, man. You can head back home tomorrow night if you want."

Kane shuffled his feet awkwardly. "What if I... don't want?"

"Don't... want? You don't want to be free?" Jim asked, baffled.

Tears sprung to Kane's eyes. This was his home, the only home he'd known in years. "I don't want to leave," he whispered.

Jim exhaled a long breath, the smile dropping from his face. He was silent for a moment before taking Kane's hand. "Okay."

"Okay?" he sniffled, fingers curling around Jim's.

"Okay, you can stay. Long as you keep your promise and protect me. Plus you gotta get your own blood now. And I guess-" Jim chuckled, shaking his head. "I guess we can figure it out as we go."

"I can still wear the chains," Kane offered. "So you feel safe."

"Man, fuck the chains." Jim led him inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

Kane went back down to his basement, tucking himself into bed. As the sun crested over the horizon, he fell asleep behind an unlocked, open door.

-

thank you all for coming with me on 50+ chapters of this journey so far :) i hope you guys like present arc part 2 just as much as you liked part 1! we've got some fun stuff coming up! i know a lot of you have been asking after two things in particular, a kane/bellamy reunion and kane reading jim's book. both of those will be in present arc part 2! as well as a bunch of other fun stuff :)

tune in on saturday for some non-K&J vampire shenanigans, and more K&J (jim recovery arc) on the following tuesday. present arc part 2 will start in august.

taglist in reblog, as usual.

event: @whumpmasinjuly

[imaginedisish]

how do you sleep? (Ben Solo x fem!reader)

Part 1: We'll Never Have Sex

A/N: Hey guys!! So here is the first part of my Ben Solo x fem!reader fic. It is going to be told in non-chronological order, and every single part can be read as a one-shot! The overall series is based on "how do you sleep?" by LCD Soundsystem, but this particular part is based on "We'll Never Have Sex" by Leith Ross. I hope you guys enjoy!!!

Summary: After a lifetime of pining and yearning between you and Ben while training with Luke, things finally come to a head. (Series takes place over the year before Ben turns to the dark side, and then the aftermath of that).

Warnings: SMUT, fingering (f!receiving), so 18+, obviously canon divergence, all chapters can be read as a one shot with no context, series warning for canon typical violence, cursing, probably poorly proofread bc I only proofread once, praise kink...

Word Count: 2,511

Rain ruthlessly patters against the roof of the tent, threatening to leak through with each drop that came crashing down. You and Ben lay across from each other, a fire separating you, crackling in the center. You silently wish you were closer to him. You wish you could feel his calloused fingertips threading softly with your own. Maybe his hands would find their way to your waist, gently exploring your-

No. You can’t think like this, you’re not allowed to, never have been and never will be. You weren’t meant to get to have sex, married, to settle down, to have attachments of any kind. You were a Jedi, first, foremost, and only. 

But could love be that bad? Would being with Ben be so insurmountably terrible that it would corrupt both of you and bring disorder to the galaxy? Master Skywalker had told you it would, that an attachment of any kind would disrupt your training and your entire way of being. That notion had lost its meaning for you, and seemingly contradicted itself time and time again. If loving Ben was so horrific, why was it the only thing that made sense? 

“You okay?” He mutters, noticing that your eyes are glued to the fire, that stupid fire that stood in the way of being close to him. 

You mumble a yes in response, your mind far too clouded and nervous to say anything else. You were too busy convincing yourself that whatever bond you had with Ben defined the word yearn. You had known him your entire life, both having been trained by Luke practically since birth. And for as long as you could remember, you loved Ben Solo. 

And he loved you. 

But you held back, at least for as long as you could. As teenagers he had slipped up, kissed you while you had been sparring in the woods, far, far away from Luke. He had won the sparring match with your back to a tree, and he kissed you. 

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to take me home

It was simple, it was sweetness

It was good to know

You talked about it once, and never again. You decided to hide it, to stuff the memory down, deep down where no one would ever be able to find it. Hiding wasn’t enough, it never was. You couldn’t forget it. Even now you dream of the taste of his lips on yours. You wish you could taste them now.

“You sure you’re okay?” His voice cuts through your thoughts, forcing you back to reality. He’s sat up now, looking down at you over the fire. 

You sit up too, forcing your gaze into the flames. “Yeah, I’ll be alright.” It was Master Skywalker’s fault for putting you and Ben on missions together, for keeping you two so close. He had to know how the two of you felt about each other. It was like some soul crushing test, some obstacle he expected you two to jump over and come out the other side stronger Jedi. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last mistake a Skywalker made. 

“Do you…” He paused, waiting for your gaze to meet his. Your heart skips a beat when your eyes lock. “Do you wanna come over here?” He asks. He tilts his head to the side, searching for your response in your face before you can think of something to say. 

Say no, You think to yourself. Bad idea. Bad, terrible, awful idea. But your thoughts don’t seem to communicate with the rest of your body. You’re already standing up, walking around the fire, and sitting down on the edge of his cot, facing away from him. 

Ben rests a warm hand on your lower back, his thumb tracing circles and stars along your spine. It feels good, comforting – so it can’t be bad. You didn’t feel any evil bubbling up in your stomach, no pull into the darkness like had been foretold and prophesied. 

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” Ben asks, there’s a smirk in his voice. You could hear it from a mile away. You turn your head to look down at him, and there it was, the cocky smirk. The second he sees the pain contorting your face, it slips away. You want it to come back.

You smile softly, reassuring him that everything was fine. “It’s just the nightmares.” It wasn’t a lie. They had certainly come back. You had dozed off a few minutes ago, and there they were. You weren’t going to fall back to sleep, not without him.

Ben responds by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you down onto the cot. You stretch out a bit, letting yourself get pulled under the current of whatever was about to happen. The loneliness was too much; being without him was too much. And those – of course – were the real issues, the real sickness that was plaguing you. 

You and Ben knew loneliness too well, far better than any being ever should. 

Having someone this close kept that sinking alone feeling at bay; trapped it in some deep, dark, unintelligible, inaccessible corner far out of your mind’s reach. The feeling of his arms holding you tightly in place dispersed it, decimated it, fragmented it into pieces that simply could not be put back together, as if they had never been part of a whole to begin with. 

