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ashasmonsters · 3 years

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The Middle Prince

Male reader x Male Tiefling (Amon)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: Detailed wet dreams, alcohol

Words: 8k

Note: Some MLM goodness for Pride Month! This took me longer than I intended, but only because I wrote it way too long and had to break it up into parts! Expect more in this series.

The dreams started assailing you a little over a month ago. During the first week, you couldn't remember anything. You would awake in your bedchamber covered in sweat and panting as if you had just finished a sparring session. These nights, a name danced on the tip of your tongue, escaping just as you attempted to sound it out and make it real. Confused and alone you would promptly go back to sleep after flipping over your pillow. As time passed, the dreams grew both in intensity and clarity. Though still more mysterious than normal dreams, little details here and there coalesced in your waking memory: a soft touch followed by a rough one, the smell of lavender, your fingernails gliding over shallow ridges, the color of aquamarine gemstones. These dreams visited you every night without fail.

The determinations made by the court oneiromancers were limited in scope. After spending the night in the care of one such dream diviner, they found these dreams to be coming from somewhere else. The dreams were not your own, at least not fully. Beyond this, they had no more revelations. Anything more was conjecture; one stated that if magick was involved, it was either massively strong, thus able to conceal its origin, or so fleeting and ephemeral that even the oneiromancers couldn't trace it.

Your father's concern waxed but mostly waned. Perhaps if you were the eldest crown prince instead of the middle one, the answer would have been willed into existence by his command. He simply asked that the oneiromancers track your condition and report any findings to him, but no more than once each week. Though dismayed that little was being done to solve this mystery, you were used to being far from priority. Even years ago when an attempt on your life left one of your legs still and unresponsive, a leg brace allowing you to stand at public appearances was issued and the problem was declared solved. You vividly remembered the look on the assassin's face when he realized he had accidentally struck third in the line of succession rather than first. His reaction was not dissimilar from your father's when you mentioned your dreams: a mildly amused but primarily disappointed visage. The spot where the dagger had pierced your spine no longer ached but your discontent was as raw and fresh as the day the realization struck.

With the oneiromancers essentially told to only report something unquestionably threatening to your life or the family's honor, you shared very little with them. Several times you had dismissed them with little more than a hand wave. None of them ever protested. To their knowledge, no new developments within these dreams came to light. It was just another little curiosity that came with the court.

To their knowledge, anyway. In truth, there had been a quite substantial development that you withheld from them.

The night air was cool and crisp. From your bedchamber's veranda, you let the gentle sound of the garden's fountains below soothe your nerves. This had become your regular nighttime ritual; your last chance to feel relaxed and cool before waking up overheated and frantic. You enjoyed the last of it before sliding under the sheets and waiting for the dream to visit you.

This was the clearest dream to date. The scattered sensations and feelings from prior episodes came into focus: the touches came from smooth, tender hands, the smell of lavender from purple cups of herbal tea. Your fingers played over short, filed horns. That bold aquamarine color like a burning emerald belonged to a pair of eyes, their pupils narrow and catlike. The overall plot of the dream remained unknown to you. What came next, however, was new. Very new.

A pair of hands caressed your body as whatever clothing you had dissolved into the air. Your mind reeled from the realization of what was happening, yet you were relaxed all the same. Though surprised, you didn't wish for it to stop. Even as the tender hands had you at their mercy, one playfully pinching a nipple as the other reached lower in between your legs, you welcomed their touch without knowing why. You just did. It felt right. The hand between your legs started confidently stroking your shaft; making you moan. Their touch was expertly coordinated as if they knew everything about you. Not long after, the building pressure within you was too much to bear, then...

"AMON!" You cried out, the name that had eluded you all those nights finally woven from syllables into a complete utterance. You were no longer dreaming, your own hands reflexively covering your mouth in a futile attempt to take back the exclamation. In the dead of night like this, you most certainly alerted someone.

"My Prince, are you alright?" Your chief courtier, Petra, had burst through your bedchamber door. Guards with polearms at the ready had her back.

"I'm alright," you caught your breath, "it's the dream again. No cause for alarm." As usual, you bore a sheen of sweat and your heart was thundering in your ears.

"You've never called out like that before," Petra noted, not yet dropping her guard.

"I called out?" You lied, wincing as you felt something viscid and slimy on your groin under your dressing gown. Deep embarrassment came to the forefront of your mind, your face helpless to hide it. "Bring me my washbasin, please," you quickly uttered.

"At once, my Prince." Petra left the room as the guards resumed their posts. You peeled back your dressing gown to inspect the damage by moonlight. It was worse than you thought. Undoubtedly this gown would have to be thrown out. You groaned, disappointed in your own body for betraying you like this.

"Your washbasin, Prince." Petra returned and you hurriedly covered yourself up again. The moonlight was too dim, or perhaps she pretended not to see, but she was soon at your bedside without pause, brandishing a sponge and towel.

"I can do this myself," you said, taking the implements from her. She looked at you with intent to interrogate.

"Prince, if there have been changes with your dreams, you must inform the oneiromancers."

"No need," you said, eager to fully clean yourself. "You are dismissed, Petra."

Petra held her tongue. Her eyes told you she only did so because she was eager to return to bed. When she departed your bedchamber and closed the door, you finally discarded the soiled gown and did your best to cleanse yourself of your nocturnal emission. You donned a new gown and welcomed an ordinary slumber.

When morning came, so did Petra and a bevy of assistant courtiers. From the accoutrements they wielded you identified them as the "fashion corps," your nickname for the hairdressers, wardrobers, clothiers, and makeup artists whose arrival portended a formal event you were required to attend. As the squad of aesthetes communicated amongst each other, Petra drew you a bath. While the tub filled, she came to your side and took your shoulder on hers to help you hobble into the bathing chamber.

"What's the occasion, Petra?" You unfolded a privacy screen, dividing your bathing chamber in half. As you stripped and entered the balmy water, you heard Petra pull up a chair on the other side of the screen.

"The biannual alliance gala, Prince."

"The alliance gala?" You asked. Your appearance had not been required at one for quite some time. "Why me?"

"Your father has requested that the entire court attend. From what I've heard, there is quite the number of fiefdoms and baronies joining the kingdom at this one."

"Grand." You sighed and resigned yourself into the water until it met your chin. You imagined the great hall of the palace, teeming with strangers from far-off lands all speaking in such meaningless platitudes that they needed alcohol in hand to tolerate it.

"If it makes you feel any better, Prince, most of the night depends on your elder brother and your father. You have the freedom to do whatever you like once your father's opening speech is concluded," Petra said with a mild tone.

It didn't make you feel better. Your father built a kingdom that, apparently, smaller domains were scrambling to join. Your elder brother was the crown prince with hordes of suitors seeking his heart. Even your elder sister, with no direct claim to the crown, was quite sought after. Then there was you, with permission to get as drunk as you like at the gala. You seriously considered exercising that privilege.

Your ruminations were interrupted by the clatter of hammered metal and leather straps from beyond the screen.

"I've got your brace ready, Prince. Let me know when you're dry," Petra said. You reluctantly finished scrubbing and soaping yourself before heaving your body onto the lip of the bath and toweling off. Sat there, damp with dripping hair and a towel round your waist, you permitted Petra to attach the brace to you. She respectfully averted her eyes as she affixed the contraption to your immobilized leg. With it attached, you traded comfort for the ability to limp and stand unassisted.

Next came the gauntlet of clothing, hair styling, and makeup that the fashion corps employed. Even for today, which was merely a rehearsal for the true event tomorrow, they gave no mercy. They encircled you and passed you around as they worked like a knight being suited by his squires. The process was grueling. Your hair was tugged and the breeches squeezed your brace into your leg. With the freedom to choose your own clothes removed from you, there was no choice but to deal with the feeling of metal biting at your skin.

Bound in the tight, ceremonial clothing, Petra took your arm for the long walk to the great hall. It was full of palace staff and buzzing like a beehive. The ceiling, high as a cathedral's, let in beams of sunlight through its many massive windows. Tables were being arranged with the intent to give each attending guest a view of the stage: the stage where your father and elder brother would be giving their opening speeches tomorrow. The two of them were behind a podium, your brother reading a piece of parchment over your father's shoulder. Behind them towards the back of the stage was a row of ornate seats; not quite thrones but just as uncomfortable. Your elder sister met your gaze as she sat on one. She beckoned you over.

"That will be your seat for the rehearsal, Prince," Petra said.

"Rehearsal for sitting?" You quipped, walking towards your seat anyway. Resistance was futile no matter how silly this all was.

"I'll undo your hair and get you into more comfortable clothes as soon as I can, Prince," Petra said apologetically. "Bear with it. I must attend to the other staff now."

With that, Petra disappeared into the crowd of scrambling staff arranging the great hall into order. You limped to your seat, your brace clicking all the while.

"You look excellent, little brother," your sister said. She was attempting to alleviate your sour mood, but she still hadn't figured out how. Neither had you.

"I look like an idiot. And my leg is killing me," you snapped.

Your sister merely sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her hair, in a high bun, bumped the bejeweled headrest and made her curse.

"You used to love these events when you were smaller. You had perfected waving to the crowd before you learned to talk," she said.

"That was a long time ago. Things were different; I was naive, none of us had official duties, the assassination attempt hadn't happened, I wasn't bedeviled by these dreams... mother was alive." You cast your gaze downward, examining your buckled leather shoes. You heard her sigh.

"Not all change has to be bad. And to be fair, you still don't have any official duties to worry about." She placed a hand on your shoulder.

"That's a polite way of saying I'm useless." You looked up at your father and elder brother. They were discussing something about their speeches, annotating and marking the parchment before them. A small audience of pages stood in front of the stage, listening to them run through portions of their speeches. They hadn't yet paid you any heed.

"It's a blunt way of saying you're free," your sister said firmly. "Every week I'm fielding suitors from all over the world, and not one of them has proven to be anything but repulsive. I'm terrified that one day strategy and diplomacy will land me with someone like them."

Your eyes widened at her open disdain for the matters of the court.

"I'm sorry," you said, reconstructing your vision of who your sister truly was. "I had no idea you felt that way... I thought—"

"You thought I was traipsing about with handsome men from far-off lands every day?" She smirked.

"...yes." You blushed.

"Hah! I wish!" Your sister flinched at her own exclamation, then relaxed when she realized the monarch and the crown prince hadn't noticed. "But you don't have to wish for that. You're free to traipse with whomever you please."

You blushed harder. Turning away from your sister, you saw your brother and father finishing up their speech revisions. On cue, Petra emerged from the throng of staff to conclude this "rehearsal."

"Looks like Petra's coming to get you," your sister noted. "I know you'll be free to retire to your bedchambers as soon as the speeches are over, but I want you to try and enjoy yourself tomorrow night. It's what I would do if I could." She gave you one final smile before getting up from her seat.

"I will," you said, finally cracking a tiny smile in return. Petra had your arm soon after.

"Your presence is no longer required, Prince." Petra helped you up. "Shall I take you back to your chambers?"

"Yes, please," you said, giving your sister a thankful glance. She returned a similar expression as Petra whisked you away.

When you had finally returned to your chambers and changed into less constrictive clothing, you asked Petra to stay awhile to converse. Your sister's advice had forced you to re-evaluate your approach to the gala. Your priorities had shifted just as much as your notions of her personality had.

"You mentioned there were many newcomers to the kingdom? Quite a few tables were being set up in the great hall," you quizzed Petra.

"Yes, from what I've gathered, it's expected to be the largest event we've hosted all year. We're expecting guests from as far as Ankara and Nubia," she answered matter-of-factly. Perhaps she was a little proud, too.

"Are there any specific guests I should know about?" You asked with the grace of a war elephant. Courtship had crossed your mind for the first time mere minutes ago. "Anyone of high repute?"

Petra picked up on your clumsy intent immediately. She knew you too well.

"Prince, it would be quicker to list the attendees not worth approaching than those with stellar accolades. If it were me..." she drew in air through her teeth as if expecting to be reprimanded, "I would consider tomorrow's gala an excellent time to court someone."

"I'll try to take that advice to heart, Petra," you said.

"I'm pleased, Prince. Your matters are your own, but if I may speak unequivocally..."

"Speak your mind." You gave her permission. She hesitated, then sighed.

"You strike me as lonely, Prince. Ever since the Queen passed, your social life has suffered." Petra paused again, considering her words carefully. "You deserve love of that measure once more, whether from a partner or a good friend."

"Thank you," you sighed as if she had given you permission to use your heart. "I appreciate the advice, Petra."

"Of course, Prince." She glanced out the window towards the setting sun. "I recommend you retire early tonight to be invigorated tomorrow, lest the dreams strike again."

You nodded.

"They will." You avoided her eyes as you remembered what happened last time. "Have a washbasin ready. For the, erm, sweat."

"Of course, Prince," Petra said, her face remaining unmoved. You didn't bother trying to discern whether she was oblivious to last night's gown-soiling or if she merely extended you the courtesy of pretending. "I'll leave you be. Get some rest."

You watched her exit your chambers without another word, finally exhaling the breath you held. The idea of having to clean yourself up again was hardly appealing. Standing on the veranda and enjoying the cool night air was only prolonging the inevitable.

The aforementioned inevitable reared its troublesome head as soon as you surrendered to sleep. Your consciousness materialized somewhere, a location unidentifiable but still more detailed than you had ever encountered before. You glimpsed kaleidoscopic carpets, hammered brass, and vines growing freely about the place.

"Welcome back." A man's voice like sweet honey floated through the warm air.

"I missed you." The words left your mouth without you knowing them. You were merely an observer to your own actions. "Amon."

"My sweet prince." Lips on your knuckles. The smell of lavender tea. "Tea?"

"No thanks. We must keep this quick," you uttered again, breathless and surrendering to a desire that was both yours and unknown to you.

"Tut, tut. What's gotten into you, my prince? I've never seen you so impatient," the voice teased. Your head spun.

"I need my energy," you gasped, something warm and wet lapping at your member. "For tomorrow." The ministrations paused.

"Of course. Tomorrow will be very special indeed." The tongue on your shaft resumed, making you squirm. You reached out into the nothingness, your fingers grasping at frayed carpet tassels. Your other hand reached in between your legs and found a head of hair. You grasped a smooth horn that curved neatly behind an ear. It bobbed up and down at a tantalizing pace.

"Amon, I... I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" Another pause in the pleasure. You caught your breath. Those eyes again, burning into yours with the hue of warm ocean waters. "Say no to me, my prince. I implore you to try."

Caught in the stare you were helpless. You quivered with need, your manhood twitching and drooling. Only a high whine left your lips.

"Thought so."

You shot up in bed, crying out and spasming. Once more you had spilled yourself into your gown, your entire body slick with sweat. As a small victory, your cries remained nondescript rather than referential to this "Amon." In the dream, you had felt a sweet warmth in your breast each time you spoke to him and even warmer when he responded. In your waking memory, this name was empty. There was no connection and no feeling of belonging. If you hadn't heard your own voice leave your mouth in the dream, you would have had no way of knowing those experiences were your own. Your dreaming memory and conscious recollection were severed, at odds with one another. What did he mean when he said tomorrow would be special? Did he know about the gala? You didn't know how much you knew.

"The washbasin, Prince," Petra uttered as she carried it into your chambers. She stowed it at your bedside. "Shall I leave you like before?"

"Yes, please... but would it trouble you to return afterward?"

"Not at all, Prince. I'll return at your word." She slipped out of the room. You took the opportunity to cleanse yourself of the evidence before permitting Petra to return.

“Petra, would it be possible to acquire a guest list for the gala?” You asked.

“Possible, yes. However, it will be quite long without any qualifiers. As I mentioned previously, this is one of the largest events of the year.”

You considered simply asking her if the name Amon was among the attendees, but Petra would likely alert the oneiromancers and in turn, your father. You doubted anything would happen at all if she did, but this was a matter you wanted to confront on your own. Like all other decisions made for you at your father’s behest, your own interests would unquestionably be cast aside if he decided to involve himself.

“I’d like to know the first names of all the male guests scheduled to attend,” you said. Petra raised an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t narrow it down much, Prince,” Petra answered. The sweet, honeyed voice from your dream remained in your mind. It was the voice of a young man, one likely of your age.

“Only the male guests around my age, then,” you specified. Petra raised her other eyebrow, making her expression one of surprise rather than skepticism.

“Ah. That kind of list. I see...” Your cheeks burned; though you didn’t know where this inquiry would take you, you also felt the conclusion Petra came to was not wholly inaccurate. “Shall I make, erm, other arrangements as well?”

“Arrangements?” you asked. It was Petra’s turn to blush.

“The standard things... extra pillows, oils, skins—”

“Yes, of course, Petra,” you cut her off, not wishing for her to extend the list of amenities any further. Searching for a suitor was a favorable charade. If nothing else, if this search for the mysterious Amon proved fruitless, then you would at least have the means, motive, and opportunity to bed somebody... if you had the audacity. The look on Petra's face said she didn't think so.

"I’ll have the list and the... goods brought in before sun-up,” Petra said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, Petra, that will suffice.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Morning arrived and so did Petra's promises; the chief courtier herself was nowhere to be found, but a neatly transcribed list of names and a box tied with a bow sat atop a chaise lounge when you awoke. You already knew what waited inside the box, so you went for the list. Though only containing the names of guests that fit your qualifiers, the parchment was both long and double-sided. Your eyes began to tire just as they fell across what you were looking for:

Amon II - Eparch of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia

You were puzzled. Makuria and Elodia were names you hadn't heard since you were tutored. Even your father's kingdom with its diplomats venturing far and wide rarely mentioned them. You only knew they were small kingdoms far away from this one. There was not one but two oceans between here and there, they spoke a language no tutor in the palace taught, and both titles of "Nobatian" and "Eparch" were unknown to you.

Then the fashion corps arrived. You dropped the parchment and pondered the new information as they manhandled you into the appearance they had crafted for you yesterday. Perhaps due to more practiced hands or being lost in your thoughts, the process seemed to go much faster than previously. You almost didn't believe it when they told you they were finished, but the shifted sun and your appearance in the mirror confirmed that the gala would soon begin. Your hair was fashioned into an unnatural shape, your face was dusted with powder, and your clothes were so form-fitting that you appeared sewn into them. The bulge of the leg brace through your breeches peeked out at the ankle; the leggings were so tight that your overcoat preserved more of your modesty than they did.

With Petra absent and likely scrambling to put last-minute touches on the gala, you walked to the great hall with the assistance of the fashion corps, who likewise made hasty repairs to your appearance as your gait jostled things out of place. When you arrived, the great hall was even busier than at the rehearsal. It seemed there was a member of palace staff for each seat at every table, all of them fastidiously arranging cutlery, plates, decorative vases, placemats, and myriad other things you didn't know the names for.

“Little brother!” You turned your head and spotted your elder sister within a parade of her own fashion corps regiment. She waved at you from one of the great hall’s entrances.

“Sister,” you responded with a nod, your own cavalcade parting to allow her approach.

“Have you given tonight any consideration?” She asked.

“Yes, actually...”

“You’re not going to retreat to your chambers?”

“...not immediately,” you said, noncommittal.

“I’m glad.” She smiled gently. “I’ll likely be busy most of the night, though if you’d like me to send anyone your way, let me know. Who’s on your list?”

“My list?” you sputtered. “Petra told you?”

“Petra? Goodness, no,” she chuckled. “I just figured you’d have one. It’s standard practice for these sorts of things; I’ve a list as well. So... who’s on yours?”

You lowered your head and examined your shoes.

“Well... it’s quite long.”

“How scandalous!” she gasped exaggeratedly.

“I’m just casting a wide net is all! I don’t intend to bed every single male my age!” Your cheeks burned again. You considered dropping the charade if it meant this level of humiliation.

“I expected my mild little brother to have a rebellious phase eventually, but this...” she said, ignoring your cries.

"Sister, please," you pleaded. The tone of your voice convinced her to return to normal. She extended a hand to ruffle your hair but stopped herself when your fashion corps hairstylist glared at her.

"Apologies, little brother. I had to jest a little," she smiled at you, this time without intent to tease. "They're going to start letting in the guests soon. We should take our seats."

You nodded and followed her to the stage. The fashion corps fell away from you and went to help elsewhere. You sat in your uncomfortable pseudo-throne and waited, eventually joined by your other siblings save for your eldest brother. They greeted you as they took position at your side, but there was very little to talk about. This was the first time you had seen them in a while.

Then came the guests: the table-setters had cleared out some minutes before the floodgates burst and more staff escorted groups of people to their tables. The cathedral-like great hall was full in mere moments. Sorted by table, there was a sea of people in colorful finery all conversing amongst themselves and giving you and your siblings the occasional glance. You tried to pick out Amon from the crowd but quickly realized half-remembered fragments from your dreams wouldn't be enough to pick him from a sea of hundreds. Even finding his name on the list took a considerable amount of time.

Then the hall fell silent, or something close to it. A lively conversation between hundreds of people dropped to hushed whispers. Your father and brother had entered the hall and begun their walk to the podium, silencing the crowd with nothing but their appearance. When your father reached the podium, he extended both arms palms up and the previously subdued crowd erupted into cheers. If not for the applause, he would have heard you groan. Your sister said nothing, only giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

When the speeches started you practically willed your ears shut. Perhaps you would have built a tolerance to them if you had appeared at more of these events, but you couldn't bear to listen to your father and elder brother boast of their achievements to a sea of complacent, nodding heads. It was like a reminder that within the kingdom your father built, you served your purpose by distracting that assassin some years ago and now outlived your usefulness. At this gala, you were decoration only a few ranks higher than a potted plant.

You thanked any and all higher powers when the speeches were over. Father and his crown prince had left the stage to begin their targeted commingling with VIPs, prompting you and your siblings to stand from your seats. They all dispersed before you could look to them to follow their lead. When you stumbled off the stage and distanced yourself from it by leaning against the wall as you walked, hardly any attention came your way. Thankfully, the attention you did receive was from Petra.

"Prince, are you alright? You look troubled," she said, sidling up to you.

"What do I do, Petra?" you asked, intimidated by the sheer size of the room and the attendees within it. Each table was like its own little kingdom with strangers you didn't know and faux-pas to stumble over.

"See how each table has an empty chair or two?" She pointed to the tables nearest you, one full of scaly Sāmm-abraṣ emissaries and another with human diplomats bearing the flag of Bavaria. You nodded. "All the guests are expected to stay seated while dinner is served. They won't get up to dance and drink until the meal is concluded. Right now, only people from the host kingdom— like you, me, your siblings, and other members of the court— will be walking around."

"So I just sit at whichever table and introduce myself?"

"If you even need to. The fact you're walking will show them you're hosting. They'll pay you proper respect without you saying anything at all."

"Hm," you mused. That sounded like a lot of work, especially since you weren't aiming to meander. Finding Amon would be immeasurably more difficult once the crowd was disorganized and inebriated, though, so now was your best chance.

"I've a copy of your list, Prince. Shall I help you navigate it?" Petra asked, holding up parchment.

"Yes, let's," you said. The lengthy document threatened to touch the floor. "Let's begin alphabetically."

"Alphabetically, Prince?"

"By first name."

"Of course, Prince. That means we should visit Aariyeh, Sardar of Anatolia, followed by Abdul II, Knez of Smederevo—"

"Any Eparchs on that list?" You winced at your own forwardness. The charade was wearing dangerously thin.

"...Eparchs?"

"I'm in an Eparch mood at the moment," you explained weakly. Petra looked at you as if checking for signs of illness.

"I see. There's one: Amon II of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia."

"He sounds splendid. Take me to him."

Petra, either from exasperation, deference, or both, folded up the list and took your arm without another word. She led you through the clusters of gala attendees. You could feel every one of their eyes watching you as you caught their attention. Just as the scrutiny was starting to become too much, your eyes found a target of their own. A warm shiver ran through your spine, a sensation the French would call déjà rêvé: a dream made real.

His verdigris eyes locked onto yours. They peered at you from behind short, white curls of shiny hair. His skin reminded you of the bluebells in the gardens, and his pert, curled horns were a shade darker. He flashed something between a grin and a smirk at you, revealing pearlescent teeth with canines that could be mistaken for fangs.

Amon was breathtaking and he knew it.

If your arm wasn't in Petra's grasp already, you never would have made it to the chair. She struggled a bit as she plopped you into it, your leg brace protesting with clicks and creaks. The other tieflings at the table, all varying shades of azure, stopped what they were doing to acknowledge your arrival. You gave them a weak nod while you regained your composure.

"Greetings, delegation from Lower Makuria and Elodia. I'd like to introduce you to our Middle Prince," Petra said from over your shoulder, upon which she planted a firm hand. She squeezed hard.

"I'm pleased to meet you all," you managed to get out. Your audience of tieflings nodded and muttered.

"As am I, Middle Prince." Amon set his cutlery down and rested his chin on interlaced fingers. His voice was high and carried a boyish, scheming air; you envisioned him stealing lumps of sugar from a pantry. "I didn't think my kingdom warranted such a visit. What brings you to my little exclave of Nobatia?"

"A whim."

"How quaint," he said, still smirking. His gaze shifted as he eyed his all-tiefling entourage. The intent was to communicate something, though you didn't know what.

"I am the middle prince, after all. I've few obligations. None, actually," you said.

"Hm," Amon said, looking decidedly amused. "We may have more in common than we thought." His retinue nodded along with his observation.

"Surely you are a busy man? You are Eparch of not one, but two territories."

"Do you know what the title 'Eparch' entails, Middle Prince?" Amon said, more as a targeted quip than an actual question.