You’ve never had someone this close for this long. You’ve never gone this long without that alone feeling nipping at your skin and cursing in your face. And yet, it had been silenced. It wasn’t just because of a someone. He silenced it. And you knew that he was the only one who could. No, this couldn’t have just been anyone. It had to be him. 

And only him. 

“Ben,” You whisper. He squeezes your hip lightly in response. The feeling sends a ripple of chills down your spine. 

You don’t know exactly how long it’s been like this, standing on the ledge of a building neither of you should jump off from. You lost track of the time a few years ago. But you certainly never lost track of him. 

He squeezes your hip again, his lips suddenly sinking against your neck. You swallow the heavy lump in your throat as his hips push against yours. You jump, I jump, You think to yourself as he presses open-mouthed kisses up to your jaw, his body slowly shifting so that he’s above you. You let yourself fall onto your back, staring up at him. 

It was so quick, so easy to melt under his touch. It was too easy, for both of you, to give into the thing that had connected you for years. It was too simple to get to where you are now for it to ever be bad, to be the start of another war. 

The words slip from your lips. “I think I love you…” But you didn’t think. There was no thinking about this sort of thing, especially with Ben. That think came from your nerves, from that part of you adroitly trained to push him and everything else away. You didn’t want this to go past think. Think sits in limbo, unsure of its position, suspended in fluidity and nonsense. 

“Think?” Ben enunciates each letter, as if to question each sign’s meaning. But the smirk on his face tells you he’s much less serious than that, and that he knows your intention is far more serious than that think. 

You clear your throat, but the anxious feeling continues climbing up your esophagus. “Yeah…” You trail off, failing to seem aloof. “I think I-,”

“I know.” The thunder outside attempts to rudely interrupt the crackle of the fire and the finality of his words, but you hear them all the same. 

“Know what?” You question as the tips of his fingers graze the sides of your neck, slowly and gently wrapping around, as if to hold you in place. 

There’s no nervousness etched across his forehead as those perfect lips of his part. His brows aren’t furrowed, he doesn’t clear his throat. That smirk still tugs on his lips, even more so in his eyes, begging to be stretched into a smile. He’s cocky – but sweet – because he knows you’re terrified beyond belief. He’s more comfortable crossing this line than you are.

He was made to cross lines. “I know I love you.” And he means it. He means it in a way that speaks for you too, in a way that takes your think and transforms it into something greater. It was permanent, static, steadfast. A know, not a think. 

Rain pounds violently against the roof and you’re almost thankful for it. It keeps your words from leaking outside and into unaccepting ears. The ears that you and Ben had sworn your life to, your being to, your duty to. You were consciously breaking that oath, that code, that order that you had lived by for as long as you could remember. 

Part of you wants to scream, How dare you? How dare you cross the man who taught you everything, gave you everything? But what if that everything wasn’t as important as what Ben was, as that know had suddenly become? 

You know the answer, you’ve known it for years, before this moment, before he kissed you against that tree. You know the answer every time you see his smile, those eyes. You know when you hear his voice, when you feel his hand at your back when you’re being reprimanded by Skywalker. And he knows it too. He’s known longer than you have. 

Never mind crossing the line, it’s gone now, as if it was never there to begin with.

His lips press fervently against yours, already begging for more. He fits perfectly there, above you, your bottom lip skimming against his teeth, being bruised and imprinted with each hungry kiss. 

He pulls away for a second, his chest rising and falling somehow faster than your own. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating out of your chest, the sound drumming violently against your own ears. His hands unclasp your throat, roaming down your body, exploring each curve and corner before resting at the hem of your shorts. 

“Wanted you,” He pauses, his fingers hooking under the waistband. “For so long.” He finishes, his lips finding yours again. “So fucking long.” 

“B-Ben,” You’re stumbling around your words, and yet your mind has never felt more clear, more free. “Need you, please.” It’s a beg, a whine. 

His lips part from yours for just a second to pull your shorts and panties down. “Always needed you,” He says as his right hand drifts slowly down your stomach and in between your thighs. He spreads your legs and finds your clit before two of his fingers move further down. “So wet for me,” He says in between the gasps that echoed in the air. 

“B-Ben,” You whimper, suddenly remembering once again that you quite literally have never had anyone this close before. “I-I’ve nev-,”

“I know,” He whispers, his voice filled with lust, even deeper than normal. His dark hair falls against your forehead. “I’ve got you.” His fingers move back to your clit, circling slowly at first, gradually getting faster until all you can do is dig your nails into his shoulders. 

“F-fuck,” You curse. He presses harder against your core. “Need you, Ben,” You beg, all breathy and carelessly loud. 

Ben rests his forehead against yours, his fingers flicking at your clit, his other hand coming up and under your tank top. You have no bra underneath, something he couldn’t help noticing before. He gently rolls a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, reveling in the way you feel against him. 

He wanted you, needed you, just as much as you wanted and needed him. 

His palm glides across your chest, making sure to do the same to the other side before swiftly pulling your top up and over your head, discarding it somewhere on the floor. You don’t care if it lands in the fire. You wanted it to burn. 

“Doing so good for me,” He whispers, his lips sucking against your neck now. “Such a good girl.” 

You feel yourself clench around nothing, fluttering as Ben’s fingers refuse to let up. “I’m s-so close,” You choke, struggling to catch your breath. You could feel that familiar feeling building up in your stomach, heat spreading like a wildfire across your skin and every inch of your body. “Ben,” You recklessly call out. “I’m gonna-,”

“That’s it,” He coos, his fingers still working at your core. “Come on my fingers.” And just like that, white heat, stars, the cliché tension snapping, all of it was true. With him, that’s exactly what it felt like. 

He doesn’t stop right away, his fingers slowing down a bit before dipping down to your entrance, collecting your slick bringing them up to his lips. His fingers disappear into his mouth, sucking gently before he pulls them out. The feeling at your core immediately sparks again. You want more, need more. 