"I... am not familiar, I admit," you ceded.

"An Eparch is a figurehead. Makuria and Alodia have long been ruled by invaders and rebels, respectively. I'm kept in a symbolic position to preserve what's left of Nobatian culture," Amon sighed. "In fact, I was sent here in place of the true rulers since they thought it so unlikely that you would have anything important to say to us. Anything other than absorbing us into your hegemony, of course."

You averted your gaze. He clearly was not happy with his status, and while his discontent wasn't targeted at you, it hovered about him like a cloud. He picked at the remainder of his meal while the cloud dissipated and you plucked a topic from the clearing air.

"How was your journey here? You've come a long way," you said.

"It was pleasant enough. Your trains and... horseless carriages are quite impressive," Amon said, pausing. "What's your name for them again?"

"Automobiles," you answered.

"Yes, automobiles." He rolled the word in his mouth as if tasting wine. "Though you have such a fine river and only use it for cargo. A felucca would have made my journey quite enjoyable."

"A felucca?"

"Ah, it's my turn to inform you." Amon smiled. "A felucca is a sailboat we use on the Nile. It's built for comfort, with carpets instead of hardwood decks. Some even come with a kitchen, and it's unheard of to sail without finishing a pot of tea."

"It sounds lovely," you said. "Lavender tea, I hope."

Amon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, my favorite," he looked amused. "How did you know?"

"A whim," you answered. "The same one that brought me over to your table."

"I see." His eyes locked with yours for a lengthy pause. His retinue shifted in their seats at the uncomfortable silence. He was thinking hard about something, but the subject of his thoughts remained unknown to you. If he truly shared the dreams with you, surely you must have gotten the point across by now?

"It was lovely chatting with you, Middle Prince." He broke the silence and straightened his posture. "But I would hate to keep you when you have other guests to see."

"I really don't—"

"Nonsense, my prince," he interrupted, "go on and mingle. Perhaps, if we're lucky, our paths will cross when the festivities begin in earnest."

You couldn't believe your eyes. Did he wink at you?

"Of course..." you said, slowly realizing he was scheming. "Enjoy the gala." He locked eyes with you again.

"Oh, we will."

You had resumed hovering with Petra on the edges of the great hall. More staff had filed in to take away dirty dishes and the remains of the guests' meals. The dance floor had been opened, the musicians were in position, and staff bearing silver trays readied drinks for the merry and hors d'oeuvres for the peckish.

"How was your visit with the Eparch?" Petra asked.

"Enlightening," you answered cryptically. The need for secrecy hadn't passed, but now you were unsure of what charade to uphold. You only knew Amon was in on it as well.

"I trust that means it went well?"

"Yes, I think so." You scanned the crowd of attendees, which had now gotten up from their seats and begun to mix and intermingle. Amon disappeared like an ace into a shuffled deck. Petra flashed you an impatient expression.

"Prince, do you want me to help you get with him or not?" She said with folded arms.

"Petra!" You gasped. "You're rather forward."

"It's quite literally my job to make sure you end up with him if you wish it, Prince," she assumed a stern tone as if you refused your vegetables. "Give me a yes or no."

You stewed under her gaze. It seemed the pressure and time-sensitive nature of the gala had started to affect her as well, though for different reasons to you.

"Yes." You muttered. She didn't ask for confirmation, instead slipping away into the crowd with nothing more than a nod. Was this part of the charade, still? You had no idea what Amon even wanted, or frankly, what you wanted from tonight.

The musicians started and the small groups that had formed on the edge of the dance floor produced couplets of dancers. They were eager to begin the waltz, a somewhat contentious dance that had only recently come into popularity. You hadn't been practiced in it, instead learning of court dances like the cotillion. As you watched it take place, the dancers seemed awfully close. They were practically pressed against one another!

While you tried to discern the intricacies of this new style of dance before you, that familiar azure face peeked at you from the crowd. Amon smiled and raised his drink in your direction. It was a small gesture but you were helpless to do anything other than join him. Before you knew it, you were at his side in the sea of people and some sort of libation had been thrust into your hand.

"You know, I'm starting to grow partial to this stuff," Amon said, sipping on a duplicate of the drink you held.

"I was under the impression your faith disallowed the consumption of alcohol," you said, watching him finish the glass.

"An easy mistake to make." He handed off the glass to a roving staff member. "Modern Makurians and Alodians don't drink. Nobatians like me do. It's one of the holdovers of my dead culture."

You looked at the glass in hand; it was a clear, cold drink with a slice of lime. As you expected, the taste was bitter and unwelcoming.

"You like gin?" You asked, one taste enough to identify it.

"As I said, it's starting to grow on me," Amon chuckled. "It's not good enough to stop me from missing home, but it'll get me through the night."

"Speaking of home..." you started, looking around. You were unable to spot any other blue-skinned tieflings in the crowd. "where has your retinue gone?"

"I told them to enjoy themselves. As my courtiers, that means they're likely hovering by the exit, waiting to escort me out of here when I leave."

"They seem like a serious bunch."

"They're overprotective," Amon hissed. "As I said, my culture is long dead. They see it as dying. They think they can save it by putting me in a glass case for future generations to study."

"You've given up on Nobatia?"

"Pah! Of course I have!" He deftly procured another drink from a passing waiter. "Nothing will bring the old country back. Nobatia is a minuscule region; I can say with certainty I'm the youngest one left. When I'm old and infirm, Makuria and Alodia will reject the idea of a royal family entirely and I'll finally be allowed to be forgotten."

"That's quite a bleak outlook, Eparch," you gently chided. "Perhaps in war, things would be on a fixed course, but matters of diplomacy are more malleable."

"Perhaps," Amon said, sipping his gin. "But that's enough about me. I'd like to know more about you."

His eyes looked into yours as if he would magick the information he wanted straight out of you. No incantations were uttered, though, and you took a pragmatic sip of gin to fill the pause.

"What would you like to know?" You said.

"I'd like to know about this 'whimsy' you have," Amon probed. "To be frank, my prince, I expected to be out the door by now. Instead, I'm here, conversing with you. It doesn't make sense."

You finished your gin. This was as good a time as any to explain yourself.

"What do you know of oneiromancy?" The question left your lips and slapped Amon across the face. He chuckled.

"The school of magick so vague and unmeasurable it's not even officially recognized?"

"It seems you know the same as most," you said. "Oneiromancy is real. At least, real enough to give me the same dream night after night."

"I see..." Amon was mulling something over.

"In each one of these dreams, though my waking memory is hazy, I remember one thing they all had in common." You took a deep breath. "You."

"We should discuss this in private," Amon interjected, gently brushing your hand against his. You had been so caught up with telling Amon that you forgot you were in the middle of a crowded gala. Concern crept into the corners of his face. "Do you have a place we can go?"

You nodded and grasped his hand in earnest. The spot you took him to was one of the many balconies that overlooked the palace gardens. The sun had set fully at this point, and waltz music lazily floated out of the great hall. A few revelers who had over-indulged caught the fresh air in the hedges below. You and Amon rested on the cool marble balustrade, momentarily admiring the mingling of crickets, music, distant conversation, and the night air.

"I've been having the dreams as well. All of them involving you in some... capacity. I wasn't sure it was you at first. The dreams were so vague..." Amon kept his gaze fixed on the gardens below.

"Were the dreams... um, did you wake up... well..." you stammered. He looked at you knowingly.

"Yes, a few times," Amon answered. He didn't seem nearly as embarrassed as you. "You suspect oneiromancy is at play?"

"The court oneiromancers determined the dreams are being intentionally created. They're not a coincidence."

"Court oneiromancers?" Amon nearly spat out his drink. "My, you do have everything in this kingdom."

"Yes, we have court oneiromancers, but your surprise is beside the point." You had finally found the mysterious Amon, and you didn't want to waste any time on tangents. "Surely you're just as curious as I? Do you know anything about these dreams?" Amon drained the remainder of his gin in response.

"When I was a child..." He paused and shook his head. "When I was a child, my mother told me folk tales. The standard stuff: damsels in distress, slaying horrific beasts, that sort of thing. But she also told me tales of lovers who met in dreams. She said that was how she and father met."

"Something tells me you don't believe in that."

"When I grew too old for fairy tales, I saw it as her way of helping me keep hope that the one would be out there. With Nobatia falling and no suitors left..." he trailed off, setting his empty glass on the balustrade.

"So what if she's right?"

"That's a rather large 'if,' my prince. She was the only one that believed in that stuff... Aside from an uncle who would tell more dreamers-to-lovers tales, but only after drinking too much boukha, and always with a sarcastic tongue. They're just that: tales."

You felt Amon's cloud of discontent precipitate once more. His words were scathing, but not towards you; they spoke to a painful past and familiarity with disappointment. He saw something hopeful, happy, and promising, then cast it down in order to never feel the pain of losing it. You rarely had such clear insights about people, but with Amon it was different. It was as if you had known him for a long time and learned the language spoken by his brow, posture, and eyes. You knew what you had to do.

"Amon," you sighed, placing a hand on his, "even fairy tales originate from some truth, even if only a little. Don't be afraid to entertain the notion that your mother might be right."

You tried to look him in the eyes, but he cast his gaze down to the gardens below. His quick tongue failed him and silence ensued. His hand had reluctantly surrendered itself to your grasp, resting warm and limp.

"Look at me," You commanded with a firmer tone than expected. Reluctantly, he swiveled towards you and his aquamarine eyes found their way to yours. "Think about what you truly want. Don't be afraid to take it."

He swallowed. After a pause of a few heartbeats, his free hand grasped the back of your head, entwined his fingers in your hair, and pressed your lips to his. Your hand that held his grasped even tighter. The two of you were entwined in your own scandalous waltz. You could feel his hunger just as clearly as you felt his discontent when he parted your lips with his tongue. You reciprocated, catching fleeting impressions of his sharp teeth. He tasted like gin and figs. Short, passionate gasps and moans escaped the two of you and joined the chorus of crickets. You pulled away only to catch your breath.

"Amon," you gasped, his name sweet on your tongue. He looked at you with a bewildered expression and flushed navy cheeks. Neither of you could believe what just happened, yet surprise gave way to familiarity. Kissing Amon made your heart race but your shoulders relax. Being breathless and panting in his embrace was as recognizable to you as Petra's morning wake-up calls, or the smell of the gardens, or the feeling of your bedchamber floor on your bare feet. Déjà rêvé.

"I..." Amon sighed, "I shouldn't. I've had too much gin. I've been foolish." He released you from his arms and took several steps backward. Your jaw hung agape as he jogged inside and disappeared from view. Too shocked to try to catch him, you remained outside and alone on the balcony with only the sound of crickets and distant strings to keep you company. Just as silently and perceptively as a cat, Petra crept from the doorway a short while later.

"I saw Amon run away and came to check on you." She looked at your expression and reciprocated with a downtrodden look of her own. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Probably not." You sighed and buried your face in your elbows until all you could see was the balustrade. You sensed Petra take a few steps towards you.

"What happened?" She asked delicately.

"We kissed, passionately. Then he said he was foolish and ran away," you mumbled into your self-embracing arms. Petra rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Some people just can't handle the fast pace and the pressure at galas like this. I'm sure it wasn't personal."

"I know..." you sighed. To Petra, your attempts at flirting simply failed to land. She didn't see the dreams. She didn't see the look in his eyes. She didn't hear the fear of hope in his voice. There were not enough hours in the night to explain to her the true extent of your sorrows.

"There's always tomorrow, Prince."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tonight is only for the Gala," Petra explained, her tender tone turning slightly optimistic, "anyone attending will be staying at least until tomorrow night for the treaty signing."

"So Amon is still here, then?" you asked, finally pulling your forehead from its resting place on your folded arms.

"He was likely running to the guest wing of the palace, where all the other dignitaries will be. If you truly wish to meet with him again, breakfast tomorrow morning would be an excellent opportunity."

You considered things for a moment. If Amon were to stay one more night, then that was one more dream to share. Tonight, you and Amon would spring awake in bed at the same time after another shared dream, but he would be only a few corridors away.

"Petra, get me an oneiromancer." You commanded.

"An oneiromancer? At this time of night? They're probably attending the gala with the rest of the court."

"Petra, this is important," you said. "I haven't exactly been forthcoming about everything in these recent days, and I'm sorry for that... but I need an oneiromancer before I sleep tonight. If you can do this for me, I promise to explain everything soon."

Petra looked at you silently, deciding whether or not to press you for details now rather than later contingent on your promise. She chose the former, nodding and silently fast-walking inside.

Alone once more on the balcony, you leaned on the balustrade and studied the stars. The moon's halo of illuminated night sky was the same color as Amon's lips. With any luck, you'd be seeing them again soon in tonight's dream.

#exophilia #monster x reader #monster x human #romance #male reader #tiefling #male tiefling x male reader #monster love #mlm #monster romance #monster fic #mlm romance

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sharkboygirlish · 3 years

Text

Messy.

ONE-SHOT

Word count: 2793

Disclaimer: One piece and all it’s characters belong to Eiichiro Oda, I just like to write about them.

Warning: None

Rating: T (i guess?? there’s cursing)

Author’s Note: Whale, this is the first fanfic I’ve posted on the interwebs since high school so please keep that in mind, lol. I do plan to finish it sooner than later so check back in a few days if you want to read the rest, sorry I don’t have it all done right now. At long last it it FINISHED.

Feel free to tell me what u think! Unless it’s mean, then I ask that u keep those thoughts in ur noggin because I’m just writing these for fun not for grades.

Without further ado, here ya go.

Author’s Note pt 2: So i didn’t end up going the smut route like I originally planned, but I think it worked out better bc this one got nice and Emotional.

Summary: Zoro really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

__________________________________________

The moon was floating high in the night sky when Nami wandered onto the deck, unable to sleep even after a few hours of sketching.

She wanted company – specifically, she wanted the company of the crew’s resident alcoholic. It only took a few minutes to find him on the lawn deck with his back against a tree and his eye closed. ‘How typical.’

Nami smiled a small, excited smile as she strode over to him and squatted between his parted legs. An unconscious sigh left her nose as she swept her gaze up and down his face. She caught herself thinking, ‘He really is easy on the eyes isn’t he.’ ....again.

Who was she kidding? She’d been thinking the same thing every time she looked his way lately.

Two years ago she’d been able to keep the immature crush she had on him locked tightly away but somehow - it had gotten out and was slowly consuming her entire being.

Nami hoped he hadn’t noticed how often she invited him to drink with her because she didn’t think she could handle being rejected. So she settled for spending time alone with him whenever and however she could.

“Hey, moss-head,” the navigator said finally, leaning in to squint at him, “Are you asleep?”

He had literally just settled down for a nice cat nap when the navigator appeared suddenly to interrupt him. ‘Damn. What the hell did she want now?’

Instead of answering, Zoro chose to ignore her and pretend like he was deep asleep. ‘Why won’t she go bother someone else?’

Nami started prodding his cheek with one finger to rouse him if he really was sleeping, ”Zorooo wake up, I wanna drink,” she whined and his eyelid opened instantly.

‘Why’s she so damn pretty..’ was the first thought he had when he realized that she was a lot closer than he’d anticipated.

He mentally chastised himself after, trying to remind his id that Nami had never once indicated that she wanted to be anything other than friends and he should respect that.

But… There was no harm in looking from time to time was there? And she was pretty. She’d always been... ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, now he sounded like Sanji. He needed to get a grip.’

“Helloooooo,” Nami waved her hand in Zoro’s face until he snapped back to reality and snatched her wrist up, pulling it away. He scowled but it wasn’t deep, and now he was refusing to look her in the eye. “What was that about, huh Zoro?”

“Nothing.” The swordsman replied perhaps a little too quickly to avoid suspicion, “Thought I heard a noise, doesn’t matter – oi, didn’t you want to do something?”

He couldn’t remember what exactly it was. He’d been so distracted by the way her bangs framed her face and sometimes got caught in her eyelashes—’Damnit! He was doing it again.’

Nami smirked again but didn’t press the subject anymore. She’d do that later once they started drinking. “Weren’t you listening to me? You’re so rude, maybe I should find someone else to share my booze with.”

Was it a good idea to go drink with Nami when he kept catching himself thinking about feelings that he’d been suppressing for the last two years? Probably not…

But he couldn’t just decline an opportunity to get buzzed. ‘And... Maybe he wanted to get buzzed with Nami, specifically.’

Zoro scoffed, mostly at himself. “Quit playing games, damnit, do you want me to drink with you or not?”

“You’re so stubborn,” The navigator teased with a pleased smile that made his heart beat unevenly, “I could care less if you join me, but you’re not allowed to come unless you say you’ll be nice.”

“Nami. I am older than you, quit treating me like a fucking child or I swear-”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady who’s getting you drunk for free, Roronoa Zoro. If you can’t be nice then I’ll just add the cost of everything you drink to your debt and-”

Zoro didn’t have time to ruminate over the way hearing her say his full name made him shiver because he had to shut her up before she did charge him.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be... nice.” He hissed through gritted teeth and her answering giggle made his pulse flutter. He had to fight to keep himself from smiling. ‘What the hell was going on with him tonight? Was he sick?’

“Good boy,” she turned and started walking towards the Sunny’s aquarium bar, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he was coming.

“Don’t push your luck, woman.” Zoro snarled to mask his confusion over the sudden need to touch her that he felt scratching at the back of his head. He really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

He knew it, but he followed her up the stairs all the same.

* * *

“Why d’you always want to drink with me anyway, witch?” Skeptical of her intentions, his narrowed eye fixed itself on Nami as she approached him holding two maroon tinted bottles. She offered one to him and he accepted it – but he didn’t let his guard down yet.

Zoro lowered his gaze to check the label out, whistling long and low when he read 23% alcohol per volume. A couple puzzle pieces clicked together in his head ‘Oh, that’s why. Because if she tried to drink this with anyone else they’d pass out after two glasses.’

“Would you believe that I just like hanging out with you?” Though her tone was teasing she was actually being genuine, she had a lot of fun with him whenever they went out.

“No–“ He paused when Nami kicked him in the shin hard enough to make him swear. Reaching down with his free hand he rubbed the sore patch of skin and glared daggers at his crewmate. “What the fuck was that for?!”

“You said you’d be nice, Zoro! So be nice or I’ll charge you a hundred thousand beris for that bottle.” Nami uncorked hers but waited to hand the corkscrew over until he behaved himself. The look he was giving her would probably frighten a small child but she didn’t flinch.

‘This was his choice.’ He reminded himself. Of his own free will he chose to get drunk with Nami instead of napping, and that meant dealing with her bossiness no matter how much he loathed it. ‘Sometimes he just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and make her shut up, there were better things her mouth could be doing anyway-‘

“Why do you keep staring at me like that, do I have a zit or something?”

Zoro sat up so fast that he banged his shoulder on the underside of the countertop. ‘What the hell was that? What the hell was wrong with him?’ He hadn’t even opened the damn bottle and he was already making himself look like an idiot.

“No,” the swordsman grumbled, wracking his brain for a believable excuse, “Just thinking about how I’ll owe you money even after I’m dead if you keep charging me for bullshit.” That made her laugh and Zoro cursed himself for how much he liked hearing it. “Don’t see how it’s funny for me, witch.”

Nami let him take the corkscrew from her, eyes crinkled with amusement while he opened his bottle. “You’ll just have to stay alive until you pay me back in full, I guess!” She trilled before taking a long, heavy drink from hers.

“Yeah?” Zoro snorted before mimicking her and downing about half of the wine in the container. It tasted disgusting, which he’d expected, but that didn’t make the bitter aftertaste any less miserable. His nose wrinkled slightly as he set the bottle down. “I bet even if I did try to pay you off you’d find a way to charge me more.”

“You make me sound so heartless,” the navigator batted her eyelashes innocently, pretending to look hurt, “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Hah.” He scoffed before chugging some more wine and failing to keep track of how much he was drinking each time. “Because you want to keep me on a leash since I don’t throw myself at you like that dumbass cook.”

An impish smirk crawled it’s way onto Nami’s face that made him immediately regret what he’d just said. ‘Fuck. Damnit!’

“So…” She began slowly, savoring every second that the swordsman spent avoiding direct eye contact with her, “You admit that you are one of my lap dogs?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he stopped drinking for one second to grunt, “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard!” Chimed Nami as she rose from her seat, stepping over to Zoro and tracing a finger under his jaw while he drained the last few drops of liquid. “I should get you a collar, so people know who to bring you to when you get lost.”

Normally he would have snapped at her for poking fun at his sense, or lack thereof, direction but he wasn’t listening to her. She’d come close enough for him to pick up her scent and maybe it was the alcohol intensifying his feelings, but it was suffocating him in a good way.

He loved the way she smelled. Tangerines from her soaps mixed with salty seawater and traces of sunscreen. A hint of orange blossom, but only when she was close to him like this.

Zoro inhaled deeply through his nose and, without realizing it, his expression melted into something affectionate and gentle. ‘In two years she’d changed in so many different ways… but she still smelled the same. She still smelled like home.’

* * *

“What are you thinking about, Zoro?” Her voice void of it’s usual teasing tone, Nami’s curiosity was piqued by his sudden shift in demeanor. He looked soft and peaceful, like he didn’t have anything to worry about. She wanted to know why.

‘Ah, fuck.’ What was he supposed to tell her? That he was thinking about how good she smelled? ‘Yeah right.’ Zoro was quiet for a while, mulling over his words until he came up with an explanation that didn’t sound as creepy – but also wasn’t a lie.

“I guess..” he finally murmured, his gaze shifting to meet hers, “It’s just been a while and… I was thinking about how nice it feels to be back here, with everyone…” a brief pause then he added, “I missed you guys.” ‘Look at him being all gushy and emotional, this wine really was something else.’ Zoro reached to brush his fingertips by her temple, catching a stray lock of hair and tucking it behind her ear, “I missed you.”

When had Zoro ever been this honest with her about the way he felt? Never was the answer, but now he seemed to trust her well enough to know she wouldn’t spill his secrets. Nami took his face in both of her hands, surprising him, and pulled his head down so she could kiss his forehead. “I missed you too, Zoro.”

Something about hearing her say that she’d missed him too broke a dam in his chest that he’d been trying to keep together for two years. Hormoness flooded through his bloodstream quicker than Zoro could even process them and before he knew it he was practically throwing his arms around Nami’s waist and crushing her against his chest.

“Nami—” he pressed his face into her neck to hide the tears that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Sober he might have cared about losing it like this around her but she was here and… ‘He just – needed to hold her.’ Hold her and smell her and feel how real she was because she had almost been taken from him.

‘He’d barely begun to process what he had been through on Thriller Bark when they were attacked in Sabaody. If he tried to think back on it his memories would get hazy and his bones would ache from their very cores. He knew what had happened but it’s like his brain was protecting him from understanding how close to death he’d come. Then – to be torn away from the people he loved with all of his heart? Who he had just nearly killed himself to protect?

It had ripped him apart and rubbed salt into every wound. And it fucking hurt. The same kind of pain he felt when he saw Kuina dead on the floor of their dojo. He was scared, he was furious, he was devastated – all over again but this time it was so much worse. So, so much worse.

That was why he had trained so hard over the last two years. Because he couldn’t bear the grief that came with loving them so deeply – so he got stronger. And stronger. And stronger. No matter the cost to his body, he would become powerful enough to defeat anyone who crossed them. Then… He would never have to feel the agony that he did when he first woke up on Kuraigana Island ever again.

Taking on all of Luffy’s suffering in Thriller Bark had been the most physically painful experience of his entire life – but that was nothing compared to how much it hurt to think that his friends were gone forever, that he hadn’t been able to protect them.

Training made it easy not to think about what had happened -- but now he was home, and they were safe - and he was realizing just how close he’d come to losing all of them. At once. And he could do nothing to stop it.’

Startled by him grabbing her, Nami was prepared to give the pirate a good smack if he was getting handsy but… He started trembling. ‘Was he not feeling well?’ Her mouth opened to form the question then stopped. His breathing hitched while his entire body jerked and she realized…

‘Zoro was crying.’

Roronoa Zoro, who prided himself on his strength, was sobbing wretchedly into her neck. ‘He must have been holding this in since Sabaody.’ Nami’s heart ached for him and his stupid pride that forced him to torture himself instead of letting him cry like he needed to. She’d been expecting him to crash at some point, how couldn’t he? Even someone as strong as Zoro was still a human being.

One of her arms cradled his head while the other wound round his shoulders, her fingers combing gently through his hair. “Oh you sweet, sweet boy…” she spoke in the tone that Bellemere used to use when Nami and Nojiko were frightened by a passing thunderstorm. It always calmed her, maybe it would calm Zoro, too.

‘Quit fucking crying you loser you’re supposed to be a man.’ But he couldn’t, he literally could not stop because he was trying to. “I wasn’t strong enough,” his voice quivered at the edges and he hated it. ‘He was definitely never going to drink this kind of wine again ever. Not if it turned him into a blubbering mess like this every time.’

“Shhh, no. No. Don’t you dare try to blame yourself for what happened. Hey, look at me.” Nami urged his head off her shoulder and cupped his face in both of her palms, “None of us were strong enough, okay? Not even Luffy.” Each tear that fell she tenderly swept away with the pad of her thumb. The corner of her mouth turned up as she assured him, “But we are strong enough now. We can take care of each other. Nothing is ever going to tear us apart again, Zoro.”