“Ben!” Your heart pangs in your chest at the shout of a familiar voice. FUCK. “Ben!” The voice yells again, outside the tent. Your eyes widen in fear. Panic fills your chest, and Ben springs up and out of the cot, hoping to get outside the tent before the voice found its way inside. 

Ben smiles at you as he stands at the entrance of the tent. You smile back, but you’re freaking out on the inside. What if Luke hadn’t called Ben’s name? What would’ve happened if he had simply come in and caught you? Ben can tell that you’re uneasy by the way your nose scrunches up, eyebrows furrowed tightly. And yet, you don’t regret a thing. How could you? 

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” He whispers, grabbing the cloth door to the tent with his hand. “We’ll figure it out…” He trails off, looking towards the door for a second before his gaze finds yours again. “I’d do anything for you, I mean it.” His words are so final, so permanent, the exact thing you had been afraid of. 

But not anymore. 

“I know I love you.” The words fall from your mouth with ease this time. You can hear Master Skywalker’s footsteps growing closer to the tent.

Ben smiles, his cheeks flushing just a touch, like someone had pinched his cheeks ever-so-slightly to remind him of how handsome he was. “I know I love you,” He says back before squeezing out of the tent so his uncle wouldn’t see the evidence of creed that had been broken and the attachment that had been consummated.

What the fuck were you going to do?

Depollute me, gentle angel

And I'll feel the sickness less and less

Come and kiss me, pretty baby

Like we'll never have sex

[blueepink07]

I decided to look at the calendars and the timetable in Muu's MVs and I think I found some interesting things!

Taking in chronological order, the first calendar should be this one, which has the cherry blossoms. In Japan, usually, the flowering cherry trees come into full bloom around the beginning of April. It is the month when the new year of school starts for students.

So it seems that the friend group started the bullying, since the beginning of the school year, Rei's clothes being wet and her items being splattered on the floor. (the calendar in this scene also shows the cherry blossoms)

Remember this is the moment when Rei decides to turn "upside down" Muu's reputation at school, when she considers that enough is enough.

So then it raises the question... How much time Muu was bullied at school?

Well to find out we have again to look at the calendar.

This one should be a month from autumn, more exactly early September.

To understand better my line of thoughts, I will explain how did I reached this conclusion!

Beginning with the timetable!

Considering that the murder takes place during sunset, I thought that it was important to find when Muu finishes her classes.

"In a typical high school in Japan, teachers gather each morning at 8:30 a.m. for a brief meeting. Students meet at 8:35 a.m. for a 5-minute homeroom period. Regular classes begin at 8:45 a.m. and there are four 50-minute classes before lunch. High school students eat in their homeroom. "

With this information, I figured out that the empty space between hours is for lunch, because there are already four classes before it.

"Two afternoon periods are followed by school clean-up and a 5-minute homeroom meeting, after which students are dismissed at 3:30 p.m."

Muu has, after lunch, one or two afternoon periods.

Also, interesting she also has four classes on Saturday, something that is pretty common in Japan. "On Saturday the day ends after four periods, at 1 p.m."

Getting back to the topic, the classes usually end at 3:30 pm or 4 pm most of the time. However, it's pretty clear that it's not the hour when Rei goes home and the murder happens. Not only the sunset will not start so early, but also Muu's phone gives us a hint of the time.

But why are they at such a late hour at school, if the classes should end at around 3:30 pm? Simple, club activities after classes, at which most students in Japan attend to!

"Club activities are held after school and run until 5 or 6 p.m. One hour per week is devoted to mandatory club activity. Other club activity is voluntary."

They last around 2 hours, so, if we take into consideration Muu's timetable, the clubs should end at around 5:30 - 6 pm. (might depend on the club)

Now, I want to point out this specific interrogation question:

"What kind of kid where you?"

The past tense it's very interesting to me: "I did many extracurricular activities". Yes, it might refer to her younger self, but, considering that, even in high school, clubs are heavily encouraged in Japan, it's rather odd that she doesn't say that she still attends them.

That's because, in reality, she probably stopped going to those once she started to be bullied, which explains why she is the only one in the classroom, waiting for the club activities to be finished, so she can go home.

"School club activities, commonly known as “bukatsu” in Japan, play a significant role in the lives of students. These extracurricular activities are an integral part of the Japanese school experience, providing a platform for personal growth, skill development, and fostering a sense of community."

Club activities are a good way to spend your time with your friends, while doing something that you like. Because Muu started to be bullied, she had no reason to attend to these anymore. Not only she would spend her time alone, but also risk being picked on again, preferring to stay in the classroom.

With the idea that the clubs from Muu's school should end around 5:30 pm, we can decide the month based on when the sun fully sets.

I will admit that it took me a while to notice the yellow dots, which should resemble the leaves, so, because of the warm colours, I thought that the calendar showed July. Not August, because, in most schools in Japan, there is a summer vacation which starts from July 20 to August 31.

However, considering that Muu lives in Minato Ward, Tokyo, as seen in this post, the sun should fully set at around 7 pm, during July. Which doesn't really makes sense, because Rei should be outside of school, after club activities and some time spent preparing her herself to go, at around 5:40 - 5:45 pm, when there is not a sunset.

What made me, at first, not consider autumn as an option, where the green leaves from this scenery. So I researched a little and found put that in Tokyo, the leaves don't start to fall until late November.

Which left me with two options: September and October.

October was easily out of the question, because, in the first day of October the sun fully sets at 5:26 pm, which is too early.

Which leaves us with September, when the sun sets at around 6 pm. Taking into account the minutes before Muu reaches Rei in that day, I think it's safe to assume that early September, should be the time when the murder took place.

I hope I gave a good explanation and found some interesting things about Muu! Thank you for reading!

Sources if anyone is interested!

[youcouldmakealife]

Liveblogging the End: Jared (103-105)

Okay, I am back to liveblog the end now that we are ACTUALLY approaching the end several...years...later.

Previous parts can all be found under the liveblogging the end tag in reverse chronological order.

And if you want to read along with me, the series page is here.

I am dropping the part summaries going forward, and instead you'll have random ass mini-essays on occasion, because I have Thoughts and Feelings and the like. Starting with one today, below the cut.

I paused the LBTE last time at part 102, because I realised we were, in fact, a long way off from the end, and I was going to finish the liveblog well before I finished the series. And I was…very right about that. It’s a good place to step back in, honestly: Jared’s just told Deslauriers about his relationship with Bryce (it went poorly), Bryce is about to tell the Flames about him and Jared (it will go poorly), and wedding plans are ramping up. Let’s step back to Alberta, everyone.

Here’s the thing about Jared Matheson: he’s beautiful, he’s smarter than most people around him (not all around him, as he believes, but most), he’s in the 0.001 percentile of hockey players worldwide, and he draws good, kind people around him like moths to his flame (also fellow hobgoblins, to be fair). And he thinks like a Mary Sue: ‘here I am, just this ordinary boy, totally unremarkable, why did Bryce Marcus just trip over his feet looking at me, must be a plot’ and then Bryce’s POV is ‘oh look, it’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen’.

Here’s the other thing about Jared Matheson. He’s the narrator of this story, but he’d be the first to tell you the true hero of this story is Bryce Marcus, and Jared’s The Love Interest. Of course, he’s not exactly the mute but there to look pretty and provide stakes love interest of action movies, or the longsuffering picking up after man baby partner of romantic comedies (…mostly), but he is, indubitably, the love interest of the Official Plotline. And fuck does Bryce love him.

I obviously did not know what I was getting into with Impaired Judgment (the series name that just keeps on getting more and more fitting). First off, I had zero handle whatsoever on Bryce. Jared’s voice I had pretty well from the get go — it changed, naturally, as he got older and more settled, and his ‘like’ per part ratio is down significantly at 24 versus 17 (Bryce actually uses it more than he does in dialogue, now), but I had Jared pretty well pegged.

Bryce Marcus. Holy shit man. That guy was a revelation to me as much as he was to Jared. Dude peeled off his layers like a fucking strip tease at the beginning of IJ(aoe) and then grew to be one of my kindest, most earnest, sweetest characters. What I thought was a trash son had only landed in the dumpster accidentally, and required a rescue.

I’m going to have other random little essays while I go through Liveblogging the End (actually for real this time), because this many words and this many years in, there’s obviously something that keeps me coming back to these boys every time I think I’ve reached a natural end to their story, one more step they have to take together before they’re through. But in the meantime, let’s get to the actual story, shall we.

103 - Exertion

Wedding planning feels particularly good when you’re doing it spitefully. Things Jared wasn’t overly concerned with are suddenly important. Fuck yes they’re going to wear tuxes and have the stupidly expensive catering Bryce wants. If Bryce wants a fucking ice sculpture in the middle of summer Jared would probably okay it right now, just as long as he could send a picture of it to Oilers PR.

One of my favourite things about Jared is how much spite he can inject into all his endeavours.

Bryce comes home after two hours, and Jared is given a pretty solid example of Chaz’s reports of the discrepancy between Bryce’s gloss on the phone with Jared versus Bryce in reality, because his face is a fucking thundercloud until he realises Jared’s looking at him, and once he does it gets very — neutral. The epitome of ‘fine’.

Bryce is still masking a LOT at this point in the narrative. It’s kind of crazy to me how far he’s come at this point and how far he’s still going to go.

Jared’s at least ninety percent sure people have recognised Bryce, so he keeps it low when he leans in while Bryce is taking a long-overdue water break, shirt plastered to his back, and says, “Is it weird to say you look hot when you’re punching things?”

Bryce laughs a little breathlessly. “You hate when I fight,” he says.

“Yeah, but when you’re fighting guys are throwing punches back,” Jared says. “And I kinda like your face.”

This is going to keep holding true, much to Jared’s chagrin. Well, chagrin about the fighting: he’s cool continuing to like Bryce’s face.

They do, however, fuck in their own shower — no matter how many times Jared swears they’re never going to do that again, usually while nursing a minor injury, he gets Bryce naked and wet in an enclosed space with him and things go badly. Well, they go badly for his self-discipline; they go pretty okay otherwise. Neither of them even need an ice pack after

The one lesson that is never learned in this narrative, but hey: no ice pack this time.

“Cool,” Jared says. “You still want that crazy expensive catering company?”

“I mean, you keep looking at price per person, but it’s not that much when we only have—”

“You can go ahead and book them,” Jared says.

*

“Hey, is mid-July too soon for the wedding? That huge lake house you thought it’d be cool to rent out just told mom they got a cancellation then.”

Jared would literally marry him tomorrow if Bryce wasn’t so aghast at the idea of eloping.

“I know we haven’t ironed out, like—” Bryce says.

“Book it,” Jared interrupts.

Their entire wedding comes together on the wings of spite and Bryce is kind of loving it, tbh.

“Liar,” Jared says.

“Mom,” Bryce complains.

“Bear, you know you’re a bad liar,” Elaine says.

One of Bryce’s best-worst feelings is when Jared and Elaine team up on him. His favourite people are united! Against him.

Erin drops the ‘I don’t know how hockey works’ b.s. while Elaine’s there, which is good, because if Jared had to tell her one more time that icing doesn’t persist during the power play, while he’s already grit-tooth watching the Flames kill it, well —

Jared should not kill his sister.

This act, which was used to bug the SHIT out of her father and brother, is permanently dropped when she gets together with Julius, and Jared and Don both have dramatic ‘I KNEW IT’ conversations with her.

“But you would have had to tell them before the wedding,” Elaine says. “And telling them affects your career more than his.”

“How?” Jared asks. “He’s the high-profile player.”

“That’s my point,” Elaine says. “There’s always going to be a team that thinks his play makes a potential scandal worth it.”

And that isn’t true of Jared. He honestly like — his dad’s been telling him that since before he was drafted, that a team might decide it wasn’t worth the PR headache, pissing off the homophobic fans. And he knew that, intellectually he knew his dad was right, it’s just — he didn’t expect it to go as bad as it did. Maybe that was naive.

Jared would self-describe as a pessimist, but he’s actually the optimist, between him and Bryce. And he’s usually the one who’s right about how things will go down, versus Bryce, who tends to fear the worst, but unfortunately that’s not always the case.