‘She was right. Of course, she was right. He needed to have faith in his crewmates and his captain. They could do anything as long as they had each other.’ His breathing slowly evened out as he focused on anchoring himself back to reality. He wasn’t in Sabaody or Kuraigana – he was on the Sunny. In the bar, with Nami who had grown so much since he last saw her. The look in his eye softened like it had before his breakdown.

“You’re staring at me again, Zoro.” The navigator teased, her hands falling to rest on his shoulders. He hadn’t let go of her yet but she didn’t mind, he could hold on to her for as long as he needed.

A ghost of his usual smirk passed across his face. “Sorry, Nami…” Zoro took a little risk by leaning in to press a chaste but lingering kiss to her cheek, then traced a path with the edge of his nose to her ear, murmuring, “Wine makes me a little… Messy.”

#zona #zonami #zoro x nami #zona one-shots #zoro nami fanfiction #zonalove #zoro x nami fanfic

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years

Text

Request (from this post):

@scarlet-gryphon suggested: Modern pre-3zun AU where for whatever reason, Meng Yao is challenged to do a tough rock climbing wall. Cue the italicized ‘ohs’ from Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue at his flexibility. (also posted to Ao3)

This kind of thing is very much outside of my usual wheelhouse of ideas so thank you so much for the challenge, it was super refreshing! Hope you like it ^_^

Fucking work retreats.

“ ‘It’ll be fun’ he says,” Meng Yao grumbles to himself as he plasters an extremely fake (perhaps slightly manic) smile on his face. “ ‘Lighten up, A-Yao’ he says,” he mocks again, his grin twisting into a mocking sneer for just a split second before he smooths it away again.

The benefit of being wildly unpopular is that no one milling around stops him on his hunt to try to chat, and finally after a few minutes of prowling he finds his prey.

“Nie Huaisang,” he says icily and he has the immense pleasure of seeing the Jiang Corporation heir and his brother look sharply at him over Nie Huaisang’s shoulders in (slightly eerie) synchronicity, both of them looking sufficiently aware of whatever it is they see on his face that promises danger for Nie Huaisang. Of course it’s in their own ways, which means Jiang Wanyin glares first at him and then at Nie Huaisang, and Wei Wuxian’s usual happy grin goes a bit manic as well, eyes glittering as he scents fresh mischief.

“A-Yao, there you are!” Nie Huaisang cries far too cheerfully as he turns, his ever-present fan already fluttering nervously in front of his chest. Why he insists on carrying that thing everywhere he goes Meng Yao doesn’t understand whatsoever, but he’s currently wishing he had the guts to tug it from his hands and snap it right in half.

“Could I speak to you for a moment?”

The fluttering of his fan gets a little faster. “Ahhhh hah, but we’re about to get started!! You know how da-ge is, hit the ground running and all that. Can’t it wait?”

“No,” he says with such a poisonously sweet smile and a faux-innocent little tilt of his head that even Wei Wuxian takes a step back, the brothers leaving their best friend high and dry to face his wrath alone. Sensible of them.

He holds his arm out for Nie Huaisang to take and, with no safe alternative options, the other man reluctantly takes it and lets himself be led away from listening ears.

“Now, A-Yao -”

“When were you planning to inform me that my father’s company would also be present at this retreat?”

“Oh good, you already know! So now the answer doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I’m going to murder you in your sleep, A-Sang. I’m in charge of our company’s hotel assignments. I know exactly where to find you.”

“Aiyah you do not, who in the world stays in their own hotel room during company retreats? Well I guess some people have to, But I definitely don’t. I’ve already found myself better accommodation,” he says breezily, flicking his fan shut to tap him on the forearm a couple of times. “And you’ll lighten up a little if you do too! I heard the Lans are coming~,” he adds, his glance at him out of the corner of his eye far too sly. Meng Yao can’t quite resist glaring at him right back. Nie Huaisang just walked headfirst into dangerous territory, but part of him (a very small part of him) can admire that his sort-of-friend, sort-of-employer is daring enough to tease him when he’s clearly irritated.

“You’re horrendous,” he replies sweetly and Nie Huaisang laughs as he turns them around to head back towards where everyone else is gathered.

“Oh hush, stop glaring at me and go find Xichen-ge, stare at him until you feel better. I’ll bet he’s dressed casuallyyyy~~,” he teases as he snaps his fan open again to flutter it and add to the flirtatious lilt in his tone.

“Lan Zhan!!!!” Wei Wuxian suddenly cries loudly enough to carry over the general chatter and in the next instant he goes flying across the spacious hotel lobby, a blur of black and red as Jiang Wanyin shouts after him for him to stop. Nie Huaisang giggles at his side behind his fan as heads turn to watch Wei Wuxian’s progress to where the Lans have stopped to check in.

“Oh perfect timing, and you won’t even have to waste any time searching! Wei-xiong is so useful, don’t you think?”

Meng Yao says nothing, just glares at Nie Huaisang until the man winks over his fan and carefully extricates himself from where their arms are linked to return to Jiang Wanyin’s side to pat his shoulder as the man fumes. Meng Yao sighs and after a moment he follows in the bemused wake Wei Wuxian had left behind himself on his way to his boyfriend. Though the retreat isn’t being held on any participating company’s actual properties, the Nie Corporation is still technically hosting it so it’s not entirely out of character for him to go and greet the new arrivals.

And if Lan Xichen’s smile when their eyes meet makes his frustration with Nie Huaisang and the presence of his own family melt away like snow in spring, then that’s his own business.

----

A few days into the retreat, Nie Mingjue’s patience is at its limit. He hates these things, he can’t remember just why the hell he let Nie Huaisang talk him into hosting this bullshit, but he can’t change it now. At least the Lans agreed to come - without Lan Xichen here to force him to enjoy himself he really would have become too miserable to bother staying for the whole retreat, he would’ve already packed up and dragged Meng Yao home with him to get back to work. Not that it would take much dragging, most likely. Meng Yao is as much of a workaholic as himself, maybe even more of one (which he hadn’t thought was possible prior to meeting him), and the Jins have been extra insufferable to him on top of that. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if Meng Yao was looking for an easy out of the whole affair.

“Oh dear,” Lan Xichen says softly at his side and Nie Mingjue pulls himself out of his ruminations to glance at him and then look at where he’s focusing on only to sigh as he spots Meng Yao being harassed by his horrible cousin - again.

“How long has that spoiled brat been talking to him this time?” Nie Mingjue growls as he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and flexes his fingers a few times. God he’d like to use that asshole’s face as a punching bag. Mostly because he feels like Meng Yao would appreciate it and Nie Mingjue is maybe slightly too interested in doing things that make Meng Yao get that pleased little smirk on his face. But in his defense it’s also because he’s seen that smirking face far too many times to not want to rearrange it a little. If it happens to be because he’s bothering Meng Yao then that’s the perfect excuse, just two birds with one stone.

“About a minute, but it seems that’s long enough to behave unpleasantly,” Lan Xichen sighs, crossing his arms over his chest in a rare show of open disapproval, his lips turned down in an uncharacteristic frown. “What could he and his friends possibly have to bother him about now?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. I’m gonna beat the shit out of him, I’m tired of this.”

“Mingjue!” Lan Xichen cautions with a sudden grip on his arm. “Please, don’t embarrass A-Yao and make a scene, it won’t help him.”

“Well what do you want me to do?! We can’t just leave him over there.”

“Ah...I believe we are not his only knights in shining armor,” Lan Xichen says, suddenly sounding amused and Nie Mingjue follows his gaze again to see Wei Wuxian, of all people, shoving his way through the crowd looking positively gleeful at the sign of trouble brewing, Lan Wangji trailing along behind him as serenely as ever. Such a weird pair, in his opinion. And of course, because it’s Wei Wuxian, his voice carries perfectly over the general hubbub of people chatting and the clink of carabiners from the people currently scaling the rock wall they’re all supposed to be taking turns climbing.

“Meng Yao!” Wei Wuxian cries and Nie Mingjue can see the man in question’s shoulders tighten all the way from here as Wei Wuxian throws his arm around them to lounge against him. “Are you holding back to spare the rest of us from having to watch you kick our asses without breaking a sweat? Oh. Hey asswipe.”

“Wei Wuxian!”

Nie Mingjue snickers just a little at the scandalized tone in Jin Zixun’s voice, and even Lan Xichen chuckles softly next to him.

“Yeah? Hi uh...hm. Can’t say I remember your name, Jin something-or-other, right? No, don’t tell me, it doesn’t matter and I want to keep thinking your name is ‘Asswipe’.”

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

“Problem? I don’t have one. What’s yours?”

Lan Wangji says something then, far too low to carry the way Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixun’s voices do, but whatever it is makes Wei Wuxian laugh and turn to Meng Yao. He lets go of him to turn and face Meng Yao fully, putting his back to Jin Zixun, but whatever he says next is lost in the noise of someone reaching the top of the wall and hitting the buzzer.

“Are you sure we should trust whatever Wei Wuxian just did to solve this?” Nie Mingjue grumbles, already knowing what his best friend’s answer will be.

“He’s a good man,” Lan Xichen replies, because of course he does. “I trust him wholeheartedly, and it’s a good solution don’t you think? Everyone expects him to make a scene anyway, A-Yao need not be embarrassed about being rescued if it’s him.”

“Are we sure he even fixed whatever’s going on?” Nie Mingjue watches Meng Yao square his shoulders and step up to take a spot next to one of the employees at the rock wall and he can’t help but frown, still concerned. “A-Yao didn’t want to participate.”

But then he’s quickly strapped into a harness around his hips and thighs and maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just….watch...for a second...

Lan Xichen’s slightly choked noise at his side is all the confirmation he needs that they’re in agreement.

Nie Mingjue tears his eyes away from Meng Yao just long enough to see that he’s lined up with the rest of the Jin employees that are in attendance and he blinks as he realizes what’s going on.

“This is Wei Wuxian’s solution?” he snaps. “To put A-Yao up against his stupid cousin and his cronies? He’s supposed to get A-Yao away from them!”

“Patience, Mingjue, trust Wei Wuxian’s methods, he knows what he’s doing,” Lan Xichen soothes, returning his hand to his arm though he still hasn’t looked away from Meng Yao as the man listens to the instructions and allows himself to be fitted with a rope attached to the front of the harness.

“You just like seeing A-Yao tied up.”

“Mm. Multiple things can be true at once.”

Nie Mingjue snorts at that but shakes his head in defeat and goes back to watching, staying still as Lan Xichen subtly steps closer to him and tucks his hand into the crook of his elbow as the start timer counts down from five.

Whatever Nie Mingjue was expecting before the competition started, it certainly wasn’t what ends up happening as soon as the buzzer sounds.

His eyes go wide as he watches Meng Yao instantly take the lead by putting his foot above his head and launching himself a full body-length up the wall while everyone else is still trying to find their first handhold.

“Oh my god,” Lan Xichen breathes at his side and Nie Mingjue is in full agreement. Meng Yao practically flies up the wall, taking the lead by miles simply by virtue of skipping over at least five footholds at a time to get to the highest one he can reach - which is never lower than rib- or shoulder-height.

Nie Mingjue has never seen anything like it and he can’t take his eyes off him. He doesn’t even hesitate, he just makes these impossible jumps and pulls until he smacks the buzzer at the top and turns to sit on the top of the wall, feet dangling and the dimples in his cheeks visible even from this distance as he grins down at the others still halfway down the rest of the wall.

“Oh shit,” it’s Nie Mingjue’s turn to exclaim as Meng Yao wiggles his fingers in a little wave while Jin Zixun slips and falls a few feet before tension gets applied to his rope, leaving him dangling in front of the hardest course on the wall like a sack of turnips.

“That was..oh my.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So flexible,” Nie Huaisang pipes up suddenly from his other side and Nie Mingjue doesn’t yelp but he comes close.

“Huaisang!!”

“Hi da-ge, er-ge. Enjoying the view? It’s very scenic.”

“Don’t be crude, A-Sang,” Lan Xichen chastises without any heat and Nie Huaisang snorts.

“I’m not the one checking out Meng Yao’s ass like a couple of creeps. He’ll want a drink this evening, by the way - he hates dealing with his family.” Nie Huaisang leans forward to look up pointedly first at him and then at Lan Xichen next to him. “Maybe even two drinks.”

“I can feel you winking at me, A-Sang,” Lan Xichen says with a smirk without taking his eyes off Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang laughs behind his fan.

“Good, then we’re on the same page! Does this mean I should tell Wei-xiong not to talk him into going up there again or do you need more convincing?”

Nie Mingjue coughs at that and does his best to glare. “No one said he has to stop. If he wants to go again to prove his point to that smarmy jackass cousin of his then who are we to stop him?”

“Subtle, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang drawls. He stretches his arms above his head with a little sigh before he steps away to look at them over his shoulder with a sly wink. “As many times as he’s willing to go, then? Noted, I’ll let Wei-xiong know right away,” he teases and then he’s off with a laugh.

“Well. That was..”

“We’re definitely buying him drinks tonight, right?” Nie Mingjue checks and Lan Xichen’s responding hum is perfectly easy to interpret as they watch Meng Yao rappel down the wall and set up to go again. “Good.”

#the untamed fanfic #3zun #Nie Mingjue #Lan Xichen #Meng Yao #modern AU #prompt fill #I hope this is coherent lol #basically act like this 'work retreat' is like a discussion conference #and Jin Zixun was being his usual dick self and boasting that he was better than everybody at everything or whatever #and just being generally shitty so NHS went to grab WWX who was like ohhh yES LET'S GET THIS FOOL

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steve0discusses · 3 years

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S5 Ep12: Brand New Mokuba Just Dropped

My tumblr has decided that it can’t save drafts again. Which sure is a problem I keep having but no one else seems to have...but were back. Back and ready to talk about cards.

First off, lets address the best thing about this episode, it’s the return of The A Team animation team! Dunno if it’s the same ones that did the seasons before, but it is a pretty good team this episode, so there’s lots of that to look forward to. Everyone is now 2 feet taller (Kaiba is 4 feet taller) and there’s just some really nice shots going on. It’s not as shiny as other seasons, which makes me think it might be a different team or a different studio using a different method (you don’t really see them playing with line weights anymore which makes it seem like a different method to me) but still--it’s a nicer looking episode today.

So we start off this episode with Seto begging us all to forget the hell that just happened and just get on with it. Of course, no one’s gonna do that, because yo, what just happened was kind of weird.

And because there’s only like...I dunno...maybe 2 episodes left in this arc? (kind of a quick arc, honestly) Leon decides to do a complete personality reversal. Although, it’s really hard to do a reversal when you didn’t have a personality in the first place...so I guess this more Leon showing us A personality--and I’ll take it.

He’s a little jackass now, but it’s youknow...still Leon so it’s not really that bad. Like we deal with Seto on the reg, so I feel like Leon as a jackass is just like...well that’s just how you play cards in this universe.

Everyone speculates whether or not Seto actually did a crime, and a SURPRISING number of them said he did not! Weird! But hey...I’ve gone over a billion times before, their memory is like when you throw popcorn into the ocean--it just fffzt’s and then it’s gone.

Roland was THIS close to actually saving Kaiba corp a huge hassle for once. This Close, Roland. You almost did it.

(read more under the cut)

I love that Roland has decided to give all these teens maybe the uncoolest nicknames in the entire world, and the teens have not made any indication whether they do or do not appreciate their alliteration nicknames.

But despite the fact that although Roland uses these opportunities behind the microphone to embarrass them just SO MUCH, the Kaibas still persist in having him introduce most of the matches. It makes it feel like the Kaibas freakin love this. They love his Dad jokes. I cannot tell if they are like “yes, please embarrass my friends.” of it they’re like “yes. Roland that was so cool. Yeah Leaping Leon. Good one! You’re so cool!” Because they don’t know what fun is.

Also, look what I see in the sky.

Truly a sign that they have overcome their trauma of seasons 2-3.

Or maybe they had a lot of blimps laying around and this is a completely unrelated blimp? Either way, I’m glad they can still handle the sight of a blimp.

And then, just out of nowhere, Mokuba hit puberty.

Which I mean, it was inevitable. It was going to happen some day. Luckily, we will be getting a new Mokuba this episode to make up for the fact that this one has done A Flirt and it was probably a completely innocent turn of phrase he has no idea is a double entendre but do the writers know that?

And while we ruminate the decisions there, lets bask in the glory of purple staircase.

This is such a purple staircase!

On another, identical staircase walks Leon, who gets to have a discussion with Zigfried, who probably just stood next to the wall and just chameleon’ed in here without getting caught cuz coincidentally this staircase dresses like him.

Freakin Mai?

Anyway, lets start this duel where like...I dunno, it’s a little late to start stealing souls, but maybe Leon will do a stab? (He will not)

So glad the storyboarder is back to kind of flex. I don’t normally see Roland drawn with this much attention. Look at him go. That’s the stance a grown man takes when he’s ready to embarrass a bunch of teens.

Kaiba writes a speech introducing himself, or Roland just kinda made up a speech as if Kaiba hadn’t asked him to do that. Either way it’s kind of a big way to talk yourself up--but he is trying to talk up the theme park so people will actually like...go. So it makes sense.

Also what is this nonsense where people worldwide are watching a theme park opening match? Card culture is so weird because we’ve noticed in other seasons there are people that don’t play cards, and I feel like they’re not watching this for fun. It’s like when I watch news unfold--they’re watching to see if they have to raid the toilet paper aisle and the canned goods again to prepare for yet another onslaught of card nonsense.

Legit Mokuba was like “Look at my bro. Look at how he gave up dueling to throw this nice tourney for everyone!” and it’s like...Mokuba...he just dueled...Mokuba...he’s putting all the profits directly in your pockets this is hardly a martyr up here.

Seto Kaiba decided to inform the world that he would have won if he was actually playing and that was sure a statement he made after losing to Yugi like...3 times now? Several times.

Everyone else converses how Leon’s acting weird. I don’t know why they care all of a sudden, because no one acts normal playing this game, but the plot desires them to care.

Which is when we find out...

...the new Mokuba...

That’s right. He was a Mokuba the whole time. For once we haven’t abducted Mokuba, instead...we have too many Mokubas.

This Mokuba even has hella long hair, too. I imagine if Mokuba proper had a ponytail it would probably look just like this but black. It would have been just--so good if he whipped off that ribbon and shook out his hair and it fluffed into a horrible Mokuba mess, but you know, that’s one of the many reasons why I don’t write for this series. That and I was like in high School when this came out.

(Please admire Kaiba’s head of Security who looks like he’s about to drop a poop out of terror. It’s a really small detail, but I appreciate that the storyboarder had him kind of antsy in the background)

Seto insists that the only one to beat Yugi Muto will be himself and it’s like...I know. That’s why I keep expecting someone to get stabbed by this tiny purple haired Mokuba. But instead, Leon’s too busy feeling mad that he’s not necessarily playing the game for fun.

But he’s still playing the game though? so I feel like Yami doesn’t have many stones to throw here. Leon hasn’t even cheated yet. (As if Yami isn’t cheating basically all the time by being 2 people in one body)

I can’t BELIEVE this show would throw that at me after the number of times I have seen Yami Muto nearly murder other people (and sometimes literally do a murder) out of revenge. Yami is basically a revenge god...like...show...what? It’s season 5, I thought we’ve basically cemented this in. Occasionally the show will just be all “card games are supposed to be fun though!!!” and it’s like...these are the last children on Earth who are playing card games for fun.

If anything, it should be Leon lecturing them on how to have fun. They just murdered a Great Leviathan with cards. Before that they were dealing with Noah, with Marik, with Pegasus, with Bakura. The times that Yugi has just played a game for fun has been...This Arc.

So maybe Yami is just begging himself to have fun for once. Maybe he’s just mad that he can’t play a single tournament without someone getting possessed? Maybe his frustrations really aren’t about little Leaping Leon, and more to do with Yami sick and tired of being a protagonist.

But, youknow, it’s not an anime, unless the protagonist hypocritically can get away with every sin out there and everyone else gets punished for it. So lets find out just how far Leon fell from fun-having grace with a flashback.

This Belle cosplayer went off in like...one of the most hilariously bad accents I’ve heard in a while, it was just so much, I’ll probably cap it because lolol.

But since Leon wasn’t actually in line to inherit the company, he has to sort of hole up in his room for his entire childhood. It’s kinda weird, since we can’t assume that Zigfried will either a.) live forever or b.) have or adopt or raise children in any capacity. But they’re pretty sure Zigfried will live forever, and in this universe--maybe.

Also, I’m really not sure why they have to dress like it’s 1890, but they sure are. The Victorian era just never left the Von Schroeder house. Like these women are wearing corsets to be in that dress, and you can’t BUY a corset to match this type of dress, you have to make your own, and I know, because in Quarantine, I got really into historical sewing videos.

I can’t believe I spent an entire year watching historical sewing videos. Holy crap. I don’t even sew.

But then again...Seto is kind of drawn like he wears a corset...so maybe people are still wearing them in the Yugioh universe? Maybe that’s how their fashion just works?

Guys...I analyze Yugioh fashion a lot but the fact that the Edwardians never freakin left this worldly plane is just...that’s canon to Yugioh. I really just want to sit back and analyze Yugioh fashion with a moodboard and try to connect all the dots logically as if they aren’t just one-off jokes, but I don’t know how I’d fit that on this post.

And like, one of y’all brought up in a comment in the last post that what’s neat about this arc is we are seeing Zigfried as what Seto would have been like if he hadn’t like...gotten cursed by Yugi Muto. So, going off that idea, I think it’s kinda fun that Zigfried’s outfit is a bit of a younger take on Pegasus’ whole look with the wrist lace and a fusion of Gozaburos look of wearing a cravat with a smoking coat. It’s fun to imagine that this is what Seto’s inner gremlin dresses like (which...now I think about it...was a thing from S1 where Yami defeated a Seto gremlin but...I don't remember much about it) Of course, Seto would also be hella dead if he hadn’t gone through the Yugi cycle, but it’s still a fun road to think about.

Plus, when we go down that road, it really makes this arc look even more like it’s just about Seto Kaiba’s therapy sesh to recover from the last several seasons that he’s accidentally (or intentionally??) invited the entire world to watch and that’s very funny to me.

Bro has informed me you can make a deck out of Jerry but could not show me any receipts.

...I mean that is Dartz right?

Like I know all the characters have cards of themselves IRL and all the characters are also based on cards that were made before they were on TV (with the exception of our main cast that was...youknow, a horror manga) but like...

...what’s up, Dartz?

Anyway, our little Mokuba decides to sneak out the house and run around the world at the ripe ol age of ... what I’m guessing is like 10-12, and is pretty sure he can just get away with that. Luckily, the crimes he’s committing are exactly the type of crimes that Zigfried needs.

(Pretty sure their Dad died or is incapacitated but OK, dub, go ahead and pretend that plot point didn’t go down last episode.)

Also, I’m really glad we got a good storyboarder for this part who was like “Zigfried looks...like that?” and still managed to make this character design really work this episode. In some parts they even gave Zigfried those wide Marik Eyes that are kind of ubiquitous with Yugioh. It just needs the right hands to draw it, and then any amount of...this outfit...can work.

So, just like when we met Mokuba in S1, he’s gonna do a duel on Yugi to save his family and probably also like Mokuba, not give a damn for how this game is supposed to be played. Luckily, this time Pharaoh doesn’t have any star chips lying around for this kid to just run around and steal before booking it out the back gate.

Yugi over there with his twitter-brand hot-takes, not knowing the difference between actual brainwashing and blackmail/family pressure.

(WHY IS MAI HERE?)

Look at that hatching!

Ah this is the 00′s content I’m here for! Check out the soft brush! The dodge and burn! Ah! Man this sure was an era of computer art! and stuff like this cost a lot of money to make and it looked ... like this!

Now I’m pretty sure we can make art that looks this dated on like...a free phone app.

PS please do not ever shade your art like this. This is what you don’t do. Do not do this. I will shed a single tear shaped like the Photoshop symbols for dodge and burn.

Also...guys...

next episode is Ep 13. Every season so far this show has been like “we’re normal, everything is normal” getting us complacent until exactly Ep 13, when everything gets really effed up. So...

will that happen? Will they continue this tradition into S5 or has it been a coincidence until now? Excited to find out.

Anyway, if you just got here, this is the link to read these from the beginning in chrono order:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

#ygo #yugioh #yu gi oh #S5 #Ep12 #yugi muto #leon von schroeder #good because I forgot his other last name #zigfried von schroeder #seto kaiba #mokuba kaiba #roland #joey wheeler #tea gardner #the others who didn't say or do anything so I probably shouldn't tag them #Can't believe how quickly this arc is wrapping up

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zet-sway · 3 years

Text

@the-wip-project day 100

What have you learned over these 100 days? How will you apply this new knowledge to grow as a writer from here on?

First of all how the fuck did I make it this far? When I started, I never actually thought I would finish.

So the number one thing I've learned is not to take myself too seriously.

That seems like an oversimplification but my favorite parts of this endeavor were the small writing challenges along the way, stopping to write things that aren't smutty oneshots. Little exercises to fluff my writing skills and try new things.

I learned I can write about my own experiences to help put the bad ones to rest and the good ones to my heart. I learned I don't have to write the feeling, I just have to frame it. Give it context. Fill in the edges around the thing and let it indirectly give shape to what I'm trying to say.

Believe it or not, the interaction these posts got has been extremely inspirational.

I learned that people are far more supportive than I give them credit for. And I don't need to prove myself to anyone. I can just be. It felt good to write nonsense even if no one saw it. In the last 100 days I actually do feel like I've put some ghosts to bed. Life is no less complicated than ever, but I have never felt this unburdened by the events of the years before 2020.