“I worried about him a lot growing up. I’m sure you can — I worried about Bryce a lot. And I don’t worry — I don’t worry about him in the same way now. And you’re a big part of why I don’t. So thank you for that.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” Jared says. “Like, he kind of — it’s all him. He’s the one who did all the work, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Elaine says, reaching out and squeezing his hand, and Jared squeezes back.

This is probably my favourite Jared and Elaine moment in the entire series. The utter RELIEF it has been for Elaine, Bryce having Jared in his life. That fear has been so ever-present since Bryce was a child, the weight of it coming off was immense. She still worries about him, obviously, but before, she was Bryce’s sole support. Him having Jared is such blessing to her.

“Why’re you still up?” Jared asks.

“Waiting for you,” Bryce says, but he doesn’t protest when Jared pokes him to their room, supervises him getting into bed. Bryce gets out a plaintive “Come to bed,” before he crashes hard, and Jared gets Gatorade — blue, because Bryce earned it — and aspirin, puts them on Bryce’s bedside table in case he wakes up dehydrated and sore, which Jared knows from experience he almost definitely will. And Jared’s never played the kind of minutes Bryce did tonight. He adds an extra aspirin, just in case.

Soft shit, Matheson.

104 - Ember

Two of them are vanilla because Jared’s selfish and Bryce isn’t there, and anyway, no one dislikes vanilla, so it’s a good flavour to have.

I have been asked about the cake reversal, because Bryce has stated that he liked vanilla best when Jared got him a cupcake for a birthday very early in their relationship, and I will say this: Jared was visibly nervous he got the wrong flavour and Bryce was lying to make him feel better. Jared even pegged it at the time. Also as soon as he realised he could have a non-traditional wedding cake he got excited.

(He DOES like vanilla ice cream best, but he is a chocolate cake guy. Jared’s a chocolate ice cream and vanilla cake guy. Complementary couple.)

“I brought guests!” Bryce tells him, Chaz and Ashley walking in the door before Jared can do more than throw the nearest blanket over himself, give himself a little dignity. Not that Chaz hasn’t seen him in less hundreds of times, but context. Plus Ashley hasn’t, and does not deserve to be unexpectedly subjected to it. He twists it so it covers his chest too. He’s sure Ashley isn’t going to be scandalised by his nipples or whatever, but still.

“Beautiful blanket toga,” Chaz says.

He is stunning in his attire.

“We just got the cake decided,” Jared says. “Chocolate and vanilla, which isn’t like, totally traditional—” he pretends he doesn’t see Bryce rolling his eyes at him. “But it’s not like, a cupcake cake or whatever, so.”

“Aw, I like those little cupcake towers,” Ashley says. “They’re super cute.”

VINDICATION FOR HALLA.

Bryce eats it up, and Jared can’t blame him, considering that’s like, his first enthusiastic Matheson reception, barring Erin the irritating shadow and devoted future sister-in-law. Plus her glaring crush when he first came onto the scene. Maybe Jared will amend that to adult Mathesons — though like, his grandma’s a Murray, not a Matheson, so maybe that’s the difference. No hobgoblin gene.

Jared has the hobgoblin gene from both sides, his grandma has simply bamboozled him into thinking she’s not a hobgoblin herself.

It’s going to cost an absurd amount for something Jared will probably never wear again, except maybe to Oilers charity stuff — and even then hopefully he’ll have put on enough weight it won’t fit — and Jared almost protests and puts his foot down on getting one off the rack, despite Bryce’s obvious horror at the idea, but then he gathers all his reserves of spite and lets it happen.

Bryce continues to be very grateful to Jared’s spite in this matter.

Small potatoes is a stupid term, Julius texts back ten minutes later, ten minutes Jared imagines he spent looking up whatever the hell that meant and then trying to figure out why that was a thing, and then throwing his hands up at the English language. It’s easy to imagine because Jared’s seen him do it multiple times before.

And to be fair, it is a pretty stupid term. Like, what is it comparing the small potatoes to? Big potatoes? A pumpkin?

It literally has no defined etymology and that makes me fucking mad. A good idiom requires a root MEANING, even if it’s no longer relevant to modern life. Fuck you small potatoes.

Jared snorts, then texts Julius with a mad face. “I can’t believe you’re sulking,” Bryce says. “I’m not,” Jared says, and then sends Julius three more mad faces and a I cooked for you ALL YEAR and I get nothing. Thank you for your congratulations, Julius sends back twenty minutes later. Whatever we both knew you were a lock., Jared texts back

I love their friendship. Julius is the friend Jared deserves.

It feels vaguely unethical for them to get preferential treatment when everyone’s supposed to be equal, but Jared doesn’t want some random person at City Hall recognising Bryce, so he’s not actually complaining.

Love Jared like ‘I recognise this is the sort of preferential treatment that leads to systemic inequality which is bad…but also I appreciate it’.

“We’re getting married in July,” Jared says, just to like — tell her. She doesn’t care, she’s just telling them how long it’s valid for so they don’t have to get a new one, but it’s just. It’s cool, saying it to someone.

“Congratulations,” she says, both like she says it a billion times a day, and like she means it, means it as much for them as anyone else, no more or less.

“Thank you,” Bryce says, and it’s stupid, but Jared has the sudden urge to take his hand, follows through on it. She knows they’re getting married, it’s not like a little hand holding is going to shock her. Once again, she doesn’t bat an eye.

But then also NOT getting different treatment is meaningful as hell too.

105 - Promise

It turns out while Bryce’s celebrity was kind of handy in getting some strings pulled at City Hall, it is a pain in the fucking ass when it comes to getting an officiant. Jared figured they could get Elaine or Bryce’s grandpa or someone to get a licence for it, like he’s seen before, keep it in the family, but Alberta’s a buzzkill on that one, and they have to go official.