I learned I don't care to be a professional writer, but I still want to grow. And I learned I need to actually *read stuff,* like, actual THINGS that aren't just reblogs of writing advice. Advice is good, but reading other shit is also just as valuable. Reading in and of itself counts toward growth as a writer.

I learned that I am older, and more tired than I have ever been before. But I still attempted a chaptered fic anyway. I only posted two chapters (technically 3 but you know), but that's still the first time I did that!! It's a big deal for me!! And yeah it may not have been a fucking earthshattering fanfic but it's still work I ruminated very much on, an actual plotline I thought out in my head. New information and new headcanon. I have a story in my head! That's new and exciting.

And allow me a soapbox here for a second because my heart feels full right now -

I'm a skeptic and I really have not been very touched by the supernatural or divine in any way that is obvious to me. Except this year. When I was suddenly and randomly struck by the desire to look back on my old fanfiction for no reason in particular. I felt swelled with pride. I felt so good, like I could flatten whatever stood in my way. While I was reminiscing, I wondered - when is the new Mass Effect coming out? I looked it up, and lo and behold, it was coming out in two fucking days. I don't believe this was an accident. For some fucking reason, forces I don't understand wanted me to experience this again. I was called. I was pulled back in. For whatever reason, whatever purpose, I'm here because of a random blip on my radar that came like serendipity out of the fucking sky. It all happened so fast. The legendary edition, the Spiritual Shrios Summer challenge, the 100 days challenge. I was certain I wouldn't finish. But I did. So holy fucking shit, right?

I'm prone to losing interest in things - so everyone knows. It might be more accurate to say I get distracted and pulled along by another shiny thing in my life. I didn't think about fandom for years but I never forgot. And if I was called back to it, that means it's important to my heart and not something I did as part of a "phase" or whatever. This is a positive outlet, a creative endeavor, something that has actually enriched the lives of strangers, many of whom have never spoken a word to me but likely read and enjoyed anyway. I've touched lives in whatever small way. That's so cool.

Finally, I learned an awful fucking lot about my characters of choice. Shout out to you guys who are always feeding me new information. You know who you are. All of you. If you think this might be about you, it probably is. Please accept this digital hug from me. A handmade quilted hug from yours truly. Thank you.

And of course thank you @barbex for your enormous and appreciated effort of hosting this event. Thank you for being so supportive, I have never seen you say a bad thing about anyone and I respect you so much. Thank you for hosting :) I had so much fun, and learned so much, not all of which I expected to learn but I am so grateful for anyway.

#zet vs 100days #thank you <3 #me being tired but grateful

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thebreakfastgenie · 3 years

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ik i already said chianti was my favorite, but please talk abt writing emergency room!!!

thank you for indulging my obvious fishing you're a real one <3 I did not expect this to get this long I'm so sorry I'm gonna put it under a cut

The Emergency Room is the only one of my "renaissance" fics I spent a lot of time on or really... worked at. Chianti, The Apple, and Campfire all came easily and unexpectedly. Normally I think I do some of my best writing that way and I am pleased with the writing on all of those but I do think The Emergency Room benefitted from the amount of time and attention it got.

I started writing Emergency Room on Christmas. It might have been Christmas Eve or the day after but I'm pretty sure it was Christmas itself, because I was trying very hard to finish a new draft of a Christmas themed WIP six years in the making (I failed. I'll try again this year.) and this other thing kept wanting to be written instead. So I was like, fine. So technically Emergency Room predates Chianti, at least everything up through the waiting room scene because those were all written first and then edited only a little later. I was on a role and I was so excited to get to the scene with the doctor and then when I got there it became impossible to write. I still don't know why this happened, but it did, so I had to stop writing it for a while.

But I never really stopped because I was thinking about that scene all the time and working on phrases and sentences. The way I write, a lot of the process is invisible. I work out full sentences and sometimes paragraphs in my head and then I write them down. (Most of the first half of Campfire was written in my head while I was in the woods and I was so anxious I would forget it before I got to my phone to write it down.) I do make changes at this point, but it's rare for them to be significant. I basically use my WIPs as my daydream scenarios for any time I need something to think about. I also write in chronological order, so this scene I was stuck on became my mental backdrop for months. I really wasn't planning to pick it back up when I did, I was supposed to be working on a different WIP, but it happened.

The conversation with the doctor is one of my favorite parts, but the farthest I had gotten during these months of rumination was this part:

“I thought your name sounded familiar,” she sounded apologetic, almost embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I need to pick my metaphors more carefully.”

“Don’t be,” Josh shook his head. “You’re the first doctor I’ve seen in months that hasn’t opened with it. It’s... kind of nice.”

The next line, where she talks about the patient's role in surgery, was unplanned, but it ended up being pivotal to my understanding of this scene. The subtext of

“But there’s something else, something intangible, that comes from the patient. For all our scientific advancements, there’s still a lot we don’t understand about the body,” she paused, then added, “and the mind.”

is you lived because you wanted to live.

I actually worked out this subtext and I had a sentence that I thought sounded nice, but I didn't write it down because I knew I wasn't going to use it, and what I recall doesn't sound quite as nice, but it was basically "You were teetering on the brink of life and death. Dying had never been easier. If you wanted to die you would have done it then."

It's supposed to be a counterpoint to "He could have died happy," from the previous scene.

So, I hope someone picked up on that.

One of the things I knew about that scene all along is that when Josh tells the doctor what happened to his hand he's really telling Donna. Hopefully saying it to her shoes got that across adequately, lol. That moment was painful to write because I had already way, way committed to past tense but that one little line sounded so much better in present tense and there was nothing I could do about it. I still like the sound of:

"I broke a window," he tells Donna's shoes.

but there's nothing I can do about it!!! I'm not going to rerelease the Special Present Tense Edition although that sounds kinda fun, I have no desire to rewrite the rest of it in present tense.

Also I forgot about this when I was being annoying about wanting people to pick up on my favorite parts, but the thing about comparing the innards of the chair in the waiting room to organs is something I (surprise, surprise) thought of while looking at a cracked chair and I still adore the concept but I'm satisfied but not thrilled with the execution.

It's worth noting that even during the literal months I was stewing over the doctor scene, everything that comes after that was planned in excruciating detail. I even had specific phrases; the hug and

"I'll be right here when you get back." "Promise?" "I promise."

were one of the first scenes I thought of and anchored this fic the whole time I was writing it. That moment is the companion to

"I am very glad that you're alive." "Me too." "You are?"

in Fortune Cookie Wisdom.

Because that's the other thing about this fic. From the beginning, I was envisioning it as the night before Fortune Cookie Wisdom. This caused me a few minor wrinkles, like the space heater. I was writing along assuming it was already there, when I went back and checked and realized that I established that Donna was the one who put it in the bedroom, so I came up with a compromise. I also deliberately avoided saying what time it was throughout Emergency Room so we can all convince ourselves Josh got a few hours of sleep before already being awake at 7:30 AM in Fortune Cookie Wisdom.

But the biggest influence from Fortune Cookie Wisdom is the phone call in K-Mart. I had established that Donna got a last-minute flight home for Christmas and that Josh arranged it with Leo's help, and I knew I wanted the scene where he convinces her to go. But I had to figure out when and how he actually managed to pull it off and so the mysterious K-Mart phone call was born. I got a kick out of an AO3 comment that highlighted finding out who Josh was on the phone with because it meant that part actually worked.

And then there was the ending. At this point it was 2 AM, I had been agonizing over this fic nonstop for the last couple days and intermittently for months, and I wanted it to be done so I could post it. The ending was torture. I kept writing and deleting things. I kept staring at it trying to get the perfect last line, trying to convey the same general vibe as the end of Noël itself. I'm still not sure I didn't need one more sentence of buildup before putting the button on it, but everyone seemed to really like and respond to it, so I'm happy!

If you actually read this whole post congratulations we're friends now.

Also if you've read both I'd be very curious to hear how anyone thinks Emergency Room and Fortune Cookie Wisdom work together because I wrote them three years apart and the style is very different.

#adventures in fanfic writing with sarah #there's probably more shit I could say about this it was a fucking misery half the time #I just want to reread the emergency room so i can Perceive it #I reread my fics all the time #but I spent so much time with that one I'm still too deep in it #I've reread campfire already because it was such a different experience writing it

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skinsharpenedteeth · 4 years

Text

Kinktober 1

AN: No lie, y’all, there’s no way I’ll write 31 fics for October. Too many birthdays in my family for that noise. So I’m going to work on writing as many fics as it takes to explore 31 different kinks instead. Fewer fics, just as much kink. LOL. Here’s the first fic. It’s the finished version of the WIP I posted on Wednesday. It’s not quiet 10k, but it’s damn close. Enjoy!

Feel free to read it on AO3!

Alex was having a lazy Thursday evening. He and Michael had been together for a little over a year (one year, three months, two days but who was counting?) and while it had been bumpy at first, they’d done the hard emotional growth to make it work. Part of that had been to stop denying what their incredible physical connection could do for them. It had been slowly teaching each of them to open up and state their desires without fear of humiliation or dismissal. It had also taught them to listen to what the other was saying and to clarify if something was unclear. That open communication in the bedroom had bled over into other parts of their life and they’d gotten to a place where they could live together in more or less harmony. They still argued, but it didn’t have the slap of rejection that it once would’ve had. Their arguments now were more like lively disagreements. Alex laid on the couch in their living room and ruminated on that as he watched one of the many serial dramas on television.

“Alex,” Michael’s voice called from the back of the house. “Come back here for a minute.”

Pushing himself up off the couch, Alex padded down the hall of his their house, eyes scanning the open doors to the bathroom and guest bedroom as he went to make sure Michael was in their bed room. He poked his head past the doorway of the master searching for Michael in the room and spotted him sitting on the foot of their bed, legs locked in front of him to keep him from sliding onto the floor. When Michael saw Alex in the doorway, his face lit up with a smile and he held his arms open in obvious invitation. Alex walked slowly over until he was standing between Michael’s legs looking down at him and he raised an eyebrow in question. Michael continued to smile up at him and wrapped his open arms around Alex far enough to link his hands behind Alex’s lower back.

“Yes? Did you need something?” Alex asked, still amused at Michael’s antics and leaning back slightly against Michael’s hands behind him.

“Can’t a guy just call his boyfriend back into their bedroom because he’s lonely?” Michael asked as he bent his arms to tug Alex’s body closer to his. There’d only been about a foot between them and after the tug there was half that.

“I don’t know, can he? Are you feeling lonely?” Alex asked, giving in to the temptation to rest his arms over Michael’s shoulders and play with the loose curls on the back of his head. Michael always made him feel like the strong one, but occasionally he did something, and Alex just felt himself melt inside. He became the softest little chinchilla in his heart and let his ever-vigilant guard dog have a nap.

“Were you in the room? No? Then I was feeling lonely,” Michael teased as he canted his head back to nudge against Alex’s hands, encouraging him to dig his hands deeper into Michael’s hair.

“Oh, we’re feeling needy tonight, are we?” Alex joked back, sliding his feet forward the last few inches between them until Michael could press his face against Alex’s shirt covered chest. Alex let the moment hold there, letting Michael breathe him in through his shirt the way he liked, before Alex tightened the hand in Michael’s hair and tugged down until Michael rested his chin over Alex’s sternum and looked up at him. “Are you feeling needy tonight, Michael?”

Michael nodded, eyes closing in apparent ecstasy as Alex kept Michael’s hair in a firm grip with one hand while the other softly combed back the curls that still hung around his face. Alex allowed himself a moment to just look at Michael, enjoying the warmth of their bodies pressed against each other and how Michael’s hands had come to grip the back of his thighs above his knees. He loved the calm that seemed to take over Michael’s face when he was pressed against Alex’s body.

“What do you need tonight?” Alex asked him quietly, letting the hand at the back of Michael’s head loosen and slide out of his hair to rest on the back of his neck. He had a good idea what Michael might want, but he needed to hear him vocalize it. The other hand paused against Michael’s cheek, waiting for him to speak. Michael tell him what he wanted exactly so Alex could figure out how best to take care of him, that was part of the deal.

“I need to my brain to go quiet. I need you to scene with me, dominate me. I don’t want to make any decisions,” Michael replied, eyes opening slowly as he exhaled at the end of his confession. Alex nodded and urged Michael to press his head against Alex’s chest. He did so and Alex wrapped his arms around Michael, using his body as a shield against the outside world while they discussed their plan for the evening.

“Do you want to be restrained?” Alex asked, starting to form plans for the night. Michael nodded his head. “Use words, Michael.”

“Yes I want to be restrained,” Michael huffed out a little petulantly though with an obvious smile in his voice.

“Good. Do you want to edged?”

“Yes,” Michael sighed the word against Alex’s shirt. He could feel the heat of his breath warm the cotton against his skin.

“Do you want to get fucked?”

“So much, please,” Michael moaned, and his voice sounded so pleading. Alex paused to think about his options and what he could do for Michael. Michael let him think in silence, but his thumbs had started to brush back and forth over the outside of Alex’s thighs.

“Okay. How would you feel about putting on my favorite pair of red panties that you own? I’ll get some of the soft, red cotton rope and we’ll bind up your chest and arms. Then we’ll get you nice and hard and use that cock ring we bought with the prostate stimulator so you can blow me and tease yourself at the same time. Obviously, no coming unless I give you permission. Then finally I’ll fuck you nice and hard and if you’re very, very good, I’ll let you come. Does that sound okay?” Alex offered, petting Michael’s hair again as he spoke. His own skin was starting to heat up at his idea, his stomach stirring with arousal as he pictured each piece of his plan while describing it to Michael. Michael remained quiet against him, but Alex could see him working it through in his mind.

“Yes. I want all of that. Please,” he added to the end, looking up into Alex’s eyes as he said it.

“Please….” Alex prompted in the way they’d agreed on previous occasions to ask Michael if he was ready to start the scene.

“Please, sir,” Michael answered promptly, expectation and excitement expanding the simple meaning of the words between them.

“Good boy,” Alex praised, enjoying the rush of heat he felt when Michael called him ‘sir’ and gave him obvious, almost tangible power over him. “Safeword?”

“Max,” Michael responded, grinning up at him over the old joke. Nothing could get either of them out of the mood father than thinking about Max Evans.

“Right, and I’ve got the bell for when your mouth is otherwise occupied,” Alex reminded him. Michael nodded again before catching himself.

“Yes, sir,” he corrected himself.

“Now go get clean and dressed for me while I get out the toys,” Alex commanded lightly, stepping out from between Michael’s legs. He whined, but pushed himself off the bed and started towards the bathroom. Alex caught his arm and pulled him back against him.

“Give me a kiss before you go,” Alex said, meeting his eyes and waiting for his response. Michael smiled sweetly and bent forward, giving Alex a light peck on the lips before starting to draw back.

“Michael…” Alex said his name this time with a warning. “I thought you wanted to come tonight. Kiss me the way I like.”

This time Michael pushed into Alex’s body and claimed his mouth, lips open and tongue slipping wetly against Alex’s. It was one of those never-ending kisses that made your head go light from oxygen deprivation. When Michael finally pulled back, Alex pressed their foreheads together so they could catch a breath.

“Good boy,” he praised in a low voice. “Now go do what I asked, please.”

Michael smirked and backed away again before sauntering towards the bathroom. Alex licked his lips and followed him to lean against the open doorway. He could feel his anticipation growing as he watched Michael’s jeans drop to the floor of the bathroom with his underwear. He watched his shirt follow shortly and then saw him bend over to pull his socks off. When he did, Alex could see that perfect little pucker that he’d have stretched out on his cock by the end of the night.

As soon as he saw Michael slip behind the curtain into the shower, Alex turned and went to the chest they kept under one of the bedroom windows. He made sure the blinds were drawn down and the curtains closed before he opened the chest and looked at all the paraphernalia they kept within. They’d amounted quite the collection of toys since beginning to work on their communication. He grabbed the red cotton rope, the cock ring he’d mentioned, some of their thick lube for prolonged anal play, the red lace, wide-banded jock strap style panties he’d found for Michael at a sex shop in Germany, and a few things for himself. He set the rope, lube, and cock ring on the edge of the bed and took the panties into the bathroom.

“I’m putting your panties on the counter,” Alex called towards the steaming shower before returning to the bedroom. He didn’t wait for Michael to answer him, instead he turned back into the bedroom and headed towards the chair they kept in the corner by the closet. It was an antique club chair in rose gold velvet that he and Michael had found on the side of the road early one morning on their way to breakfast at the Crashdown. They’d thrown it into the back of the truck, taken it home, cleaned it up, and it promptly became Alex’s dressing chair in their bedroom. He tossed the items he’d grabbed for himself out of the chest over the arm of the chair before shrugging off his shirt and throwing it towards the laundry hamper. Next, he unbuckled his jeans and pushed them down to midthigh before sitting down into his chair to work them the rest of the way off. He released the catch for his prosthetic and slipped it out from his jean leg before pushing his jeans and undies all the way off, tossing them towards the hamper after his shirt. Naked, he took a deep breath and began his own mental transformation into the dominant partner Michael needed him to be for the night.

Alex picked up the first piece he’d chosen for himself that evening. It was an X-strap style leather harness with silver metal detailing. He held it over his head and slid it down onto his chest and back, instantly feeling more in control and sexually confident as the leather whispered and creaked with his movements. The other piece he’d chosen for himself that evening was a pair of black leather briefs with a zipper that ran front to back. He slipped them up over his legs and thighs and tugged them up over his ass. His workouts had been given him a bit of a bubble butt, so he found himself having to tug just about everything a little to get past the swell of his muscles. He looked down the length of his own body and smiled at the picture he made. He loved how he looked in leather gear. He had a full outfit, but he and Michael hadn’t made it to Sante Fe to any of the clubs there for him to show it off. Alex didn’t mind; he was just as happy to wear it at home with how Michael tended to react to him in it. He heard the shower turn off and his smile grew wider.

A few minutes later Michael came into the room, hands behind his back, red lace screaming against his skin and skin pink from the heat of the water and his scrubbing. He knelt on the floor a few feet in front of where Alex lounged in his chair and Alex watched him settle. Alex had seen him dart a few glances up at him as he’d walked into the room and if the bulge in his underwear was anything to go by, Michael liked what he saw.

“Michael,” Alex started, his voice low. He’d already made the transition in his mind from loving boyfriend to Dom who expected his orders to be followed. “Crawl over here, baby. Let me see you in your pretty panties.”

Michael rocked forward onto his hands and crawled the few feet so that he was sitting on his feet between Alex’s legs. Alex reached down and placed a finger under Michael’s chin to tilt his head up so he could look at him. Alex leaned forward and made a show of making Michael lean his upper body back until he had to place his hands on the carpet behind him to keep himself from falling. The arch showed off the long, lean muscles of his stomach and chest, the curly unkempt hair that led from his pecs down past the red lace band. Alex let his fingers trail down the Michael’s body until he hooked two fingers under the elastic band and stretched it slightly before letting it snap back against Michael’s lower stomach. Michael sucked in a breath above him in surprise, but when Alex looked up to catch his eyes he could see that Michael was already chewing on his bottom lip and his eyes had gone dark with lust.

“Why don’t you turn over and show me your hole, baby. I wanna see how good you did in the shower cleaning up for me,” Alex commanded, leaning back into the chair to give Michael room to move. While Michael shuffled around so he was facing away from Alex, Alex grabbed his prosthetic from where he’d laid it next to the chair and clicked it back on. He stood and made sure it was fully engaged before striding over to the bed to grab the lube, cock ring, and rope he’d laid out. He brought them back over to his chair and caught Michael watching him. He’d positioned himself so that his cheek was laid flat against the carpet, ass high in the air behind him with his hands clutching at his cheeks to spread them wide for Alex’s inspection. Alex smiled indulgently at him as he past him and set down his things on the chair arm before sitting back down. He took his time getting settled, ignoring the way Michael had started to shift a little on the floor. When a whine past his lips, Alex smacked a hand against one of his ass cheeks in a quick, stinging slap. Pink bloomed on Michael’s skin were Alex had reprimanded him.

“You know better, Michael. Be patient or all you’ll get is edged tonight and for the rest of the week until you learn patience,” Alex warned, voice stern.

“Sorry, sir,” he heard Michael pout into the carpet. Alex decided to take pity on him and turned his attention fully to Michael and his spread cheeks. He could see the slight sheen of leftover lube on Michael’s pink pucker. Alex spread his hands wide over the skin that Michael wasn’t clutching and let them rub back and forth. He scooted forward on the chair until his thighs were spread wide around Michael’s body, his thighs pressed against the back of Michael’s. He ran his hands upwards over Michael’s lower back and then down, letting them hook onto his hips do he could drag Michael’s hips the inch or two back until he was only a hairsbreadth away from pressing against Alex’s leather covered crotch. Michael moaned beneath him, hands leaving his ass cheeks and grasping onto Alex’s calves behind his knees. Alex smiled, trying to decide whether to punish Michael for letting go of his cheeks without permission or to ignore it. He couldn’t just ignore it, that’s not what Michael wanted from him.

“Now Michael,” he started in a chiding tone. He kept one of his hand on Michael’s hip while the other came back towards his hole. Alex pressed his thumb firmly against the tight furl of muscles and was pleased when it opened to him easily, letting him sink the digit past the rim and tug. “Did I say you would stop holding yourself open for me?”

Michael whined underneath him as Alex slowly started to push his thumb in a little further before drawing it back out. There wasn’t enough lube for him to do much more without hurting Michael, but he knew Michael craved the burn of a mostly dry finger sometimes. He felt Michael’s hands flex behind his knees and then start to pull away.

“You can keep them there, Michael. But you should’ve asked for permission. Why don’t you practice by asking me nicely to lube you up so we can make sure you’re ready for your toy?” Alex suggested, noticing the red flush starting to tint Michael’s shoulders as he continued to work his thumb around Michael’s rim slowly in a series of shallow thrusts and pulls.

“Ah! Will… Will you please… fuck, please… lube me up so you can… fuck! AH! Put my toy in me… please, sir?” Michael stuttered through the questions, breaking for short gasps. He was starting to tremble under Alex’s hand and he found himself shushing and petting him, pausing with his thumb pushed as deep as it would go while Michael took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

“You’re doing so good tonight, baby. I’ll give you what you need, okay?” Alex praised as he continued to pet Michael’s back while he whimpered. Alex gently pulled his thumb out of Michael and removed his hand from his back. “Why don’t you sit up and turn around? I need you to pull your panties down for me so we can put your cock ring on and fill your hungry hole until I’m ready for it.”

Michael scrambled to obey and Alex chuckled darkly as he watched him hook his thumbs into the sides of his underwear and drag them down to his knees. His cock was already hard and leaking from Alex’s attentions and it made Alex’s mouth water to see him so turned on. Instead of just throwing him onto his back on the floor and sucking him off like he wanted to, Alex busied himself with uncapping the tub of lube.

“Sir?” Michael asked softly from in front of him. Alex hummed to let him know he’d heard him. “Will you kiss me, please?”

Alex shot him a look and grinned at him. He loved Michael’s simple requests for affection, loved when he wanted that almost more than for Alex to wring the pleasure out of him.

“Of course, you can, baby,” Alex replied and leaned into Michael’s space. He cradled the back of Michael’s head in his hands and found himself pressing a wet, open mouthed kiss onto Michael’s lips. Michael responded by immediately opening his mouth to Alex’s advances and Alex plundered him, taking his tongue and lips as his own. Michael made low, pleasured hums as they kissed, and it made Alex’s skin feel too tight with how much he wanted Michael to just keep making those noises forever. He finally pulled back from the kiss, nipping Michael’s bottom lip affectionately before sitting back. Michael looked flushed and dazed, his lips swollen and red, shiny with spit, and Alex felt another hunger letting itself be known.

“Stand up for me and spread your legs a little for me,” Alex requested softly. Michael did as he was told, and Alex swallowed back the mouthful of saliva that had come flooding in the second he was within a foot of Michael’s cock. God, it was a beautiful thing. It was average length, but thick and uncircumcised. Alex’s mind helpfully supplied flesh memories of how good it felt when Michael was fucking him, and the foreskin supplied a delightful secondary tug against Alex’s hole when Michael pulled back. Alex made a mental note to get Michael to fuck him later if he was up to it. Alex kissed Michael’s hip and indulged himself, moving over to Michael’s cock and sucking the head into his mouth. His lips pushed down the foreskin while his tongue laved over the sticky slit streaming precome. Alex moaned at the taste, loving Michael’s salty sweat pre and how his hard flesh felt in against his tongue.

Scooping out some of the lube onto two fingers, Alex began warming it with his thumb. He reached past Michael’s cock and balls and followed his taint until he was back at Michael’s entrance. He pushed his two fingers past the rim without any more preamble and twisted them, smearing the thick lube around. Testing the coverage, he pumped his fingers a few times earning himself a desperate groan and trembling thigh from Michael. He gave Michael’s cock a final hard suck before pulling off with a pop. He withdrew his fingers and loaded just a little more lube onto them before picking up the cock ring and coating the prostate stimulating probe that was connected to it. He looked up to check on Michael and saw him watching him with hungry eyes, chest flushed and heaving. Alex gave him a feral grin in return and slipped the first part of the cock ring over Michael’s shaft. He positioned it at the base and then moved the second ring around Michael’s balls. The last part, the prostate stimulator, he slowly pressed past the slick ring of muscles. Michael immediately started breathing thought his mouth like he was trying not to moan and Alex teased him by pushing and pulling at the probe a few times before letting it settle against Michael’s prostate. When he looked at Michael’s cock again, he could see a new bead of precome glistening against his slit and he swiped his clean thumb over it and popped it into his mouth.

“How does it feel?” Alex asked a little breathlessly. He reached a hand between his own legs and massaged at his cock, giving himself a little relief rom the tension that was building in him from playing with Michael.

“It feels so good, sir. Thank you,” Michael replied, shifting his weight a little before freezing, stomach and face tensing as the probe shifted within him. “Fuck. So good.”

“I’m glad. You deserve to feel good,” Alex replied with a smile, bringing his still slicked hand up to Michael’s cock. He used a light grip, more tease than pressure, and stroked Michael while he leant forward and mouthed at his balls. He could feel Michael fighting to stay still, his muscles rigid with control. “You can move a little, Michael. I want to you to get to the edge edge once before we start tying you up.”

Michael moaned softly above him at his words and immediately Alex tightened his hand for Michael to thrust in to. Alex sat back up straight so he could watch Michael’s body. He ran his unoccupied hand over Michael’s flushed chest and tweaked at each of his nipples. Just a quick pinch and twist before pulling off and doing the same to the other. Michael cried out at the quick flash of pain and his hands immediately braced themselves on Alex’s shoulders, so he didn’t lose his balance, his hips working furiously as he pumped through Alex’s fist. Michael’s head was thrown back as lost himself in the pleasure of Alex’s attentive care. His cock flushed red between Alex’s fingers and the foreskin was drawn back to expose Michael’s thick, leaking tip. Alex trailed his fingers down to gently pull at Michael’s balls which had drawn up in anticipation of something he didn’t get to do just yet. Alex let his fingers slide behind them to press meaningfully against Michael’s taint, putting more pressure on his prostate than what he was getting from the stimulator.

“Ah… I’m.. I’m close, sir,” Michael gasped out, his hips still pumping into Alex’s fist even as he started to lose coordination.

“Then I suggest you stop,” Alex said with a warning, even though he didn’t take his hands away. Michael screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip, stilling his hips with obvious effort. His legs were shaking, and he was breathing heavily in and out through his nose as he tried to calm his body back down. Alex waited, unmoving, for Michael to give him the signal he could move his hands.

“You were so close, weren’t you, Michael?” Alex asked softly. Michael nodded quickly, eyes still shut but he released his abused lower lip from his teeth.

“Yeah... yes, sir. Just give me a sec, please,” he breathed above him. Alex looked at the cock in his hands and marveled at how angry and flushed with blood it was. All he wanted to do was take Michael in his mouth and let him cum hot and thick over his tongue. The cock ring would keep him hard, Alex reasoned, and they could continue their play…. But, no. Michael wanted to be edged and they’d agreed on a plan.

“Okay. I’m… I’m okay. Thank you for waiting on me, sir,” Michael finally said, his voice sounding much more even than it had a minute ago. Alex uncurled his fingers from around Michael’s shaft and pulled his other hand away from between Michael’s legs. He rested both on the outside of Michael’s thighs, petting him while he gave him another moment to breathe.

“You’re welcome, Michael. You did so good letting me know you were close because you know I would’ve had to punish you if you’d come without permission. Who owns your orgasm, Michael?” Alex asked, voice calm and soothing.

“You do, sir,” Michael replied easily.

“Who owns your cock?”

“You do, sir,” this time he confessed it on a sigh of contentment.

“Who gets to decide when you come?”

“Only you, sir. Only you.” Michael sounded adoring and reverent as he said the last words and Alex’s heart swelled with pride. He loved that Michael loved this, loved that Michael trusted Alex enough to give him control of his body.

“Good boy. Let’s get these panties back on so we can get you tied up like we discussed,” Alex said with affection as he let his hands grasp the edged of the lace and pull them back up Michael’s legs. He settled the lace around Michael’s hips and covered his erection with the material, smiling at how good it looked stretched over his engorged cock. “Now go stand over there by the mirror for me.”

Michael turned and walked the few short steps to the area Alex had indicated. They had a tall mirror leaned against the wall next to their dresser that Alex had more than once indulged in making Michael fuck him in front of. He loved the way Michael looked behind him, concentrating so hard on making him feel good and getting lost in his own pleasure. He also loved the way he looked being split open on Michael’s cock, impact shocks rippling through his muscles as Michael drove into him hard from behind. The mirror was one of Alex’s favorite purchases for their place.

Alex shook himself out of his daydream and grabbed the rope from the chair arm before standing up and walking over to where Michael was patiently waiting on him. He’d decided earlier that he was going to do a fairly simply chest harness since they’d be using the cock ring. He stood behind Michael’s back and after placing a couple brief kisses to his shoulder, started his work. He looped a couple lengths of rope over the top of Michael’s chest and around his back before going over his shoulders to create the harness straps. He worked quickly and methodically, checking the tautness of the rope and positioning before creating his locks. When he was satisfied with the harness, he brought Michael’s arms behind his backs, placing his wrists together before doing a single column tie to bind them. He finished with a square knot and checked in.

“How does this feel? Is this okay?” he asked, running his fingers under the ropes and checking the security and placement. Michael moved his body and strained against the ropes for a moment before relaxing into their grip.

“Yeah, it feels good,” he answered a little dreamily. Alex checked his eyes and could see that he’d dropped a little while Alex had been tying him up.

“Turn around. I want you to see how good you look right now in the mirror,” Alex commanded, letting his fingers pinch Michael’s nipples before pushing gently as his shoulder to make him turn around. Michael shifted and turned, eyes looking over his reflection. Smiling to himself, Alex reached over to their dresser and grabbed the little porcelain bell he’d found at some estate sale Isobel had dragged them to. He pressed it into one of Michael’s hands, watching as he worked a finger inside the bell to keep the clapper still unless he needed it. Then Alex hooked his chin over Michael’s shoulder and looked with him for a moment before sliding his hands over his arms to his shoulders and pressing down. Michael got the hint and slowly lowered himself onto his knees. Alex combed his fingers through his curls, pulling gently and making Michael look up at him. His body had to arch due to the angle Alex held him at and he could tell when the prostate stimulator had started to press unrelentingly inside Michael because he gasped and his eyes fluttered before he could focus on Alex’s face.

“You’re so fucking hot, Michael. I can’t wait to get your mouth on me,” Alex murmured, hands sliding down Michael’s chest, over the harness, and down to his nipples. He rubbed the pads of his fingers back and forth over them lightly at first and then with more pressure. Curling his fingers, he let his nails catch the blood flushed nubs as he lowered his face to claim Michael’s mouth in a searing kiss. The angle was wrong for anything more serious than the briefest touch of tongues, but when he backed off, Michael was breathing had picked up. Alex let him relax back to a neutral position, neck and back straight as he balanced on his knees.

“How are you feeling, baby?” Alex asked, addressing Michael through the mirror.

“Really good,” Michael replied, shifting a little and hips jumping at the movement which just made them jump again.

“Anything hurt?” Alex asked next, waiting patiently for Michael to catalogue through what his body was feeling.

“Nope. Everything’s good. I feel good. Just a little impatient,” Michael admitted, grinning at him cheekily.

“Impatient?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking at him.

“Yeah, I thought you said you were going to gag me with your dick?” Michael replied, chuckling a little when Alex gave him a mock stern expression.

“You are so impertinent. Maybe I should just go grab a ball gag and leave you here while I go jack off in the shower. Manners like that will get you nowhere with me,” Alex threatened. It was an empty threat. He might not let Michael come, but he wouldn’t leave him unattended while tied up and gagged with a cock ring on.

“Noooo. I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry. Please, fuck my face. I want to you to feed me your cock so bad, I just let my dick speak instead of my brain. Forgive me? Please?” Michael said, pouting at the threat of Alex not giving him what he wanted.

“Shhh,” Alex hushed him, walking around to stand in front of Michael’s body. Alex had gone a little soft while tying Michael up, which was just to be expected when he was wholly concentrating on keeping his sub safe from any ill-placed or too tight rope, but he was still half hard in anticipation of what was coming next. He cupped his hands over Michael’s jaw and looked down at Michael’s face, beautiful and tan, and with a look of such need on it that Alex smiled softly. “I want you to use your mouth to unzip me.”

One of Michael’s eyebrows shot up and he grinned up at Alex before turning and kissing at Alex’s wrist. Alex moved his hands away from Michael’s jaw, but kept them near his shoulders so he didn’t topple if he got too enthusiastic. He watched Michael lean forward and kiss the tongue of the zipper, sucking it between his lips before latching onto it with his front teeth. He looked up through his half dry curls and caught Alex’s eyes, keeping contact while he tugged the zipped down and away from Alex’s body slowly. Alex felt blood rushing back into his cock from the sight and licked his lips in anticipation. When Michael had pulled the zipped as far as he could, he broke eye contact with Alex so he could look at the opening of Alex’s briefs. He moved and nosed the flaps of either side further away and attached his lips to the root of Alex’s cock.

“That’s good, baby. Think you can get me out without help?” Alex asked, lust surging through him as he watched Michael start to lick his way up what he could get to of Alex’s length. If Michael’s cock was average length and girthy, Alex’s was slightly longer than average and curved. Michael moved his head, trying to push at the leather trapping the end of Alex’s cock against his hip, but the fabric was too stiff, the briefs too tight for much give. Alex let him try though, enjoying the building frustration on his face as he used his teeth to try to tug the fabric away from Alex’s body enough for his cock to be freed. Finally, sitting back on his heels Michael looked up at him with an irritated pout on his lips.

“Yes, sir. Can you please help me?” he asked, tone bratty and petulant. Alex chuckled at the scowl on Michael’s face as he stared at Alex’s uncooperative briefs. Obligingly, Alex pushed at the leather on his hips, letting the briefs fall to his feet before carefully stepping out of them. Michael scowled down at the piece at Alex’s feet, showing pure irritation, but when he turned back to Alex, now naked and hard in front of him, his face transformed back into something like hunger.

“Open up for me, Michael,” Alex directed as he gripped himself and positioned himself in front of Michael’s lips. Michael dropped his mouth open immediately, tongue sticking far enough out to cover his teeth as he waited for Alex to give him his cock. Alex pushed his hips forward, letting the tip glide onto Michael’s tongue. He watched Michael’s eyes close and what could only be described as an ecstatic expression transform his face as he wrapped his lips over Alex’s cock head and sucked. The heat and pressure of Michael’s mouth always made Alex’s knees weak and he had to give himself a minute to adjust to how good it felt every time he let Michael have him that way. Michael knew how much it affected Alex too and when Alex finally opened his eyes to look back down at Michael with his heavenly lips wrapped tightly around him, he caught the knowing look and twitch of his lips which meant Michael was mentally preening over the effect he had.

“Remember, ring the bell if you need me to back off. Understood?” Alex checked, voice already tight with the need to feel the back of Michael’s throat. Michael nodded solemnly, keeping eye contact with him to let Alex know he understood, and then without further preamble, pushed forward and sank his mouth further down Alex’s cock. Alex moaned appreciatively, one hand reflexively going to the back of Michael’s head, fingers sinking into the curls. At first, he was just happy to let Michael do the work, sinking down on him over and over, lips tight with suction and tongue swirling around him. Soon, though, it wasn’t enough and he tightened his hand in Michael’s hair and began to guide his movements as he gave shallow thrusts forward into Michael’s mouth. Michael jaw slackened immediately as he relaxed to let Alex take the reins from him and happily, Alex deepened his thrusts.

“Fuck, Michael, your mouth is goddamn miracle. You’re so good at this, baby,” Alex praised, holding Michael’s head close to feel him swallowing reflexively round him. He let him slide back, loving the drool that had started to push past his lips and the tears that gathered in his lashes. He was sloppy and beautiful and Alex had to give himself a sharp pinch to keep from blowing his load all over Michael’s face. Michael flushed under the praise, chest reddening with the effort of controlling his gag reflex and the blush of hearing Alex compliment him. Alex let him have a few breaths before starting to move him over his cock again, shallowly again so he could keep catching his breath. He sneaked a peek down Michael’s body and saw the dark spreading stain of precome on Michael’s panties. He was trying to keep his hips still as Alex moved him over his cock, but he could see the small hitches where the stimulator inside him rubbed him when he moved. Alex held Michael’s shoulder and withdrew from his mouth. Michael took in small gasps of air when Alex pulled back, but his eyes stayed on Alex’s cock, hunger and yearning on his features.

“Stand up, Michael,” Alex commanded, helping Michael with his balance as he unsteadily got to his feet. Alex grabbed his chin to hold him still and he licked over Michael’s lips with a broad, flat tongue. He could taste himself and could feel the heat and blood in lips from being used by him. Then he kissed him, forcing his way in with tongue and teeth. Michael grunted and responded with the same fervor. Alex pushed his hand past the lace waistband of Michael’s panties and got his fish around Michael’s tortured cock. It was hot and sticky with precome and when Alex started stroking him, Michael made a sound somewhere on that wire’s edge between pleasure and pain. Alex let him go and moved his hands to his backside. He grabbed, squeezed, and spread Michael’s cheeks and pressed their bodies tight together, knowing it would rub Michael’s overly sensitive cock against the lace and his own stomach.

“P-please!” Michael cried out, breaking the kiss in a harsh gasp. Alex stilled their bodies against each other, but his hands kept massaging Michael’s ass as he waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, merely groaned at Alex’s hands, he prompted him.

“Please, what? What do you need, baby?” Alex asked, even though he felt like he knew. He moved one of hands into the space between Michael’s ass cheeks and pressed gently on the end of the prostate stimulator. A dry, choked sob escaped from Michael and Alex could feel him clenching and trembling against him.

“I’m… so close right now,” Michael gasped, resting his head on Alex’s shoulder as he sucked in air.

“Again?” Alex asked, not hiding the delight in his voice. Michael nodded wordlessly against him and Alex drew back his hand, bringing it up to rub soothingly against Michael’s lower back.

“Ready for me to take off your cock ring and fuck you stupid?” Alex asked softly, kissing Michael’s neck and shoulder gently as he spoke. Michael let out a long, shuddering breath before responding.

“Yes, please, sir,” he responded, voice pleading.

“Do you want to stay tied up too or do I need to release you?” Alex asked, rubbing his hands over Michael’s forearms as he spoke. Michael took a moment and then shook his head.

“You sure, baby? It’s okay if you don’t want it,” Alex assured him, kissing his ear and jaw as he backed off so he could catch Michael’s eye. Michael looked at him and shook his head again.

“No, sir. Leave it on, please,” Michael asked. He looked so earnest that Alex took his word for it. He kissed his mouth in the same soft way he’d kissed his neck and jaw.

“Okay, baby. I’ll leave them on. Think I can take the cock ring off now without you coming?” Alex asked, glancing down at Michael’s red, leaking cock between them.

“Yes, sir. I think I’m okay now. Thank you.”

Alex stepped back and bent over to push the panties all the way down Michael’s legs. Michael stepped out of them and let his legs spread so Alex could have access to him. Gently Alex took the cock ring off in the reverse order in which he’d put it on. He gently pulled out the prostate stimulator, noting Michael’s keening whine as he did. Then he stretched the ring around his balls and gently worked it off before doing the same with the ring around Michael’s cock. Michael was breathing heavily through his mouth again, eyes dark and body tight as he fought to control himself.

“I’ll be right back,” Alex said, pressing his palm to Michael’s cheek and kissing his lips gently when his breathing had calmed again. Michael’s head canted into his palm and Alex kissed him again before withdrawing and going into the bathroom. He tossed the cock ring into the sink and grabbed Michael’s towel from earlier. He came back to where Michael was standing and laid the towel on the floor at his feet. Michael watched him curiously as he went and grabbed the small back pillow he used in his dressing chair and then grabbed the tub of lube from earlier.

“I want to fuck you in front of the mirror, Michael. Are you okay with that?” Alex asked after placing the items on the floor next to the towel. Michael grinned at him and kneeled down onto the towel. He started to push forward to rest his weight on his shoulder like he’d done earlier, but Alex stopped him with a hand. “Not yet, love. I’ll put you where I want you.”

Michael swallowed and nodded, letting his body relax as Alex leaned on the edge of the bed and took off his prosthetic. His leg was starting to bother him a little after all the standing he’d been doing plus the full day of wearing it so he placed it to the side and went ahead and took off the socks and liners for it. He did a quick per functionary check of his residual limb to make sure it wasn’t in need of any immediate attention from him. Satisfied, he slid down to the ground and crawled over to where Michael was waiting for him. He positioned his body behind Michael’s and wrapped his arms around his torso, pulling their bodies together. He caught Michael’s eye in the mirror and smiled.

“We look so fucking good together,” Alex commented. He’d situated them to there they were in profile instead of looking at the mirror head on. He wanted Michael to be able to watch as he fucked him and with his arms tied it was too much of a risk to get him to try to look straight ahead while he pounded him from behind. Michael hummed his agreement while looking at them. Alex grabbed the tub of lube and scooped out some with his fingers. He bent and kissed Michael’s shoulder while he moved his fingers to his hole.

“I know you’ve had something in you already, but I wanna make sure you’re stretched enough for me,” Alex explained. Michael hummed and tilted his hips, pushing them back against the gentle pressure of Alex’s fingers. Alex pushed in, glad he’d checked because Michael had tightened up a little. The prostate stimulator wasn’t huge like a plug, so it was only right that Michael’s muscles had regained their normal elasticity. Michael groaned at the feeling of being stretched again and Alex reached around his body to stroke his manhood as he fingerfucked him slowly. He backed off and added a third finger, pushing his way into Michael’s body slowly before flexing and shifting his fingers inside of him. Michael ground his hips down on Alex’s fingers and let out the smallest sigh of what sounded like relief.

“Okay. Go ahead and lean forward. I’m going to put the pillow under your head so you don’t get carpet burn on your cheek,” Alex instructed. He watched Michael get into position and Alex slid the pillow under Michael’s head. When Michael was settled, Alex grab a little more of the lube and coated himself with it before shuffling forward and lined himself up with Michael’s hole. He rubbed his cock across it, teasing, putting pressure against his reddened pucker and then backing off. Michael whined and Alex met his eyes in the mirror with a silent warning. “Do you want to come, Michael?”

“Yes, please,” Michael answered, arching his back and pushing his hips towards Alex.

“Then be good for me,” Alex said evenly as he continued to tease Michael’s hole. He started to push forward with purpose, letting the head of his cock sink in a little past the rim before backing off. He did it again, pushing a little further before backing off again. The next slow thrust had his head popping fully inside the tight ring of muscle which Michael squeezed lightly as he panted and moaned against the pillow under his cheek. Alex decided to torture him a little. He left his cock where it was with only the tip inside the hot clutch of Michael’s body and then he used one hand on Michael’s lower back to hold his body steady while the other came up to start stroking along the length he’d left outside.

“What if I just did this, Michael? Just kept you still and filled you with my come, but didn’t fuck you? What do you think of that idea?” Alex asked, watching Michael’s expression grow tortured as he watched Alex’s hand work himself while Michael remained unfilled. The idea was one that Alex actually found hot, his body flushing with the idea of filling Michael with load after load of come and just plugging him up. He could do it a few times throughout the day until Michael was desperate to feel him buried to his balls inside of him.

“Please, sir. I need your cock in me. Please,” Michael begged, face flushed with need as his eyes remained glued on Alex’s hand.

“My cock is in you, Michael. Isn’t this what you wanted?” Alex teased before drawing back and fucking back in just as shallowly as before. Michael hiccupped a dry sob and he finally looked into Alex’s eyes through the mirror.

“It’s so good, sir. You feel so good, but it’s not enough. Please, sir, I wanna feel…” his breath caught in his throat and Alex watched him swallow thickly before continuing,”… I wanna feel your balls pounding against my taint, sir. I wanna feel you all day tomorrow, feel where you were deep inside me… Please, sir. Please fuck me like that.”

“Oh, baby,” Alex responded indulgently. He leaned over Michael’s back and pushed himself fully inside Michael in one long, slow thrust. When he felt his balls brushing Michael’s perineum, he stilled. “How can I deny a request like that?”

Michael’s eyes were closed, and his mouth was open in a silent ‘O’. He looked like he was in the best kind of pain. Alex started to pull back and Michael’s face changed again, still that ecstatic mix of need and fulfillment, and it made Alex feel reckless knowing he’d done that to him. Alex began to build a hard, deep rhythm as he pulled almost all the way out and then pushed his way back into Michael’s willing body. The slapping of their skin filled the room, bright over the chorus of their intermingled gasps and moans. Alex could see Michael’s weeping cock swaying from between his legs in the mirror. Alex grasped at Michael’s hips and tilted them, changing the angle just enough for him to start brushing over his already sensitive prostate.

“Alex!” Michael shouted, his body pushing back into the new angle as Alex started to thrust into Michael harder and quicker. He could see the concentration in Michael’s face and knew he must be close to coming again.

“You can come when you need to, baby. It’s okay to let go,” Alex huffed through his exertions, feeling his own end quickly approaching. Something in Michael relaxed and Alex could see that he wasn’t fighting his body anymore, but letting sensation take whatever toll it wanted. Alex shortened his thrusts, but kept them sharp as he reached around to get his hand around Michael’s cock. It didn’t take too many pulls before Michael’s body was tensing around him, almost painfully tight, and Michael was shooting onto the towel beneath his body. Alex kept rocking into him, knowing that as many times as he’d been edged Michael’s orgasm was likely to last a little longer than normal. Alex milked him through it, kissing his arms and shoulders as he felt Michael melt beneath him. When he relaxed, almost boneless under Alex’s weight, Alex drew back and began to pull out of him, intending to jerk himself off to finish with his load striped over Michael’s well used hole, but a needy whine from Michael stopped him.

“Please, sir… I want you to finish inside me. I can take it,” he said, eyes glassy and dreamy. With slow movements, he raised his body back into position for Alex to keep going at him.

“You sure?” Alex asked, petting Michael’s flank as he looked him in the eyes. Michael swallowed and nodded.

“Yes, I’m sure. Please, daddy, I want you to,” Michael moaned, once again pushing his hips back begging for Alex to fuck him. Alex didn’t know why, but Michael’s soft ‘daddy’ made all remaining blood in his body shoot straight to his cock. It was his turn to swallow as he tried to calm down enough not to bust on his first thrust.

“Okay, baby. I got you,” he managed finally. He started up a new rhythm. He kept it fluid with more of a roll in his hips as he pistoned in and out of Michael’s body. He could hear Michael’s deep moans of pleasure, but he didn’t see the expression on his face. Alex’s eyes had fluttered shut as he chased his own orgasm, body tightening and speeding its way along. He thought about how Michael had looked gagged on his cock, how his panties had been practically soaked with precome, how he’d begged and squirmed for his cock, and then the soft ‘daddy’ he’d let out when he begged him to keep going, to empty himself inside Michael’s body. It took Michael tightened around him again, apparently rocked by another small orgasm as Alex had sought to lose himself, for his body to tumble over and let go. He shook against Michael’s back, sensation blinding him for a minute, before he came back to himself.

He reached forward and undid the knotted ropes. His biggest concern was getting Michael’s arms free first while he calmed his body down. He unwrapped his wrists slowly and helped Michael maneuver them from behind his back. He looked down between them at where he was still buried in Michael’s body, slowly softening inside of him. Regretfully, he pulled out with a slight hiss. He’d loved to have just stayed in, falling asleep spooned against Michael’s back on the floor of their bedroom, but the rope harness needed to be untied and discarded.

“Think you can sit up? I’m going to get the rest of this harness off you and then we can get into bed and cuddle for a while. Sound good?” Alex asked, rubbing his hands up and down Michael’s back with gentle pressure. Michael hummed out a sound that seemed like approval and then using his newly freed arms, pushed himself to sit back on his heels. Alex immediately wrapped his arms around him and held him against his chest.

“You did so good, Michael. You were amazing. I’m so proud of you,” Alex whispered against his neck, hugging him close. Michael’s hands wrapped around his wrists and he sighed happily at the attention. After a minute or two, Alex pulled back and started unwinding the rest of the harness. When he was done, he tossed the rope up onto the dresser and then wrapped Michael in his arms again.

“Do you wanna move up to the bed with me?” Alex asked, differentially. Michael sighed and looked up at the bed longingly.

“Yeah, let’s get up there,” Michael answered, squeezing Alex’s arms reassuringly. They untangled themselves and Alex moved to the dresser to pull himself into a standing position. Michael handed him his crutches and then moved to crawl onto the bed, laying on his stomach and cuddling his pillow. Alex followed him, grabbing a throw from the end of the bed, before climbing on and snuggling up behind Michael, spreading the blanket over them. Michael turned and buried his head into Alex’s chest, legs intertwining with Alex’s under the blanket and arms wrapping around him.

“Do you feel less noisy now?” Alex asked, combing his fingers through Michael’s curls and kissing the crown of his head. Michael hummed appreciatively and kissed Alex’s chest.

“So quiet now. Thank you,” he mumbled, snuggling his body infinitesimally closer.

“Good. You want to take a nap for a little bit before clean up?” Alex asked, his hands rubbing over Michael’s arms and back as if he trying to keep him warm.

“Yeah. Naps good. Love you,” Michael said, body already halfway to sleep.

“Love you too, baby.” Alex whispered, not sure Michael heard him, but sure that he knew how Alex felt.

#kinktober #kinktober 2020 #malex #roswell nm #michael guerin #alex manes #smutty fanfiction

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themonotonysyndrome · 4 years

Text

A Chance Meeting?