I ALSO figured that and was displeased with the government of Alberta. (But when am I not, you know? If I get the fucking 'tell the Feds' ad one more time during a hockey game so help me--)

Jared doesn’t want to do that. Like, for one, Bryce is going to have a speech that’s a billion times more romantic and great even if he doesn’t put any effort into it — and Jared knows he’s going to put effort in it. Jared’s is going to be awful in comparison. Every time Jared tries to talk about his feelings, it ends up terrible and often insulting. Bryce deserves better.

Look at Jared trying to make this sound like he’s refusing for Bryce’s sake. (though he is right, it is typically terrible and insulting.)

“You know, the ‘I take you, blah blah blah,’” Jared says. “She just wanted to know if we wanted to personalise them. You’re supposed to save the long stuff for the reception, you know, not drag the wedding on too long.”

Did Jared trawl wedding sites explicitly for this ammo? Absolutely. He’s even got the links saved in case Bryce asks for sources. Sources say: don’t do anything that takes over a minute, it’s a bad idea, it’ll bore your guests.

Any sources that said otherwise naturally were discarded because they did not suit Jared’s purposes.

Raf seems like the kind of guy who’d like, light candles at dinner for ambiance, and Chaz is totally the kind of guy who’d buy Ashley flowers ‘just because’, all these things Jared is totally deficient at

He’s got it backwards: Chaz is candle guy, Raf is flowers just because guy. (And for her mom! And sister! Grace’s fam love Raf so.)

lean on your teammates for help, right? If you’re weak on the point, don’t go there, let a teammate more capable have that slot. Teamwork 101.

God I love Jared trying to hide his machinations with hockey talk, like that’s going to fool anyone.

“No,” Raf repeats. “You have to do your own wedding stuff.”

“It’s just my vows,” Jared says.

“That’s the most important part,” Raf says, sounding faintly scandalised.

Raf is more than faintly scandalized, honestly.

“You seem like a romantic guy,” Jared says to Chaz after they wrap up for the day.

“Oh fuck no,” Chaz says. “I’ve already heard like three drafts of BJ’s vows, there’s no way I’m listening to yours too.”

Three drafts? In two days? Jared’s fucked.

“I was going to ask you to help me write them?” Jared says.

“That’s so much worse, no way,” Chaz says.

And Chaz is done.

He looks up some sample vows on his phone while he’s making him and Bryce dinner that night, and they leave him red with secondhand embarrassment. He can’t imagine saying anything even close to what they say. There will be no ‘light of my life’ leaving his mouth, true or not.

Look at this dude just slipping in that Bryce is the light of his life. Two people making this relationship mushy, Jared.

Jared was always kind of, well — he was a studious kid. He got good grades. He prepared for classes. So it seems to make sense to make a list as a starting point. Sort of a ‘Pros and Cons of Bryce Justin Marcus, Except Just the Pros Because Our Wedding is a Dumb Time To Mention the Cons, Unless the Cons are Endearing Ones’.

Can you imagine this dude listing Bryce’s cons during his vows to be ‘fair’. Pro: excellent at hockey. Con: needs to work on controlling his temper on the ice. Pro: romantic as fuck. Con: romantic as fuck.

Fuck. He is not good at this. This is not his thing. The list part, sure, but not the conveying emotion part. He has a ton of emotions for Bryce, but like, saying them? Oof.

Big oof. Especially considering Jared’s history when trying to convey said emotions.

He’s definitely crazy in love to be thinking about Bryce at like, forty, having a shitfit because he’s starting to go bald, or grey, when he’s so vain about his — admittedly terrific — hair. Or Bryce at sixty, buying a convertible all over again and thinking he’s so cool, or at ninety, grin as shiny white as ever because his teeth are all fake, and still being like ‘yeah, I want that guy’.

We all know this man is due for another red convertible decades from now, Jared has resigned himself already.

Jared closes the doc — password protected or not, no way he wants Bryce to accidentally stumble onto that ridiculousness — unlocks the door to the spare room — he was maybe a lot paranoid about Bryce not stumbling in on the ridiculousness — and wanders into the living room after hiding his laptop in said spare room.

Jared treating his vows like state secrets while Bryce has already emailed Ashley like five different versions for peer review.

He’s having a lot of feelings lately. It’s very disorienting. Like, he always has feelings, obviously, he’s not a robot, but he’s having so many. Bryce always does this to him, dammit.

Thankfully ‘how dare you make me feel feelings’ did not make it to the final vows.

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

FourRaccoonsInACoat Masterlist

Thanks for stopping by my masterlist, I am thrilled there are people who are interested in my writing! You may be asking, did I really create a logo for a nonexistent book series that only exists in the BG3 universe and features Malta the crime-fighting cat, all for the sake of a gag?

Yes. Yes I did. I will speak no more on the matter.

My fanfiction is centered around Baldur's Gate 3 and explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge. The Durge MC in my works is based on my first BG3 Durge, a female half-drow warlock named Eli. I currently have one ongoing chapter fic, as well as a few one shots that all take place in the same universe.

I write fanfiction for myself as a way to decompress from life and because I enjoy sharing my stories with others. It legitimately makes my day when someone is entertained by my writing, so thank you for every comment, like, message and kudo. Much love and appreciation to you all!

Also, if you're here for BG3 Incorrect Quotes, follow that link for the masterlist.

____________________

AO3 Account - All of my works are crossposted to AO3.

Ongoing Work

Head Full of Ghosts:

Current Rating: M

Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Eli has spent a lot of time combing through her fractured psyche, trying to piece together any semblance of facts about who she was before she awoke on a mind flayer nautiloid. In all that self-reflection, she has concluded there are two things she is very good at. Killing people and drinking.

Neither of which is proving very useful as she tries to navigate interpersonal pitfalls after being appointed leader of a ragtag group of maladjusted misfits who are trying to source a cure for the illithid tadpoles in their heads. As if that isn't problematic enough, she's also having to contend with the growing affections between herself and the group's resident vampire spawn, Astarion.

Between fanatic cultists, goblin raids, murderous urges and cryptic memory loss, Eli figures a relationship is the last thing she ought to get herself wrapped up in. And from what she's seen of Astarion, the cavalier rogue seems to have his own breeds of specters haunting his steps.

Neither one of them has any business mucking about with romance. But, neither one of them is particularly good at staying away from things that entice.