Not gonna lie, I didn’t expect that ‘Our Intertwine Dream’ would receive a lot of positive attention. I’m happy that a lot of people enjoyed my whimsical indulgence and that the damn tags worked for once.

Anyway, this is a continuation of my previous Twisted Wonderland fic and I’ll post this in AO3 tomorrow. In this one, we’ll explore more of Silver’s unusual predicament and how the people around him react to it. It’s, uh, a bit long so please bear with me. Also, I still can’t believe we’re gonna get Lilia and Silver’s cards today! I can’t wait to learn more about these two!!

“Tsunotarou-senpai? Are you here to see the headmaster, too?”

Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, Malleus slowly open his eyes and turn his head to greet the young odd, magic-less human. His little feline friend is sleeping deeply in his arms.

He hides a smile when Yuu jog towards him without hesitation or fear.

“No. I’m waiting for Lilia and Silver to finish up in there.” Malleus answer, gesturing to the headmaster’s office with his head. When Yuu’s smile drops into a frown, the Unseelie Prince allows the boy to collect himself first; no doubt he and the rest of the student body has questions.

“Oh... Is Silver-senpai alright now?” Yuu carefully asks, he heard what happened to Silver and how no one - not even the headmaster - could wake him up during his four days slumber. Because of his relations with Malleus, his absence was quickly noticed when not only did he failed to show up for classes, no one saw him with Malleus’ group for days. Gossips soon erupt like a wildfire; everyone wondered if the Second Year student was seriously ill until whispers about how Lilia and the headmaster couldn’t rouse Silver from his sleep came from a couple of Diasomnia’s students. No one knows what really happened to Silver; not even Sebek knows the full detail.

Malleus shakes his head. “We’re not certain. Lilia took care of Silver as soon as he woke up and they went to see Headmaster Crowley once classes are finish.” As soon as they realised that something was wrong with Silver, Malleus step up to sort out their dorm’s affairs while Lilia watched over him, researching with the headmaster on how to wake him up.

Fortunately for him, there wasn’t a lot for Malleus to do; everyone in Diasomnia handled themselves quite well when news of Silver’s ‘illness’ spread throughout the college. It was as if they had all had taken an unspoken agreement to not bothered their leader and vice leader.

“I hope that Silver-senpai will feel better soon...” Yuu said, when Grim begin to mutters in his sleep, he carefully adjusts the cat in his arms so he could be more comfortable.

Just then, the door swing opens and Headmaster Crowley pokes his head out.

“Ah, just the student I wanted to look for! Won’t you step in for a moment, Mr.Draconia? We just need to wrap up our discussion and then I’ll be right with you, Mr.Yuu.” The headmaster said.

Yuu flashes him a thumbs up. “No problem, sir. I can wait.”

“Excellent! Now, Mr.Draconia, if you’d be so kind...” Headmaster Crowley push opens the door wide with a flourish and bows for Malleus.

“I’ll see you later Tsunotarou-senpai! Please give my regards to Silver-senpai and Lilia-senpai!”

Malleus nods once - curious when his collar reveals marks that resemble tiny suction cups littering his neck when the boy politely bow - and enters the office with Headmaster Crowley promptly close the door behind him. Seated in front of the desk are Lilia and Silver. Despite how relaxed Lilia appears with both of his legs stretch out, Malleus easily caught his displeasure and worries with the way gloved fingers are gripping the armrests. Beside him, Silver’s shoulders are rigid and clear signs of exhaustion and confusion are brewing in his eyes.

“How was class? The kids?” Lilia inquired when Malleus took the vacant chair beside him.

“Everything’s fine.” Malleus states. “Rumours of Silver’s absence is still circulating the campus but it’s nothing we can’t manage.”

“Indeed. According to several of my teaching staff, Silver-san’s peers and most of Diasomnia’s students are doing well not to add fuel to the fire. I applaud your sense of leadership Draconia-san, Vanrouge-san.” Headmaster Crowley slips into his seat to resume their discussion.

Silver blows a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry for causing everyone so many problems. I... I never thought that my condition could worsen like this.”

“To be fair, no one could predict this.” Lilia cuts in with a comforting smile. Malleus didn’t comment on how it falters for a split second when Silver looks away.

“Vanrouge-san makes an interesting point.” Headmaster Crowley ruminates as he rubs his chin with gold-tipped claws. “According to the records we have, this is the first incident that Silver-san slept for days straight. I wonder what could be the cause...”

“I’ve always had a problem with sleeping but it was never this bad. Even back at home.” Silver grouse. When he realised that he just let out a huge yawn, he blinks in surprise before sighing.

“And it seems despite sleeping for four days, it wasn’t a peaceful rest.” Headmaster Crowley commented, behind the mask his eyes are scrutinising Silver. “No matter what the teachers and I did, it took Vanrouge-san and Draconia-san’s combined efforts to woke you up.”

It appears that Lilia didn’t inform Silver of that fact judging by his startle expression.

“Malleus-sama had to use his magic on me...?”

“Mm,” Malleus confirmed. “Lilia and I had to slip into your dream and I used my magic to pushed him towards your consciousness when we understood that you reacted well to his voice.”

Silver hung his head low, as if in shame. “I even bothered Malleus-sama...”

Malleus narrows his eyes at Silver’s bitter tone, slowly growing confused at his behaviour. Lilia interjected when neither he nor Headmaster Crowley said anything.

“It wasn’t your fault, Silver. As I said, no one could’ve foreseen something like this happening.” The Unseelie Fae consoles the troubled Silver. Lilia’s smile is finally genuine when Silver’s lips quirk up when he patted his hand. “Now then, did you managed to find anything on why Silver couldn’t wake up?”

Malleus could count on one hand when it comes to creatures that he would accede to; his parents, grandmother and Lilia. Though each of them for various reasons, he respects Lilia not only for raising him but also for what the ancient Fae represent. Powers that come from lost knowledge, confidence from crushing haughty Seelie Fairies as a pastime and experiences gained from many passing seasons. All hidden behind mischievous smiles and an unassuming demeanour.

And as they continue to discuss what had induced Silver into a temporary coma, Malleus easily differ to Lilia’s ability to take reign on any situation so seamlessly like a king with his court. Even the headmaster nods along to the possibilities listed by Lilia.

“A spell is a strong possibility.” Headmaster Crowley hums in agreement. He had been writing down their theories and the possibilities raised by Lilia in a journal while Silver and Malleus listen on silently. “The tricky part is finding out just what sort of spell that was cast.”

“...And who the caster is.” Lilia is all smiles and pleasantly agreeable, but there was something dark that touched his tone. Silver might’ve missed it but not Malleus. Never Malleus.

The headmaster claps his hands once. “Very well then. I will request several of your teachers to help me on my research on the spell that was cast on young Silver here.”

Silver ducks his head but Lilia presses on.

“And we’ll make sure this... incident won’t happen again.” Only Lilia could say something that’s cross between a promise and a threat, all the while flashing a teasing wink at a huffing Silver.

By the time they made their way back to the dorm, Malleus mentally inclines his head to not only Lilia’s masterful way at sorting out the talk with Headmaster Crowley, but also cheer Silver up to his usual charming self. Lavender eyes roll at his corny jokes that had Silver looking away so Lilia couldn’t see his shy, happy smiles when he did manage to get him to laugh.

“So... is it safe for me to sleep again so soon or...?” Silver asks once the three of them are in his room. He was the first to take a seat on his bed, follow by Lilia soon after once he removes his heavy coat.

Lilia fondly ruffles Silver’s hair who in turn, did his best not to frown at the childish treatment. “Go ahead and try to sleep tonight. Malleus will be putting spells in your dreams to keep intruders out once you’ve fallen asleep and ah… hang on...” He trails off and starts to fiddle with his leather belts to unclasp one of the spools of threads. Every Diasomnia students carry with them magical spools of threads and a small pack of needles on their dorm uniform to represent their allegiance to the Witch of Thorns. Some use the threads as a conduit for spell castings while others - mostly the younger students - enjoy pranking their friends with it.

Oh! Though there is a Fourth Year student who often receive commissions for soft plushies since he likes to sew them. From what Silver has heard, they are sewn with his own magic threads and rare stuffing materials that it bestowed each soft toys the magical ability to copy and stored the owner’s happiest memory. When someone touches or cuddle with the toys, they will relive that memory as if it happened just yesterday.

Lilia pulls a lengthy green thread from the spool and nips it with his fangs before gesturing Silver to extend his dominant hand which he did so wordlessly. “I’ve enchanted this particular spool of thread for the younger, rowdy Diasomnia students who tend to injure themselves whenever they practised magic unsupervised.” He explains, deftly tying the thread around Silver’s pinky finger. “This thread can only be destroyed when the person carrying it is hurt and will alert me of their whereabouts.”

“That’s a powerful spell...” Silver mutters, eyeing the thread carefully. It’s barely noticeable and weights almost nothing.

“I can teach you if you like,” Lilia promises and jumps out of the bed to slip his coat back on. “But that’s for another day. Would you like to join us for dinner or - ”

Silver shakes his head. He had enough of people staring at him when he and Lilia went to the headmaster’s office. “I’m not really hungry. A couple of my classmates came by to give me some homework that’s due this week. Might as well get a start on it.”

Lilia accepts this and fusses over Silver a little more - fluffing his pillows, spellchecks his finished homework and even rummaging his cupboard to see if he did his laundry - before he and Malleus left soon after, much to Silver’s immense relief.

It’s dinner time and huddled around a table in the cafeteria are Yuu and the rest of his First Year friends eating together. Yuu, Grim, Ace and Deuce caught Jack and Sebek on their way to the cafeteria and since Epel was reading alone in the courtyard, they extend an invitation to him which the Pomefiore boy happily accepts.

Stirring his bowl of soup, Yuu turns to glance at the table with a group of First Year Scarabia and Octavinielle students who were gossiping loudly.

“...Saw Vanrouge-san and Silver-san going to the headmaster’s office earlier.”

“Really? So was Silver-san sick?”

“How should I know? I didn’t dare to ask and besides, you don’t approach Vanrouge-san; he approaches you.”

“Oh c’mon, he’s nothing like... you know who. He can’t be that scary.”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s not that Vanrouge-san is scary, he’s one of the most popular student and one of the beautiful elites in the whole college! You can’t just go up and talk to someone like that!”

“That and have you seen him? He’s up there with Schoenheit-san when it comes to looks and fashion. I even heard Schoenheit-san asked for tips from Vanrouge-san!”

“As riveting as it is hearing you two gush about Vanrouge-san, I’m more interested in what happened to Silver-san. I heard that Mr.Divus spend all night brewing some special potion for him.”

“Really? Maybe he was seriously sick then. It would explain his absence.”

“Whoa, like, he was so sick that he nearly died?”

A startled silence falls in the cafeteria when Sebek suddenly slam both of his hands on the table as he stands up.

“As a Diasomnia student, I won’t tolerate any slanders against a student under Malleus-sama exalted leadership!” Sebek bark angrily at the table beside him. “Even if said student is a mere human!”

“Ah shit, here we go...” Ace mutters underneath his breath as he wipes the spilt drinks with a napkin. Epel promptly left to grab more napkins the moment Sebek stood up while Yuu hurriedly pushes their plates and cutleries away from the mess.

Jack simply close his eyes and exhale deeply through his nose, attempting to remain calm while Deuce glare at the other table.

“Whoa, whoa, relax! We don’t mean any harm, just talking.” One of the Scarabia students hurriedly counters, hands up in peace. However, his friend just scoff.

“He won’t listen to you, man. That’s Sebek Zigvolt; he’s the fanatic student from Diasomnia and not one to listen to reason.”

“Then why did you talk about Silver-senpai in such a manner when you know we were seating here!?” This time it’s Deuce. “Have some respect for your senior!”

“Guys, c’mon. I’m sure Silver-senpai wouldn’t want this - ” Yuu tries to diffuse the situation but his words fall on deaf ears when an Octavinielle student interjects with a put-out sigh.

“What’s the big deal anyway? He’s walking about since this morning right? It’s fine. The fact that you feel the need to make a fuss out of it is ridiculous.”

Yuu paused to face that student, incredulous at his nonchalance.

“Watch your tone.” Jack snaps. Yuu internally sighs now that even Jack is on board. Looks like it’s another trip to the headmaster office after this...

Wild, uneasy tension is crackling in the air - or was that Sebek? Yuu isn’t too sure - surrounding them while most of the students in the cafeteria quietly sneak out, smart enough to avoid whatever trouble that will occur.

“We’re so going to get in trouble...” Epel whispers though the idea of a brawl sounds exciting. Getting scolded by Vil? Not so much. As he weighs the pros and cons, a new voice joins in.

“Ah, the liveliness of youth... It never fails to makes me happy seeing First Year students getting along so well!”

Everyone flinches when Lilia appear out of nowhere, smiling in amusement. They all said nothing when the Vice Leader of Diasomnia cross his arms and said, “It seems that everyone is having fun. That’s good, that’s good... but let’s keep it down, yes? Curfew is in two hours so good children should finish up their dinner soon.” Despite how young Lilia sounded, his voice remind everyone of their parents at that moment. The two First Year students that were gushing about him earlier flustered brightly and unable to meet Lilia’s smokey red eyes.

“Lilia-sama... I-I didn’t mean to bring shame to - ” Sebek began, his voice wavers and face scrunch in obvious distress. Deuce is stuck in an awkward angle trying to console him and looking away in embarrassment.

Lilia floats up to pat Sebek’s head. “Aww, chin up, Sebek-kun. We all get a little excited sometimes, hmm? No harm done.” He then turns his attention to his wary audience, slender finger tapping his chin in contemplation. “It’s been a while since we dine with the First Years. Shall we have dinner with them? What do you think, Malleus?”

Someone gasps as soon as Lilia said that. The table with the Scarabia and Octavinielle students immediately duck their heads when Malleus appear, stoically carrying a tray of food and drinks. With stiff politeness, they excuse themselves and hurry exit the cafeteria. Lilia’s amuse smile never falters once.

“He’s seriously not going to join us here right?” Ace whispers, both in awe and fear only to be roughly elbowed by Yuu.

“Don’t be rude, Ace.” Yuu chastises him before giving the two Faes a welcoming smile. “Of course Lilia-senpai and Tsunotarou-senpai can join us! The more the merrier after all.”

Malleus tilts his head, wondering if it’s truly alright, but Lilia just chuckle. “Well then, we’ll happily take up on your kind invitation, child. Come Malleus, don’t just stand there like one of your gargoyles.”

Yuu and his group scoot over to make space for them; Lilia slides in to sit beside Deuce while Malleus sits beside Jack. The wolf doesn’t seem to be bothered by their close proximity and Malleus’ intimidating figure.

Or maybe he’s doing a great job hiding his wariness.

Since no one knows what to say with Lilia and Malleus at the table, Yuu breaks the silence first. “So how was the meeting with the headmaster went, Tsunotarou-senpai?”

“Yuu - ” Deuce hiss while Epel instantly facepalmed and Ace whimpers as if in pain.

Malleus easily ignore their odd reaction and reply, “The headmaster is investigating the matter. As of now, we don’t know the real reason behind it.” He handed Lilia a plate of steak and veggies with a glass of red wine before arranging his meal on the table.

“Mm-hmm. But at least there weren’t any bad side effects on Silver so he’ll be fine soon enough.” Lilia chimes in.

“It’s good to hear that Silver-senpai is alright!” Yuu said, brightly; his own half-eaten lasagna forgotten at the good news. “What a relief...”

“Yeah, it’s been weird not seeing him sleeping in the courtyard after P.E.” Deuce absentmindedly comment.

“Or on the bleachers at the training ground.” Jack added as an afterthought.

Lilia languidly swirls his wine. “For First Years, it sounds like you’re close to him, yes? I understand Sebek because he’s in our group...”

“I am eternally grateful for your and Malleus-sama’s benevolence!” Sebek suddenly shouted.

“Use your indoor voice for once in your damn life!” Jack growls, disgruntled but otherwise focusing on his food more than the conversation.

It was Yuu who answered Lilia’s musing. “Silver-senpai sometimes help us with our classes.”

“He’s... surprisingly a cool senior.” Ace praised with a mischievous grin. Deuce immediately glares at him and for some reason, it actually shuts him up.

“Huh? Is that so?” Lilia drawls with a raised eyebrow. Ace and Deuce valiantly hold themselves back from fidgeting while Yuu is oddly quiet as the Fae takes a slow sip of his drink. Epel doesn’t know what’s going on and Malleus is lost in the conversation. Meanwhile, Sebek and Jack are nearly finishing their dinner. “It makes me happy that Silver is putting himself out there a lot more then. Not just in his studies but also with his friends.”

“Mn.” Malleus easily agreed.

The topic is then steered to trivial matters by Yuu and a half an hour later, dinner is wrapped up and everyone returns to their specific dorm.

And that night, Silver dreams of thick, green walls of thorns that reaches to the endless sky and green fireflies hover around him, carrying a familiar presence that eases his heart and melts away the unknown fear on his shoulders.

That night, Silver sleeps undisturbed and under the watchful spells of his parents.

“Hey, Silver-senpai? Can you hear me?”

With a nonsensical grumble, Silver raises his head from the cool wooden table to glare - well, he tried to glare but really, his eyes are squinting from the harsh fluorescent light - at the fifth person to bother him today.

But when he realises it’s Yuu and Grim, Silver couldn’t help but sigh. Irritation replaces with apathy as he rubs his temple and asks, “Out of all the tables in the library, you wanted this one?”

Yuu sheepishly grins, scratching his cheek while Grim twitches its whiskers; indifferent to their conversation. “Actually, we were just about to leave the library when Grim spotted you. You weren’t moving so I thought you were sleeping but then...” He trails off, unsure on how to explain himself for disturbing him but Silver could already guess what he’s trying to say.

And for that, Silver didn’t really have the heart to be mad at him but seriously...

“I wasn’t sleeping; just... resting my eyes for a bit.” Silver begrudgingly admits. Seeing that Yuu won’t be leaving anytime soon, he invites the younger boy to take a seat in front of him. “I appreciate the gesture, but I need you and the rest of the student body not to freak out when you see me taking a nap.”

“A-Ah, will do, Silver-senpai.” Yuu chuckles albeit still abashed for thinking of the worst when he approached the Second Year student. “Was it really that bad? When other students tried to wake you up?”

“A Savanaclaw student literally carried me to Lilia-san while I was sleeping. While he was in the middle of class.”

“Wow... that’s, uh, that’s...” Yuu had to bit his lower lip to stop himself from laughing at the image popping in his head. Grim had no such problem.

“Gyahahaha! That’s so funny!” Grim cackles. “You’re like a princess!”

A couple of students shot him an annoyed look for his loud voice, not that he cares. Silver groans, “It’s annoying. I’m fine; I’d wish people would stop looking at me as if I’d slip into a coma at any time.” Even Sebek had taken to hover around him a lot more often now. Probably came up with all sorts of excuses like how it would greatly inconvenience Malleus and Lilia if Silver were to injure himself if the same incident suddenly repeated.

“...Do you think there’s anything I can do to help?” Yuu asks after a ponder. His offer is genuine and Silver have to wonder how this boy can be so kind.

But he just sighs once more. “Just don’t treat me as if I’m made of glass.” He’s meant to be Malleus’ knight for the Witch’s sake. He trained and worked hard since a young age so he could keep up with the other Faes when it comes to magic. So he’d like to think that he’s as capable as Sebek despite their glaring difference.

Yuu then promises and that’s that. He and Grim left shortly after when Ace call him to hang out at the Heartslabyul dorm - Riddle is having a tea party and he’s invited - leaving Silver to gather himself before his next class, Evocation.

Wary glance, exchange whispers and knowing looks that Silver had been receiving for the past two days quickly grate on his nerves. He knows that the rumours would die down eventually but that doesn’t mean he had to accept it quietly.

He needed to get away from college for at least a little while. By the time Lilia texted him to inform that he’s waiting for Silver in their shared class, Silver made up his mind.

He needs a damn break.

“...Do you think we should tell Silver-san that Leona-senpai asked us to tease him?” A First Year Savanaclaw student asks after he and his friend watch him step into the library’s teleportation mirror and vanishes. They didn’t mean to eavesdrops on his conversation; it’s just that their table is behind the shelf of books that stood between his!

“B-But I want to carry him in my arms too...” His friend whines. “It’s not fair that Romulus get to carried him...”

“Dude, you know crushing on that guy’s companion is a bad idea, right?” The Savanaclaw student dryly stated. “Especially since Leona-senpai hates his dorm leader.”

Despite his generous advice, his friend only whines louder. “I can’t help it! Why does the Diasomnia clique have to be so good looking!?”

The Savanaclaw student just sighs and shakes his head at his friend’s hopeless case.

Back to Silver, he transforms his magic crystal from a pen to an earring and clips it on his right ear. It gleams eerily before the light melts into darkness. He had been getting ready when curfew has struck and he bid the others good night. Lilia had stopped checking up on him after a few days since his coma and Silver doubts he would randomly come by tonight. Not when there’s a dorm/vice dorm leader meeting with Headmaster Crowley tomorrow morning.

“It’ll be fine.” Silver murmurs as he checks his reflection in the bathroom for one last time. “It’s been a few days since that day and nothing bad has happened... I’ll be fine.” Silver convinced himself. He had been sleeping well these past few days and he feels better than ever! Surely a night to himself away from Night Raven College won’t bring any harm?

And so he sneaks out of the dorm using the same path as before and calls for a teleportation service to Mystic Elixir. Like the night when Yuu and his friends tagged along, he had no problem walking into the club after greeting a few of the staff. Another Friday night, another night full of party-goers and creatures looking to start their weekend right. Silver made himself comfortable and let the pounding music distract him as he watches the dance floor, nursing his drink in one hand.

“Silver-senpai...”

Silver nearly spat out his drink when he heard that voice. Whipping his head around with wide surprise eyes, he asks incredulously, “Did you followed me here?”

Yuu at least had the decency to blush in embarrassment when he nods. Like Silver, he ditched his uniform for a set of casual clothes. “I saw you walking out of the forest on the way back to the Ramshackle dorm.”

“And you were out late at night again because...?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I was reading near the window when I spotted Tsunotarou-senpai near the forest and decided to join his walk.” Yuu explains.

If Silver could’ve instantly dropped dead the moment his heart skip a beat, he would be a goner. “Malleus-sama wasn’t asleep?” His panic then fades away when his mind supplied that Malleus is not like Lilia; he didn’t check up on him when he was sleeping so it’s very unlikely he would start doing so tonight.

Meanwhile, Yuu understood what’s going on when Silver’s breath hitched. Looks like no one knows that Silver is here...

Yuu snaps back to attention when Silver asks, “Anyway, why did you followed me then? I thought I told you not to worry about me.”

“I know.” Yuu is quick to reply lest he would irritate him. “I just thought maybe... you could use a friend?” Silver said nothing but Yuu discreetly sighs in relief when the older boy turn to order a light snack for the both of them from the bartender.

As Yuu is happily munching on a breadstick, he didn’t notice how his loose t-shirt slides down to slowly reveal fading marks of suction cups and light purple and red bruises on his collarbones that look like they were made by rows of sharp teeth.

Silver, however, notices it. He awkwardly coughs, loud enough to garner Yuu’s attention despite the noises around them. When he gestured to his own neck, Yuu frowns, gently touches his bare neck and instantly blush when he felt how tender some spots are.

With a squeak, Yuu hurries to tug his shirt back up. “S-Sorry about that, Silver-senpai!”

“...They’re not forcing you or anything, right?” Silver couldn’t help but ask. The Leech brothers can be a handful on their own, but together? And with Azul in the mix? He just couldn’t imagine it.

“No, no; they’ve been very patient with me, Silver-senpai! I was surprised at first because I thought this wasn’t an otome game, but I’m good at going with the flow.”

“...What?”

Yuu just shrugs and continue to stuff his mouth with food. He kept his words and remain by Silver but not to the point that his presence bothers him. They watch the club-goers dance the night away, talk about this and that and Silver feels the tension that had been weighing down on his shoulders over the past few days melts away as he enjoys himself and the buzzing alcohol burning down his throat.

Yuu excuses himself to go to the bathroom when his glass of lemonade is empty; finally leaving Silver alone. He checks the time on his phone and decides to have a couple more drinks before they return to college.

“A Primordial Gin, please. Less ice.”

From a corner of his eye, Silver saw a small wad of Madols slide across the bar before a tall man takes the vacant seat at his right. Despite Silver’s subtle look, the man caught his eyes. A beatific smile graces his lips. “Good evening. Is that any good?” He points to the half-empty glass in Silver’s hold.

“It’s alright. I like the sweetness after the liquor kicks in.” Silver easily reply.

The bartender comes by to hand the man a tumbler glass with a bluish-green liquid and ice inside. He thanked the man and carefully takes a sip of his drink, sighing with pleasure at the taste. He then raises the glass to Silver and said, “Here’s to a good weekend for the both of us.”

They clink their glasses together and downed their drinks. Silver loves the alcohol thrumming through his body and the air of peace and geniality enveloping the tall stranger. Magnetic and welcoming that it draws Silver in.

“Rough week?” He asks Silver. Underneath the light above them, his golden eyes are like smouldering ambers; his sharp eyeliners highlights them even more. Despite pulling his black hair up in a high ponytail, it falls past his waist with messy bangs framing his handsome face.

Silver grimace; he didn’t want to talk about it. “It could’ve been better.” He left it at that and nibble on a breadstick.

“Sorry to hear that. Hey, maybe next week would turn around, hmm?” The stranger hopes with a tilt of his head. That’s when Silver notices the tipped ears poking out from his thick mane. He wonders what kind of creature this man is.

With the way he dressed, face, and baritone voice, he reminds Silver of Lilia but instead of the mischievous and playful streaks, this man exudes an openness that Lilia lack; no matter how he pretended to be sometimes.

As they chatted, Silver keeps glancing at Yuu’s empty glass; wondering how long has it been since he went to the bathroom. His gaze bounces around the club for a familiar mop of black hair.

To his surprise, there’s Yuu talking to someone in one of the booths. Silver couldn’t quite see who he’s talking to from the bar; only that he had thick, red hair and wear white and light red clothing. For a split second, the face of Heartslabyul dorm leader flashes in mind before he realises that whoever he’s talking to is taller than Riddle.

Nevertheless, Silver was ready to bolt out of his seat seeing that Yuu is with a stranger.

Silver’s company turn to where his gaze is at when Silver made a move to leave. “Oh? Is that your friend? You don’t have to worry; I know that redhead.” He assured Silver, effortlessly drawing his attention back. “He’s a classmate of my ward. I promise you that he won’t do anything untoward to your friend; he doesn’t have a mean bone in him to do any of the sorts.”

Silver still wasn’t convinced but when the redhead throws his arms around dramatically as if to emphasis a point, Yuu laughs and eagerly respond back. A small part of Silver whisper in his mind that he really should pull Yuu away lest a... misunderstand might occur, but the drink and friendly companionship made him think twice.

Even when the redhead and Yuu ditch the booth to dance amongst the crowd.

“So anyway, what other drinks would you recommend? I quite enjoy something that’s spicy and airy like mints.” The black-haired stranger pick up where their conversation had left off.

“Either Aether Embrace or Eden. Both are minty and quite strong.”

His companion ordered an Eden once his glass is finish. “Since you don’t seem to be the type to dance, what made you and your friend came here tonight?” He asks, not even bothering to hide his curiosity.

Silver carefully tip his glass at him. “The drinks are pretty good and besides, there’s always something entertaining happening around.”

“Can’t argue with that.” The stranger chuckle, tucking a stray lock behind a pointed ear. “I don’t usually visit these sort of scenes but the drinks are truly something. I might actually come here again.”

Silver hums as he drums his finger on the bar, feeling not quite drunk yet. “You mentioned a ward? Are you here with them?”

The stranger shakes his head and smiles fondly. “He had been working hard all week so I told him to rest up and promised that we could do something together in the weekend instead.” He then talks a little more about his charge; how he’s an active student in both sports and academic and that he has lots of good friends.

Silver just hums as he talks; he sounds like a proud parent. Since he didn’t feel lightheaded, he wonders if he should order one last drink but the stranger purse his lips when he signals for the bartender.

“You’re starting to look a bit flush. I think you could really use a glass of water instead.” His companion advice, concern tint his voice.

Probably a good idea: Silver nods and did just that. He drinks up some water when it arrives. He then checks the time on his phone.

Shit, it’s almost 3 AM; time to head back.

He paid for his and Yuu’s drinks and snacks and stretch his back. “We should get going. Thanks for the talk.”

The stranger beam. “The pleasure is all mine! I didn’t expect to found a friend this evening through the grapevine. Oh, and best of luck to you and your friend; may you two have a great weekend.”

Silver inclines his head and bid goodbye before he fetches Yuu among the dancing crowd and they made their way to the exit.

“It was nice talking to you!” The redhead shouted at Yuu as he waves goodbye with a happy grin. Yuu throws back the sentiment, so carefree and bright that Silver had never seen before.

When he called for a teleportation portal back to Night Raven College, Yuu lets out a huge tired yawn as soon as they arrive.

“Are you alright?” Silver asks, checking his eyes and face. A light sheen of sweat clings on his flushes face but Yuu is 100% sober.

“I’m just exhausted, Silver-senpai.” Yuu assured him and smile tiredly. “I saw you talking to someone at the bar, Silver-senpai. Did you had fun?”

“It was alright. He was a friendly guy. Now come on, let’s go to Ramshackle.” Yuu protest that he didn’t need Silver to walk him back to his dorm, but Silver rebuffs and explains that he’ll be going in the same path to the Diasomnia dorm anyway.

They soon parted ways and Silver saw Yuu entered his dorm, very clearly exhausted but with a happy smile as he clutched his phone and begin texting. Silver could easily guess who.

Silver wonders if this heavy lead in his stomach is because of the alcohol or Yuu’s new friend.

He decides to sleep it off. All in all, it was a good night; Silver was glad he made the decision to take some time for himself away from college, from the mess that happened.

The little thread around Silver’s pinky finger remains whole.

#twisted wonderland #fanfic #here's to Silver and Lilia cards #twst #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #sebek zigvolt #MC #ace trappola #deuce spade #some faceless students in the background #a recurring OC

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debbiechanclub · 4 years

Text

Best Two Out of Three, Part 7

So I REALLY wanted to get this posted yesterday for Hangman’s birthday... but I had a hell of a time figuring out how to end it, so I didn’t make it. BUT. I’m very happy with it. And it’s LONG. I actually got a little hot and bothered writing part of this... so I think y’all will like it, too XD. Lots of fluff and drama.

Best Two Out of Three

Part: 7/26

Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC and Adam Page x OFC

Warnings: Cursing and some sexual language

Word Count: 4k

Catch up on previous parts here.

Alex awoke early the next morning. She tried to turn over and fall back asleep, but her brain wouldn’t let her. She couldn’t stop thinking about Kenny.

He’d held her hand the entire drive back to the hotel last night. She remembered him kissing her knuckles and butterflies exploding in her stomach. He’d walked her back to her room, and she’d reached up and wrapped her arms tight around his neck. She’d wanted so badly to kiss him, but she hadn’t. He’d held her close and was reluctant to let her go. He’d been the last thing on her mind as she’d fallen asleep, and now he was the first thing on her mind this morning. That had to mean something.

She looked at the clock. It was 8:17 a.m. Kenny was undoubtedly awake; he never slept in. She crawled out of bed and moved quietly into the bathroom, doing her best not to wake Chuck as he slept in the other bed. She brushed her teeth, cleaned up her smudged makeup that she’d neglected to remove the night before, and tamed her bed-head. And then she slipped out the door, still her pajama shorts and t-shirt.

Kenny was on the same floor; he’d told her his room number last night. She arrived at his door, and she took a deep breath and knocked.

It wasn’t too long before he answered. He smiled when he saw her. “Hey. I was just thinking about texting you, but I didn’t want to wa—”

She cut him off with a kiss. It surprised him at first—but then he wrapped his arm around her and drew her closer. “Well good morning to you, too,” he smiled against her lips.

She flushed as she pulled away. “You said if I still felt this way tomorrow that we could talk. Well, it’s tomorrow, and I’m sober, and I still feel this way. So here I am.”

She fidgeted as she spoke, suddenly self-conscious. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if she’d just made a huge idiot of herself? Maybe she should just go.

But then a grin broke out over Kenny’s face. “Come here,” he said, and he kissed her as he pulled her into the room, letting the door fall closed behind her.

* * * * * * * * * *

The next day, Alex laid on the couch in her den, watching TV but not really paying attention. Her thoughts were everywhere—good, bad, anxious, excited. And every single one of them was about Kenny.

They hadn’t talked yesterday morning. At least, not with any words, they hadn’t. They’d let their bodies do the talking. They hadn’t been able to undress each other fast enough as they’d blindly stumbled to the bed, getting lost in each other’s touch. Alex had dug her fingernails into Kenny’s skin, not caring how loud she was; he’d felt even better than she remembered. And when they were done, they’d gotten in the shower and done it again. It had been awkward as fuck going back to her and Chuck’s room with wet hair and that telltale flushed-with-sex glow. Thankfully, he’d spared her the embarrassment of asking any questions or making any comments. It was obvious what had happened.

But, after that, she and Kenny had basically gone their separate ways. They’d considered riding to the airport together but decided against it; Kenny was already going with the Bucks and Alex with Trent, Chuck, and James, and they both agreed it would be better not to draw any attention to themselves until they figured things out. But now that Alex was back home, all alone with her ruminations, she was starting to freak out about what exactly that meant.

She snatched her phone from the coffee table. She needed to talk to someone—and Adam was the only person she could go to with this. She typed up a text—Hey, can I call you?—and hit send before she could think better of it. It was less than a minute before he responded.

Yeah, give me a minute and I’ll call you.

She bit her lip, nervously waiting. When he called a couple minutes later, it was a FaceTime call. She hadn’t expected that; but she answered anyway. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he echoed. He had his hair pulled back and his glasses on. She’d seen him like that a million times before, but it still caught her off-guard. “What’s up? Is everything alright?”

“Is Callie around?” The question came flying out of her mouth without warning, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment at the strange look Adam gave her. But she needed to know. She didn’t want to risk Callie hearing any of what she was about to say.

“No; she went out for a run,” he answered. “What’s going on, Alex?”

She looked off into the distance, unsure how to begin. As much as she didn’t want to, it would probably be best to just spit it out—like ripping off a Band-Aid. “I slept with Kenny yesterday.”

Adam’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Well that’s definitely not what I was expecting you to say.”

“I know.” Her cheeks flushed again as she brought a hand to her face. “Please don’t judge me.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I’m just… surprised. Did you leave the party with him?”

“No,” she answered with a shake of her head. “Well—actually yeah, I did. But not like that. He gave me a ride back to the hotel, but I slept in my room. But then the next morning I went up to his room and… yeah.” She didn’t say any more after that. He could fill in the blanks well enough on his own.

“So…” he trailed off, clearly trying to get his thoughts together. “Was it just a spur-of-the-moment hookup, or…?”

Alex let out an anxious huff. This was the part she’d wanted to talk to him about. Because, honestly, she had no idea. “I don’t know. I mean yeah, I ran up to his room and jumped his bones without really thinking. But before we left the arena Thursday night… he practically admitted that he still has feelings for me. But we haven’t talked about it. We didn’t really have a chance.”

She frowned. In truth, she and Kenny hadn’t said much of anything at all to each other since she’d left his room yesterday morning. She’d texted him to let him know that she’d made it home, and he’d responded in kind—but that was about it. She had no idea what he was thinking or feeling about everything, and that didn’t sit well with her. At all.

“Well, do you still have feelings for him?”

Adam’s question cut through her thoughts like a knife. But, unfortunately, she didn’t have an answer for him. “I don’t know,” she admitted. It made him frown.

“Well then I don’t know what to tell you, Alex. You and Kenny need to sit down and figure things out.” He paused. And then he added, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Alex faltered when he said that. No one knew more about what she’d gone through with Kenny than Adam; he’d been the shoulder she’d cried on throughout the whole ordeal. And now here she was a year later, crying to him about Kenny all over again. He was probably sick of it. It had probably been a mistake to burden him with it again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you with this,” she abruptly said. “I need to figure out my shit on my own.”

His brow furrowed. “What? Alex, you’re not bothering me with it. You can talk to me about anything—you know that.”

“I know I can,” she breathed. “But you and Kenny are the tag team champions and you just started getting along again, so the last thing I want to do is put you the middle between us. Plus, there’s the match with Callie in a few days and with everyone being at ringside… it’s just a giant fucking mess.” She let out a frustrated huff. She could only imagine how pathetic she looked. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately and now with Kenny… it’s just a bit much.”

“So try not to think about it,” he said.

She gave him a flat look. “Really, Adam. Do you know me?”

He smirked. “Yeah, I do know you. But seriously. Kenny made you an option last time, so don’t give him your time or energy if he’s not gonna give you his. You deserve better than that.”

Alex bit her lip again. She knew Adam was right. But it was easier said than done. “I’ll try.”

“You better,” he returned, and she offered him a smile.

“Well, I’ll let you go,” she said. “And I doubt I have to ask, but please don’t mention any of this to Callie. I don’t want to give her any more reason to think Kenny’s gonna sabotage her on Wednesday.”

“Come on, of course I won’t mention it,” he assured. “I’ll see you at Dynamite.”

“Yeah, see you then,” she said, and she ended the call—trying, and failing, not to think about Kenny.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was the night of Alex’s hotly anticipated match against Callie. And as Alex laced up her boots in the Best Friends’ locker room, she felt like she might hurl.

“You alright, Alex?” James suddenly asked. “You look pale. I mean, more so than usual.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just nervous—more so than usual.”

That was the honest-to-goodness truth. Alex always got nervous before her matches; the good sort of nervous, fueled by excitement and adrenaline. But this wasn’t the good sort of nervous. This was the jittery kind of nervous, the kind fueled by anxiety and fear. She had no idea what was going to happen out there, with Callie or Kenny. And honestly—she was worried to find out.

But James waved her off. “Don’t be,” he reassured her. “Just keep a level head and you’ll already have Callie beat. Plus, Chuck and Trent will be out there to put a stop to any shenanigans.”

Alex glanced at Chuck and Trent across the room. Chuck didn’t say anything; but Trent cut her a look. “Kenny, too,” he lowly added.

She frowned and went back to lacing up her boots. Ever since Friday, Trent had been downright cold to her and Chuck had been distant. Alex wasn’t an idiot—she had a feeling she knew why they were acting that way. But she really didn’t want to open that can of worms right now.

Her phone suddenly chirped from where it sat next to her on the bench. It was a text. From Kenny. She bit her lip as she opened it. Hey. Come meet me in production.

That was all it said. It made her nervous all over again. But she’d waited five long days to see him again, so she finished lacing up her boots as quickly as she could and hurried out the door without a word.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she made her way through the halls. She walked faster the closer she got, and when she walked into production and saw Kenny, she exploded with nervousness. The good kind.

He smiled when he saw her. “Hey. Wow—is that new gear?”

She bit her lip as he looked her over. “Yeah. Does it look okay?”

He shook his head. “Don’t ask stupid questions. You look unbelievable,” he returned, and he pulled her into a kiss. Alex wrapped her arms around his neck as he led her back further into the room, behind the monitors. They were alone—but they could use some extra privacy.

Kenny nipped at her bottom lip as he pulled away. It was torture. “I missed you,” he breathed.

She smiled up at him. “I missed you, too.”

“Yeah? That’s good to know,” he smirked. “I wanted to see you as soon as I could. We never did have that talk I promised.”

Alex unwound her arms from his neck as she looked sheepishly down at the floor. “No, we didn’t.”

Just like he had the night of the party, Kenny reached up and brushed her hair away from her face. She looked back up at him. His voice came out soft and sincere as he spoke. “I’m sorry I haven’t said much since Friday. But everything I could think to say to you felt better said in person.”

Alex’s breath caught in her throat. She had absolutely no idea what he was about to say, but he had her complete undivided attention.

“I don’t want this to be like the last time,” he said. “I don’t want you to have any questions or doubts about how I feel or what I want. I want you, Alex. I want to be with you. And I want you to be with me. I want to do this right.”

Butterflies burst in Alex’s stomach, overwhelming her. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. She didn’t know what to say.

“But you don’t need to give me an answer right now,” he assured her. “I understand if you need some time to think about it, and we can take things as slow as you want… if you even want to take them with me at all.”

Alex didn’t say anything. Instead, she pulled his lips against hers. Kenny eagerly returned the kiss, holding her as close as he could, tangling his hand in her hair. They didn’t break apart until they needed to breathe.

“I don’t need time to think about it,” she said. “But I do think slow is good. Especially with the match tonight.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I thought about that. If you want to lay low for tonight, it won’t hurt my feelings.”

“It’s probably for the best,” she pouted. But Kenny tilted her face toward his and kissed her again.

“It is,” he agreed. “I’ll be as neutral as I can be out there tonight. Deal?”

She beamed up at him. “Deal.”

“Good,” he said, and she closed her eyes as he kissed her gently on the forehead. Tonight, this would be their little secret—and that was just fine with her.

“Alright, you should go get ready,” Kenny suggested. “You two are up first.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “Now you tell me?” She turned and started to run out of the room; but Kenny grabbed her and pulled her back.

“Hey—even though I’ll be out there in Callie’s corner, I’ll be rooting for you.”

She bit back a smirk as she pointed a finger at him. “Neutral, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned. He smacked her butt and nodded toward the door. “Go. I’ll see you out there,” he said; and as Alex went out the door, she suddenly felt ready to take on anything.

* * * * * * * * * *

Callie stood in the center of the ring, glaring at the top of the entrance ramp. Under normal circumstances, she would have taken her time posing for the camera and jawing at the people at ringside. But not tonight. Tonight, all she cared about was getting her hands on Alex.

Callie’s entrance music faded out, and for a few seconds the arena was filled with nothing but anticipatory silence. But then Alex’s music hit, and the small crowd immediately cheered as loudly as they could. Callie rolled her eyes; she couldn’t wait to shut them all up when she beat Alex within the five minutes.

Dasha smiled as she announced Alex’s entrance. “And her opponent; from Roanoke, Virginia; being accompanied to the ring by Trent Berretta and Chuck Taylor—Alex Haaaawwwwwthoooooorrrne!

Alex didn’t waste any time. She charged out of the babyface tunnel and made a beeline for Callie in the ring, Chuck and Trent hot on her heels. Aubrey intercepted her as she climbed through the ropes.

“Alex, back it up!” she warned.

But Alex wasn’t having any of it. “Ring the damn bell! I’ve been waiting to make this bitch tap for a week.”

Callie’s eyes darkened. “You’re gonna be waiting a hell of a lot longer, then,” she bit.

Alex tried to get at her, but Chuck and Trent held her back. The flurry of activity prompted Kenny and Adam to climb in through the ropes from where they’d stood at ringside.

“Alright, everyone just relax,” Kenny said as he put his arm in between them. But Callie smacked it away.

“Cut the bullshit, Kenny; no one’s buying it.”

Kenny bit down on his jaw as he sent Alex a sideways glance. But he raised his hands and stepped back.

Somehow, Aubrey managed to gain order. Chuck, Trent, Kenny, and Adam climbed out of the ring while Alex and Callie went to their separate corners. The bell rang, and they charged.

* * * * * * * * * *

Alex was a technician; Callie was a brawler. And, for the majority of the match, neither of them had really been able to gain the upper hand over the other. But, at the moment, Callie was in control.

Alex laid prone on the mat, trying to catch her breath after Callie had tried to pin her again. But she didn’t get much of a break. “What was it you were saying, Alex?” Callie grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her up onto her knees. “You’ve been waiting to make me tap for a week? Please. Like I said—"

Smack! Alex abruptly cut her off with a resounding slap right across her cheek. Callie’s downfall was that she talked too much shit.

Callie slowly turned her face to look back at her. There was murder in her eyes. “Did you really just slap—”

Alex grabbed her and abruptly pulled her down into a small package pin. Aubrey slid to the mat and started counting—but Callie kicked out at two.

“Come on!” Chuck banged on the ring apron. “Stay on her, Alex!”

Callie crawled on her hands and knees to the ropes while Alex got to her feet, waiting. When Callie turned around, Alex charged and hit her with a running knee so hard that she fell backward through the ropes and out onto the mats below.

Kenny bit back a smirk, just a little bit proud of her.

Alex jumped down onto the floor. She grabbed Callie by the hair and pulled her to her feet. There was blood in her mouth. “Aw, it looks like I busted your mouth, Cal.” She pouted. “Don’t worry—we’ll get Britt to look at it later.” And she swung her around and tossed her back-first into the guard railing.

“Come on, bring it back in the ring, Alex!” Aubrey ordered. But she didn’t listen. She picked Callie up by the hair again and drove her face-first into the ring post.

Adam got involved at that point. “Alex, come on,” he implored. “What’re you doing?”

She cut her eyes at him but didn’t say anything in return. Right now, she couldn’t care less about his feelings—and she didn’t want to say anything she’d regret.

She stomped on Callie’s back before picking her up and rolling her back into the ring. As much as she’d like to beat up on her some more, it wasn’t a falls count anywhere match. She rolled in after her and hooked her leg in a pin. But Callie kicked out at two.

Alex sat up, frustrated. There was one way to end this. She pulled Callie up onto her knees, bent her backward, and locked in her submission finisher: the ’88 Sleeper.

Callie let out a muffled cry of pain. Chuck and Trent cheered while Kenny and Adam watched with bated breath. Alex wrenched harder, expecting her to tap any second; but Callie was a cagey bitch. Somehow, she managed to blindly reach up and rake Alex hard across the eyes.

“Ah!” Alex let her go and fell back onto the mat, blinded. The next thing she knew, Callie had her down in a pin. She kicked out at the last second.

“Come on, ref!” Trent argued. “You’re gonna let her get away with that?”

“How about you shut up over there?” Adam returned. It didn’t go over well with Chuck.

“Oh, are you mad, Hangman?” Chuck taunted. “Did ya just realize that cheating is the only possible way your girlfriend could beat Alex?”

Adam’s brow lowered. He stalked around the ring toward Chuck. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” Chuck returned. “Alex is better than Callie, and you know it.”

Adam took another step forward. Kenny put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, just ignore him,” he said—but Trent rolled his eyes.

“Oh, shut up, Kenny. If there’s one thing Callie is right about is that no one’s buying your bullshit.”

Kenny looked back at him, confused; but, all of a sudden, Callie slid underneath the bottom rope and hit Chuck with a hard baseball slide, sending him flying into the guard railing.

Trent took a threatening step toward her as she landed outside the ring. “Are you kidding me?”

“Hey, back the hell up.” Adam shoved him—and then all hell broke loose.

Trent threw a forearm and he and Adam started brawling. Back inside the ring, Alex got her bearings; once she realized what was going on, she jumped through the ropes to the floor. She started to help Kenny break Trent and Adam apart; but then Chuck jumped up and went after Kenny. Alex froze, unsure what to do—and then Callie grabbed her, whirled her around, and hit her hard across the jaw.

Alex stumbled back; but then she looked up and speared Callie to the ground. She struck out with a flurry of fists and forearms, and it was all Callie could do to try to block her. But then someone forcefully pulled Alex away and tossed her to the floor. She looked up. Her eyes widened in shock. It was Adam.

“That’s it—ring the bell!” Aubrey ordered. She hurried over to Dasha and told her the result. Dasha nodded as she brought the microphone to her mouth.

“And your winner by disqualification—Alex Hawwwwthoooorne!”

“WHAT?” Callie shouted. She glared up at Aubrey. “You’re gonna DQ me because he pushed her? I’m bleeding because of her!”

“He did a little more than just push her,” Kenny glared. He helped Alex up. “Are you alright?” he asked; but she didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on Adam.

“What the fuck?”

Adam opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry—” he started; but Callie cut him off.

“Don’t apologize to her! You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Are you kidding me?” Chuck argued. “He fucking threw her!”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I didn’t throw her.”

“Yeah, you kinda did,” Kenny returned. Everyone stopped and stared at him. Adam’s brow lowered.

“Whose side are you on, Kenny?”

Kenny bit down on his jaw. Alex froze, worried what he would say—but then Callie scoffed.

“Please, do you really need to ask?” she shot.

Kenny started to answer; but Alex cut him off. “Why don’t you worry less about Kenny and more about the fact that your boyfriend just cost you the match?”

Callie glared daggers at her but said nothing in return. There wasn’t anything she could say.

Alex shook her head and turned to leave. But, before she did, she sent Adam a look over her shoulder. “Thanks for getting me the W, cowboy,” she said, and she walked around the ring and up the ramp.

Trent smirked at Adam and Kenny. The dissension between the tag team champions was obvious—and that was just fine with him. “Don’t forget about Fyter Fest,” he warned, and he and Chuck turned and followed after Alex.

Kenny watched them go—and then he looked back at Adam. “Question me all you want, but this one’s on you,” he said, and he turned and walked up the ramp.

#AEW #aew imagine #aew fanfic #aew fanfiction #adam page fanfiction #adam page fanfic #adam page imagine #adam page #hangman adam page #hangman page #hangman page fanfiction #hangman page fanfic #hangman page imagine #hangman page birthday week #Kenny Omega #kenny omega imagine #kenny omega fic #kenny omega fanfiction #best two out of three fic

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pumpkinpaix · 4 years

Text

Hello! and PSA

*waves* hi everyone! so uh, I’ve kind of had a bit of a surge in followers recently, and I thought I would make a bit of a PSA/intro post with a bit more targeted info than my about page.

anyways, I’m cyan! statistically speaking, you are probably here for one of the following reasons:

my fic

my meta

my gifs

my translation

all of the above

this is pretty much an mdzs blog on main these days, but I also rb a lot of other misc things because I have never been good at keeping my interests separate. it’s also my personal blog, so expect some of that? i am very all or nothing ahaha. my opinions change very quickly as I process new information, so like, something I said last week or yesterday might be different now! I’ve seen several people going through some of my older posts, and I’m just like oh dear, I said a lot of things six months ago that I no longer vibe with. /o\ please keep that in mind as you go diving in my blog!

i don’t have a BYF or DNI policy, but I reserve the right to block anyone for any reason because this is a personal blog first and foremost, and I do need to be better about setting my boundaries and curating my own online space! on that same token, you are free to follow, unfollow, block, whatever, even if we’re mutuals. <3

you’re free to come talk to me in my inbox or dms, but please be aware that there’s a very high chance I will never get back to you /o\ it isn’t personal!! I am just very mentally ill and have many difficulties with keeping up social interactions or talking to people.

in the interest of trying to be more open about myself, my brain, and what that means for me in an online/fandom space, I’m gonna do a boatload of mental health talk under the cut (or, if you’re looking at this on my blog proper or somewhere where the cut doesn’t display, it starts right after this paragraph), including mentions of self-harm/thoughts of specific self-harm etc, just so you are warned! I’ve been thinking recently that it’s good to try and take steps towards being more open about my issues, both for my own sake and others’. It’s long, because one of the fun things about my mental illness is that I am hyperverbal ahahaha (if that... wasn’t already obvious orz)

so if you’ve read pfmmpd, you can kind of get a sense of what I’m working with. a lot of how i wrote lwj was drawn directly from shit happening in my own brain, but like? dial that up from the specific issues that lwj had in that fic and apply it unilaterally across the board to almost anything you can think of.