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One Shots

In chronological order:

Fall for Me ---> Faint of Heart ---> Midnight Prayer

Fall for Me

Rating: E NSFW18+

Astarion wakes from a nightmare and goes to Eli, seeking reassurance as he struggles with the denial of his feelings. The last thing he wants to do is give someone else control over him, not after he’s so recently regained a taste of freedom. Over the past 200 years, every relationship Astarion was involved in had been nothing more than a means to an end, with Astarion either playing the role of manipulator or the one being manipulated. Attachments were leverage, giving someone a hook they were able to dig their claws into in order to gain ground. Isolating himself from connecting with others was how he had survived.

This, however…this was different. 

Rating: M

Faint of Heart

Somewhere along the way, more and more truth has begun to slip into the words Astarion has been using to charm Eli into his bed. He's not sure when it started, but sometime between their passionate nights and hard fought days, genuine feelings began to stir.

It all comes to a head after the crew stages a prison break out of Moonrise Towers. Now, during a rare evening of respite, Astarion is determined to make a confession, regardless of his fears over the fallout.

Rating: M

Midnight Prayer

Neither Eli nor Astarion knows what they're doing when it comes to romance. Their combined histories with healthy relationships adds up to an unsurprising total of zero. Astarion once admitted to Eli that he couldn’t remember ever bedding the same person twice. And Eli…well, she can't remember anything, frankly. Her memories of past lovers are nonexistent…at least…

At least until today. Today, when they’d finally met the infamous Enver Gortash.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

'Fit for a King' - WIP - “If you have had me on my back, we can also be on a first name basis” (König POV)

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König is talking to Ridgeback that he doesn’t want fem!sergeant Müller on the next – her first – mission with KorTac, Ridgeback is not having it, so he makes König talk to Müller about it, cue social anxiety meets superiority complex that comes with being this tall and buff, Müller puts him in his place and… what can I say? He’s turned on by that. And it gets them to talk with each other (finally). (2k words)

CW: NSFW, imagining explicit scenes, pervy!König

a/n: I'm still writing scenes whenever I think about them, so there still will be chronological skips and context missing in between, but I'll update the Masterlist in the order that they happen in (also gonna add some general info about the characters to the masterlist soon). This is a scene in his POV as I wanted to give the whole story a dual POV thing in general, I hope you like it! (two chapters are still in the pipeline for today or tomorrow, from Müller's POV again) ((also still working on a way to incorporate the german translations better))

“If you have had me on my back, we can also be on a first name basis”

(NSFW)

“I don’t want her on the mission.”

“She’s going. End of discussion.”

“Fine. But I’ll have to see if she can stand her ground first.”

“Meaning that you’ll actually talk to her?”

Ridgeback can’t see the scowl under my hood.

“Yeah.” What I mean is ‘fuck, no’.

He grins at me.

Ridgeback calls after her in the training room. “Müller, a second of your time?” – “Yes, sir.”, she says stepping away from the weights she was working with. “The Colonel is unsure about your… skills on the battlefield and I was wondering if you could maybe demonstrate something to change his mind.”, he explains. She pulls up her eyebrow and gives me the sideeye. “Didn’t he read my transcript?”, she asks. I don’t say anything, but Ridgeback looks at me, waiting for me to explain myself. I clear my throat. “Uh yeah, I read it, it’s just uh-“ She looks up at me and the words don’t come out my mouth. I feel the heat in my cheeks. “What if like a big guy comes up to you and like… attacks you?” Wow, so eloquent. “You know that I’m a sniper, right? Most of the time I’m not gonna be around any ‘big guys’ except for present company.” God damn it, why did I ever start this topic up? She’s going to make me put my shoe into my mouth or however that saying goes. “Uh yeah, correct, I’m just saying, what IF.” She looks at me like I might be a bit crazy. Maybe I am. She confuses the shit out of me.

Then she shrugs her shoulders. “Okay.” and struts over to the mattresses for combat training and martial arts. I follow her, waiting what she’ll do. “You also read that I’m trained in field combat and Krav Maga?”, she asks again. I totally did not. I laugh it off, not sure if I should take her seriously. She gets in position looking up at me in all her 5’8’’ cuteness. “You ready, big guy?”, she asks me, tauntingly. I cross my arms and shrug. Before I can register her moving, she has gripped me, one hand fisting the fabric of my shirt and the other one latching onto my wrist. Just a moment later I’m in the air.

She flips me. She tosses me over her own back with enough force to move a little Volkswagen. And she actually goddamn flips me. As my body gets slammed into the mattress, my back colliding with the floor, I can feel arousal lick up my spine, making me hard in an instant. “Ah, scheiße1.”, I mutter under my breath. All I want to do is pull her with me – or better even – her trying to hold me down as she gets on top of me. Scenarios flood my brain, smutty and perverted. How she would tie me down, strip me, tease me. Take her seat on my face, make me eat her out. I groan. I would feel her heat on my face, lap at her wetness, take everything she would give me. She would stroke me, edge me with her soft hands and nimble fingers while pressing her pussy into me, maybe she would even try to fit my length into her mouth. She would grind on my lips and tongue, she would let me give her the pleasure she seeks until she comes on my face and I drink up her arousal, her wetness staining my hood.

The imagination alone makes me leak at the tip. Ahja, du kleiner Perversling2. I scold myself in my brain. Has it really been that long since I had a woman? Like, biblically. I guess it has.

She stands over me, setting a foot on my chest, her boot digging into my pecs. “So, can I join you, Colonel?” I’m kind of glad that she didn’t call me by my name just now because I fear that I would have come a bit in my pants. At least a little bit. I raise my hands defensively: “Fine, fine, Müller.” I clear my throat. “You can handle yourself, as you demonstrated just now.” She laughs and the soft and sweet sound taunts me. “I can even handle more than just myself.”, she adds confidently and steps away from me, holding her hand out to help me up.

I resist the urge to pull her down and jump up on my feet again. Now I’m towering over her, a whole foot taller. Oh, to have her run from me as I chase after her, would be so sweet. Hör auf3, the voice in my head fights against the pervy thoughts. Something about her taps into something primal inside me.

Ridgeback’s short clap gets my attention. I almost forgot that he’s still here. “Well, I think this got resolved. See you tomorrow then.” Müller waves goodbye, and I lift my hand too, not able to tear my gaze away from her. She looks back at me and I wish I could’ve just talked normally to her instead of behaving like an ass. I sigh inwardly.

Killing people, turning them to pulp, is easier for me than talking to them. Really talking, not just barking orders. And she makes me feel like for the first time in forever that I wish it was the other way around.

"Would you spot me, Colonel?", she asks me then. I sigh, in- and outwardly this time. "Please, just... call me König.", I tell her. "People who had me on my back already can refer to me on a name basis.", I joke feeling the heat in my cheeks flare up again as I see the confusion on her face. Get a hold of yourself, Mensch4. "Also, I made myself look like a complete ass in front of you, you deserve to let the title slide.", I say further, not stuttering as much as before, and she nods slightly. "So, is that a yes or a no on the spotting, König?", she asks plainly. I swallow down how it makes me feel hearing her say my name in that cute accent of hers and return her nod.

She goes over to the weight rack and starts to fit plates onto a barbell. I help her by lifting the barbell from the ground to give her easier access. She’s satisfied with 50 kilos on each side and then goes to lift it up the squatting rack. Oh, she’s going to do squats. With 120 kilos. I’m so double fucked.

“You ready?” I nod and stand behind her holding out my arms. I’m a head taller than her, so I can look at myself in the mirror in front of us as she is not obstructing my view. My eyes are on her again though. She has wide black training pants on, but her hips don’t leave much to the imagination. Her torso is clad in a compression shirt, with a sports bra underneath. Everything is covered up, tightly packed to not be hindering while working out. Yet in my mind it looks like the sexiest thing anybody could ever wear. And that is before she starts to squat right in front of me. I curse under my breath and push away the pervy thoughts. Just be normal for once. She doesn’t need you lusting over her right now, after you just insulted her like that.

I follow her movements hovering my arms beside her, ready to take off the weight if it’s necessary. But she’s squatting the weight no problem. After a few reps she sets the barbell down on the rack again. “Okay, I think, we can add some more plates.”, she says already hefting another 20 up. “Goddamn, you’re squatting more than half the team here.”, I remark. “Really? I’m a bit rusty to be honest.” Rusty? Heilige Scheiße5. She continues: “I wanted to build up strength again because I’m gonna be more actually in the field, but I don’t wanna squat this kind of weight without somebody to spot me.” I nod behind her and she gets ready for the next set. There she is, squatting my body weight like it’s nothing. It’s so fucking attractive to me, I can’t help it.

“Wouldn’t some of the others help you? Spot you?”, I ask as we set down the weight again. My hands stay on the barbell for a moment longer until she meets my eyes in the mirror. “I mean, I talked to Aksel and Nikto a bit, you know, Scandinavians unite, but eh- I didn’t wanna bother them. I think this is the longest interaction I had with anybody in the base. They’re not really talking.”, she explains with a shrug. I hold back a groan. This might be at least partly my fault because of the way I treated her the first few days. “So, I didn’t really have the guts to ask somebody to help me.” She shrugs again, but I see a hint of sadness and apprehension behind them. “But with what you pulled today, I didn’t have those reservations.” She grins at me a little bit.

“I’m sorry.”, I say then, the words sticking to my tongue, not slipping out my mouth easily. It’s not like I don’t feel sorry, I really do. I’m just not one to apologise easily. “Don’t worry about it.”, she tells me. “You’re not the first superior to doubt my abilities.” I feel a pang in my chest. Yeah, yeah, I can be a bit of an asshole, but it’s just setting in now how the whole situation must make her feel. And I want to take it all back. “Yeah, I… I know how it must look like right now from your point. I’m sorry really. I was an asshole about my doubts and I went about it in the most jerk way.” She turns around, her hands on her waist as she looks up at me like ‘Are we really still talking about this?’. The sass.

“It’s okay, Col- König. I accept your apology.”, she reiterates. She must see the doubt in my eyes because she says, with emphasis: “Really.” – “Okay. Schwamm drüber6.”, I say and extend my hand. She takes it and shakes it. Even through the thin fabric of my gloves I can feel the warmth of her palm and it makes me wish I wasn’t wearing any to feel her skin on mine.

“I’d head to dinner now. You wanna join me?”, she asks. “I get it if you can’t, you know, rank and all.” I scoff. “Nobody is asking for our ranks when we’re knee-deep in mud next week, so forget all about that.” She grins at my answer and jogs to the hallway. I follow her with big strides. “I don’t even know why they made me Colonel.”, I tell her as we walk down to the mess hall. She giggles and the sound makes me feel all floaty. And I kick myself again – in my mind – for not just talking to her. Or maybe just ask her to train with me. Instead of making it seem like I’m out to get her. “Maybe your reputation? And of course, the unique set of skills.”, she suggests. “I have a reputation?”, I’m surprised. “Yeah, kinda.” We enter the mess hall and get in line for a plate of beef stew. “Like what?”, I want to know as I stand just a foot behind her. “I’d rather not say.”, she evades. “Also, I don’t think that that’s who you are.”

“What do you think I am then?”, I ask her as we sit down. Other people are already here and I see a few surprised faces, including Horangi’s. “Really really big.” She laughs and I chuckle with her. “That’s just because you’re so small.”, I counter. “Psh. It’s not about the size.” I can see a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes as she says that. Was that innuendo? “It’s not?”, I tease her. She leans forward and whispers like we’re sharing a secret: “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so cocky about it. Even a mouse can fell a tree, if she only knows how to.” I laugh at her remark. “Touché.” – "Maybe that could be my callsign: Mouse.", she jokes. "I like that.", I say fully grinning behind my mask.

scheiße: shit

ahja, du kleiner Perversling: uh-huh, you little pervert

hör auf: stop it

mensch: literally 'human being', in this context more of an exesperated 'dude!'

heilige scheiße: holy shit

Schwamm drüber: literally 'sponge over it', meaning let's forget about it