I hesitate to describe my OCD as debilitating, but only because my specific cocktail of compulsions and anxieties and triggers push me to be hyperachieving and hyperfunctional. I consider myself pretty fortunate (?) in that regard. on paper, you could never tell how absolutely batshit my internal landscape is! which is very good for me practically in that I can hold down a job, keep scholarships, graduate with honors, have good prospects for my future, hold onto relationships (usually yikes) etc. but the fact of the matter is, I’m like. oh boy.

to give you a peek, here’s a non-exhaustive list of things that have triggered me to varying degrees of severity within the last like, week or so:

my dog

a chinese folk song

my mother reading a chinese haiku to me written by a young gay man

a chinese reader of my fic lovingly and gently giving me a history lesson on china and on mdzs while praising me

stepping on a piece of snow that didn’t collapse in the precise way i expected it to

writing meta

reading meta

ruminating on my triggers (honestly, I played myself)

seeing a twitter thread going around tumblr with decent information but the OP is someone who was exceedingly cruel to a good friend of mine

visiting my grandmother’s grave

deciding to visit my grandmother’s grave

discussing the concept of cuddling my partner whom i love and have been with for four years

self-harming (truly the height of irony, being triggered into self-harm and then getting triggered by the result of the self-harm hahahahahaha)

dropping off a package

trying to explain queer-coding to my parents

talking about stressors in my life related to covid19

having a very pleasant conversation with a person i admire

editing my translation

the fact that the “close” button on my accessibility sidebar on the translation website is the wrong color

choosing between eating all the shiitake mushrooms in my soup and purposefully giving myself a bad reaction or throwing one out and wasting food

thinking about playing a fun game with my partner and a mutual friend

my mom asking me to take a photo of some tea for her

my mom asking my opinion on a photo she was photoshopping

animal crossing

writing this fucking post HAHAHAHA

like!! it goes on!! endlessly! obviously, these triggers are not simply “bad” things. the chinese folk song and the haiku were both really beautiful and i love them! but I did spend a good amount of time curled up on my floor in the dark sobbing as i played the song on repeat. the haiku was one of the last straws that ended up with me screaming and crying and hurting myself. the snow??? like wtf the snow thing. I stepped on the snow and it felt wrong and my brain just started screaming SMASH YOUR KNEECAP. ???? (I didn’t, for the record, and I would never.) I love my partner very much! I love my friends very much, and my mother, and my grandmother etc. my triggers are infinite, unpredictable, and bizarre.

I’m saying all of this because I want to be clear that MDZS/CQL fandom specifically triggers me on a daily basis, sometimes very very badly. this is just a fact! it is no one’s fault! I have decided it is worth it for me to stay anyways. it is impossible for me to request people tag for certain things because I myself have no idea what my triggers are until I encounter them. It’s like a fun mystery boss encounter! sometimes it’s low level and i’m well-equipped to handle it. other times it’s a one-hit KO. We just don’t know! there are lots of very cool content creators in this fandom that I can’t follow because it would make my dash that much more high stakes. the original source canon material triggers me! all the events leading up to Lotus Cove massacre? I was shaking at work for three hours after consuming it for the first time.

Meta specifically is something I know a lot of people like me for, but it’s 100% the most triggering activity I participate in for this fandom. like, that suibian meta post I wrote that’s currently going around? Probably took me four or five hours of concentrated effort to write because I was compulsively panicking and rewriting and editing and panicking more and qualifying and editing and qualifying some more and then debating whether I should post it or not and then fighting with myself about my wording and then immediately regretting it and then every time someone commented on it (regardless of positive or negative!) my anxiety spiked. I started a reply to a response on that post and had to stop after a few minutes because I was already starting to trigger myself over it.

this is actually a pretty good outcome when it comes to meta! I recognized that I was hurting myself before I got any further, and I only spent like, five hours on it! it was good exposure therapy for me! the bad outcome is. well. bad, as you might imagine lmao.

I like writing meta. I like talking to people about it too! I like participating in fandom, I like writing, I like translating, I like all of these things. they’re just also really hard for me! there’s a couple meta requests sitting in my inbox right now that I want to get to, but it might take me like. a long time because of. you know! *gestures* Everything takes me a long time. that first chapter of the translation took me literally five months from beginning the project to posting a final edited version. It’s just over 1k words. D8

I try really hard to be chill and kind in public and I largely think I succeed on the kind part (I hope!). If you thought I had even an ounce of chill before this, perhaps I have disabused of that notion entirely now lmao. I’m not saying this for pity, but like? just so we all know what we’re dealing with here. I don’t want anyone to get hurt when I don’t engage with them or feel snubbed if I never reply to them. and also like, hey, if someone relates it’s like hooray, high fave, solidarity! we’re not alone in this world! or maybe this will help someone understand OCD a little better! I don’t know. I hope this post is a positive thing. BUT! I’ve spent three hours on it already, and i’m definitely starting to compulsively spiral, so instead of going back and editing it over and over, I’m just going to post it. thank you everyone for your understanding! I hope you enjoy your time on my blog! (*´▽`*)

#/#//#///#////#/////#personal #psa #cyan gets too deep in the weeds #HA HA HA.#can't believe i'm using that tag on a personal post except like. of course i am #hello everyone are you ready for some cyan dlc?#well you're getting it #im anxious about this thing because i'm anxious about everything but!#we are doing exposure therapy this year!!#even if the world is burning down around us i can still try to confront my problems!!!#about

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ljandersen · 4 years

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you’d be willing to share a little (or a lot! I’m not picky) about your process for writing Burning Barriers? Things you researched, things that gave you inspiration, any of it. I’m having a blast reading it and I’m so curious about what all went into writing it! (And it’s totally okay if you don’t want to! I just had to let you know how much I’m enjoying it!)

Wow! I’m incredibly flattered by this ask. I think it’s the first time I’ve gotten an ask about my writing that wasn’t part of a game. I was ecstatic to see it in my inbox. Thank you for taking the time and interest to send it. “Burning Barriers” is my favorite posted story. I love talking about it. I’m humbled when anyone actually wants to know something about it. Anyway, seriously, I appreciate getting this ask. It made my day!

On to the actual question though: The inspiration for writing the book had a lot to do with what lead into me writing fanfiction. “Burning Barriers” was the first piece of fanfiction I wrote and the first novel-length story I finished. In a lot of ways, it was a turning point in my writing. I’d written my whole life, but for the most part, I’d gradually given it up during grad school and internship rotations. It turns out, though, corporate healthcare can be quite dehumanizing and impersonal. My career wasn’t what I thought. I decided I needed to return to what I loved doing, which was writing.

Initially, I decided it was time to write that masterpiece of literary fiction I’d always planned on writing. I made detailed outlines and character sheets. I had each beat perfectly aligned for a four-act story structure. I had the character arcs. Subplots were variations on the theme and parallel to the main story, just like the writing books recommended. Everything was set to finally write The Masterpiece. And . . .

I stalled out.

I was too overwhelmed to write this overblown piece of art. I knew I couldn’t live up to my own expectations. I’d decided to return to writing, but nothing as happening.

I loved writing, but I also always loved video games. I’d played all the Dragon Age games as each came out. I had no idea Mass Effect existed. In 2018, my sister came across it. After playing the ME trilogy, she recommended it to me. I loved it. With the three games tying together and having the same protagonist, who spoke and had a name, I became enthralled. Then came the ending with Shepard dying on the Crucible.

The credits rolled. Moon boy had just asked about “The Shepard,” and this was it. Was Shepard alive or dead? What about her love interest, in this case, Kaidan? What about their story? What about Shepard’s story as a person? It just ended. Cut off.

While I appreciate the bittersweet nature of the ending, I didn’t have any closure. I kept thinking, “How would I have ended it?” There were a few elements in particular that I thought would be interesting to explore more: fraternization and biotics. It’s always interested me when a super hero loses her power. What if Shepard couldn’t use her biotics? As for fraternization, I understood it being dismissed in ME-3, but what about after? They want to be together but rules are falling back into place. It’s always interesting when two people are forbidden to be together by external forces. There were so many interesting way to play out these different ideas.

I kept thinking about this hypothetical ending for my game. Finally, I decided I should just write it. It was going to be a short story for myself. I just needed it out of my system. Maybe it would be a good warm up to finally writing The Masterpiece. I started writing my ending for ME.

I had a very vague plot in mind. As I started writing, the plot became more than just a vehicle for finding closure with Shepard and Kaidan’s love story. I had only planned on writing Shepard’s POV, but as I drew closer to a section in the story that I knew Shepard couldn’t tell, I realized I needed someone else to take over the story. Skipping forward in time as I initially planned wouldn’t be satisfying. I decided to make the story three parts, and Kaidan would tell part two. I would return back to Shepard’s POV for the last part.

I was nervous switching POV and thought a lot about how Shepard and Kaidan would tell their story differently. Shepard is fast, goal-oriented, no-nonsense, and avoids uncomfortable, emotional rumination. Kaidan, however, is more self-aware and honest with his feelings. He’s reflective, cautious, and has a deeper internal life. The idea of contrasting the POV while keeping a consistent narrative voice was a interesting challenge. In the end, switching POV didn’t turn out to be as difficult as I thought, and I really enjoyed writing a part of the story from Kaidan’s eyes.

As I approached part three, where Kaidan’s POV would end, I realized dropping his side would feel disappointing in a way. The story had become as much Kaidan’s story as it was Shepard’s. They needed to tell the ending together. The decision to alternate POV in part three even gave the story cohesion: 1. Shepard 2. Kaidan 3. Shepard and Kaidan. It felt right. I was surprised I hadn’t thought of that from the beginning.

The story was starting to become big. Somewhere into writing part 1, I realized this was a more serious endeavor than a throw-away short story. So I got serious. I knew my ending for the story, and I decided to dissect apart what would make the ending truly satisfying. What were the barriers to it feeling the best it could feel?

Once I identified those elements, it influenced the story quite a bit. I had to include new pieces to the story, like Kaidan’s family, and I had to emphasize character arcs in some of the secondary characters. I also realized the thing keeping Shepard and Kaidan apart had to be more than fraternization regs. I had to be something internal in addition to external to feel believable.

As I wrote, there was one big development I hadn’t planned but that felt organic. It worked for the character arc I was creating, and I let it play out. While there was one big surprise, a lot of the story’s details sprang up and were little surprises while I was writing. I knew the points I wanted to connect, but I discovered the details as I wrote it. It was like I had this skeleton, but the discovery process as I wrote gave it the flesh and beauty of being something worthwhile.

The story’s ending was everything I hoped, which was a huge feat for me. I took a long time reflecting on how all the elements could come together at once in a way that felt right. I needed to incorporate a lot of external elements into one moment: the Mass Effect shard, the Scorpion terrorist leader, an object they’re looking for in part 3, and all the secondary characters (Council, Alliance, Shepard’s companions). I needed it to bring Shepard and Kaidan’s internal conflict keeping them apart to a moment of clarity, which would be easy if it was just about realizing they loved each other. They already knew that. Shepard needed to confront her fears and realize her false reasoning wasn’t just wrong, but that actually the opposite was real truth. It was a lot to achieve in one ending, but as far as I’m concerned, I felt like I was successful in bringing everything together into one moment. I was able to resolve many questions, external and internal, with one answer.

Honestly, I have compared Burning Barrier’s ending to my current big WIP and felt like I can’t live up to my own benchmark of satisfaction in an ending. Granted, all of that’s really talking up my own ending, and readers may or may not feel like the ending brought everything together in a satisfying way. But for me, I was pleased with the ending to a story I was telling myself. Since I had never finished a novel-sized story, it was huge moment.

I wrote "Burning Barriers” in notebooks over the course of four months. I had no idea of the word count when I finished. It all come together so naturally and simply, I actually thought my story would fall short of being novel-sized. All three parts together I expected to fall into the novella range. I was wrong. I started typing it up and watched the word count climb. This story that felt so simple and quick to me turned out not only to be novel-sized, but each part was novel-sized. I was thunderstruck. I realized: not only had I finished my first novel, I finished three of them! It was huge for me.

Writing fanfiction and not trying to live up to this inflated, self-imposed ideal of creating “Art” had finally set me free. I could finally write and finish a novel. I even did it with a method I never expected to work for me. Being an organized and kind of methodical person, I always assumed outlining was the best way for me. It was the responsible, better approach. It turns out, knowing my direction but finding my way as I go was what worked best. It gave me joy in discovering, and knowing I could edit it later, freed me from every word being perfection in the first draft.

“Burning Barriers” had three major drafts. After writing the story in notebooks, I knew what I needed to emphasize and cut away as I typed it into a second draft. I could foreshadow and set up the ending. I could fill in missing scenes. It was a major overhaul. I then read through the whole story a third time focusing more on the writing-level, sentences and wording choice. Then it was done.

Now I needed to do something with it. After a certain point of writing this story, maybe halfway, I realized I was putting enough effort into it, I actually wanted someone to read it. My sister, who had recommended Mass Effect to me, was also a writer. As I wrote and finished editing my story, I had her in mind as the one person who would read my story. Unfortunately, fanfiction is stigmatized and on a much lower level than if I wrote The Masterpiece. After I was finished with this story, by sister felt embarrassed for me writing fanfiction. The idea of reading fanfiction was demeaning for a serious writer and it wasn’t her thing. It’s fair to feel that way, I suppose, but I was disappointed.

My other sister who isn’t a gamer but was aware of fanfiction as a thing suggested I post online. The game had been out for so long, I doubted Mass Effect fans were still reading fanfic, but I decided to try. I had written 300 K words that no one would ever read but me if I let it lay forgotten on the hard drive.

I went ahead and posted it on FFN. I made each part it’s own book, and I posted all three books and all the chapters all at once. Then I sat back and waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing. It was deflating. I had a few favorites or follows scattered here and there, but it felt pretty silent. I could see stats that some people probably had read the whole way through, but that was it for spending months writing this 300 K fic. I actually felt worse than before I’d posted it online, because this felt more like a rejection. My fear, my story actually being awful, could actually be true.

At the time, I didn’t know anything about fanfiction culture. I didn’t know people posted before they finished a story or that it was common practice to post chapter by chapter to gain readership. I had no idea my posting method could be playing a role in why the stories were lost to the void.

My sister who had suggested posting online recommended looking for Facebook groups to information on other places to post. I joined some FB groups and asked for recommendations where else to post. I heard about AO3. Now, I still didn’t know about this whole posting chapter-by-chapter thing, so I posted my story on AO3 the same way as before. Unlike FFN, I decided this time to keep all the parts together, since so much of the story relied on in-jokes and references from earlier parts. Plus, the story and plot arc were made to connect over the whole story. Other than that, I posted “Burning Barriers” as one giant chunk of 124 chapters, like I had on FFN, and sat back again. This time there was one difference: someone commented.

I got a comment from someone who read the first chapter, liked it, and said she would put it on her reading list. That one comment changed my whole experience. I replied to the comment, and I through a back and forth via email met my now very good friend @ripley95things . She introduced me to another wonderful friend @rpgwarrior4824 . Their comments on “Burning Barriers” made all the difference. I went from feeling kind of devastated and being embarrassed about my story to being glad I wrote it. It was a complete 180 just by having two people who cared. It made all the difference.

They welcomed me into the fandom. I learned so much about the fanfic culture and started reading other Shenko fanfics. I haven’t stopped since. With all the encouragement I got from talking with them, I decided to write more Shenko fanfiction myself even. I hadn’t planned to write anything more than “Burning Barriers,” but suddenly I had a new plot-heavy story I was writing (am still writing *sigh*). I wrote a one-shot and some lighter, shorter multichapter fics. I eventually joined Tumblr. But it all started with “Burning Barriers.”

That’s a lot of extra information on “Burning Barriers” than just my inspiration and approach to writing, but haha, I guess, I got on a roll. The story has a lot of meaning to me, and the history surround it feels integrated into its DNA. If you read this far, I really appreciate you reading not only a very long book with “Burning Barriers,” but also a very long monologue about the very long book. Haha. Thank you!

Anyway, I’ll end here. Thank you for your wonderful question. It was fun to reflect back on this story that has so much meaning to me. I appreciate your interest in “Burning Barriers.” It means more than I can say that you read my story, and even more, to know you’re interested enough to ask a question about it (thought you probably didn’t expect how much you’d get! Lol! :D) Thanks again!

#my writing #mass effect fanfiction #writing ask #Burning Barriers #Thank you so much for the ask!

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thelittleteadoll · 4 years

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The Little Tea Doll: My Journey to the Atypical

During the pandemic, everything was at a standstill- my job, my social life, my and quite literally, my physical activity. A pro amongst these cons was that I had a lot of time to reflect on myself. The conclusion I came to: I have no idea who I am. I am a Russian tea doll. Most people just see what’s painted on the outermost layer. Some people who get to know me better might be able to open the first layer, only to find another painted figure, exhibiting a new, but still stagnant doll. Each layer can be defined by broad characteristics- female, petite, first gen, Asian American, New Yorker. While there are many pros to culture, a major con is that it bounds you to these characteristics and sets certain expectations for who you should be and how others should see you. This has made me feel frustrated, fearful, and claustrophobic.

Being a child of two immigrants with high school diplomas, striving for the American Dream, my life has been strategically laid out for me. Achieve good grades, go to college, get a well paying job, get married to a kind, financially and intellectually successful man, and live a “typical” life. That’s all my mother wanted for us-something that she never really had- “typical”. While I empathize with her wishes for her child as a parent, as a 26-year-old, I’m realizing now how this roadmap to typical has made me lose my sense of self. I have no idea who I am, what my passions are, what career path I want to take, whether I want to get married and have kids, what hobbies I enjoy, or whether I want to stay in NYC all my life. I’ve been trained (and kidding myself) to exhibiting and believing in certain personas to reach the typical. Soft-spoken, feminine daughter-in-law material to my parents and their friends. Intelligent, driven, and outspoken at work to avoid the stereotypes of being a female in a male-dominated field (the caveat being seen as an aggressive bitch). Funny, carefree, and interested in whatever’s currently trendy to my friends. To be fair to myself, I do believe that I am all of those things to some degree. Also, my life, like everyone else’s, has a much more complexed, nuanced story that contributes to who I am as a person, which I can’t hash out or write about in a single post. However, I think what scares me is that in a culture that’s fast-paced and goal-oriented, with expectations of who I am supposed to be, I’m not quite sure of who I want to be.

What I am certain of however, is that I am not alone in feeling this way. I am literally the most closed-off, private person ever, even with my closest friends and family. Compartmentalization has always been my personal safety net, and my emotional and mental health has always been something that was only meant to be addressed with myself. Obviously, this is not healthy and provides no room for change. I’ve finally had it with ruminating on my own, and decided that I wanted to start sharing- particularly with people outside of my life. There’s something ironically comfortable about sharing your thoughts with a complete stranger. What better way than to start a blog? I wanted to share my life and thoughts, have others share their experiences with me, and journal my growth.

Problem is, I have no idea how to run a blog or if people will have any interest in this so I’m starting off on Tumblr for now. Please send in any suggestions, questions, and stories to help me get started. I’d love to hear from you and engage.

#thelittleteadoll #life #lifetsyle #lifestyle blog #advice #blog #culture #writer

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minttoy · 5 years

Text

Song and Steel

Summary: “Annette can never how slowly, and then somehow all at once, he became someone to lose.” - Annette and Felix through the war. Missing scenes post time skip

Pairings: Felix/Annette

Click here to read on FF.net.

Click here to read on AO3.

----------

Annette never meant to lose her composure, especially in battle.

It starts when she inflicts the final blow on the Gloucester heir – a quick gale casted for a counter. Had she known it would leave Lorenz at death’s door, she might not have done it. Her professor’s words suddenly throb in her head: Kill or be killed. She finds little comfort in the saying, because Annette doesn’t have Byleth’s mercenary background or ironed mindset. Instead, all she thinks is ‘What have I done?’ and she repeats it to herself like a mantra.

“Annette!” Someone is calling her from behind. She can’t distinguish above the noise.

She starts forward at a run, stumbling over dead bodies and slipping when her foot catches the end of a lance in her path. When she gets to him, she makes quick work to haul Lorenz’s body off his fallen steed and lay him flat on the ground. She doesn’t know when her arms became strong enough to drag a bloodied man almost twice her size out of tangled heap, but she shows no signs of stopping.

She tries to rouse him, checks his pulses, searches for signs of life – anything – but his blood just coats more of her hands.

“Annette, you idiot! Get out of there!”

When she looks up, Felix is too close. In a hurry, he catches her around the waist and starts pulling her backwards. When she pushes against him, he has to hook his arm around her chest to hold her back.

“He’s gone!” he shouts in her ear, because she’s still squirming.

“No! At least let me-”

A demonic beast is nearby. Fire is heaved and belched in their direction, setting the wooden rafters and planks and grounds ablaze. Suddenly the world is ignited in flame. She coughs twice as noxious fumes and smoke penetrate the air around them. Heat blankets her face as a nearby pillar catches fire. It cracks and falls, blocking her path to Lorenz’s body, and she would have been caught in the destruction if not for-

A light-headedness suddenly overcomes her.

She feels her knees buckle, arms fall limp and then she slackens in his arms. Her mind is too shocked to think clear, much less chide herself for recklessness. Felix lets out a heavy sigh from behind. She knows because she feels his chest move and his breath grazes her cheek.

A moment later, she’s pulled to her feet. His touch is considerably gentler, less forceful.

“Come on,” he pipes up, quickly appraising her balance when he lets go.

She has no choice but to listen. When he takes her arm, she lets him lead.

----------

War is a nightmare of itself, but taking down familiar faces is a different horror. After the battle, Annette ruminates the thought as she kneels down by Lorenz’s body, still distinguishable in spite of the burns and charred skin. She offers him a moment of silence because it’s all she can do. She whispers a soft prayer because it makes her feel better.

Felix stands beside her, arms crossed and gaze focused on the ground. Whether he’s here begrudgingly or not, she does not know, but his presence and patience are small comforts.

When she rises to stand, Felix meets her eyes with wary anticipation.

She sighs. “…I guess there’s no turning back.”

He shakes his head.

The image of his corpse is already burned in her mind. A shiver tracks her spine. “Could we ever get over something like this?” she adds, more as an afterthought.

He shrugs. “I doubt it, but maybe ask me again later, when the war is over.”

Having accepted the fact, she holds her hands between them so he can see them too. Like pouring alcohol over a festered wound, she flips over her palms and stares at the blood-soaked gloves. She winces and flashes a pained expression, digesting the awful sight. She knows she’ll carry this guilt for life.

“Are you okay?”

She pulls her gloves by the fingers first before removing them completely. To her horror, the blood is soaked even to the skin of her hands. Damn. A shadow falls on her face and a sigh escapes her lips. She tucks those gloves deep into her pocket, out of sight, but not out of mind.

“I will be,” she says, attempting some level of optimism, even though her voice is weary. It occurs to her that she’s killed before – a multitude of times, too. In theory, this time should be no different. It seems pathetic, in hindsight, how easily she lost herself when she’s casted storms to rain down her enemies before. She laughs at herself a little, hollow as it is. “…I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. When I saw him on the ground, I just wanted to save him so badly...I didn’t mean for you to-”

“Stop.”

She raises him a brow. She forgets the words on her tongue once she sees his softened features, a rare sight to behold.

“What’s done is done. You did what you had to. I don’t want to hear excuses or apologies, especially not for my sake,” he tells her point-blank. He’s never been a man of soft words anyway, not that she expected him to offer any. It’s a tough, sturdy kind of comfort. Sometimes it offers more than soothing words can afford.

“Thank you, then,” she says, mirroring his softened gaze. If he won’t accept her apologies, he might as well accept her thanks.

“Sure,” he scoffs before turning away, which is the most acknowledgement she’ll get out of him.

He stays by her side, and she’s grateful.

----------

“Professor?”

Annette peeks into the Captain’s Quarters. After the battle at the bridge, Byleth has quietly taken to moving all her things to Jeralt’s old room. Annette thinks her Professor can no longer bear the thought of sleeping in the student dormitories anymore, but it’s only speculation. Her professor remains a wild conundrum, even now.

“Come in.”

Byleth’s attention is focused largely on paperwork, brows creasing as her eyes flit across the paper. Annette can only assume the document is highly vexing, but she puts it away in a flash and sets down her feather quill, eyes now trained to her student. Her expression is blank and seemingly cold and there are traces of darkness under her eyes. When Annette asks if she slept last night, Byleth dismisses her concern.

“Professor, I’m looking for advice. In our last battle, I…well, you see, I did something that I’m not sure I can…”

Somehow, her point gets across.

The professor sighs softly. “Annette, I apologize you had to experience that. I understand it’s difficult engaging in battle with former classmates and peers,” she starts, tone neutral, robotic even, in spite of her words. “Awful as it is, you will never forget it. Believe me, I’ve also taken down foes who were once my friends.”

“I know. I just wish it didn’t have to end like that,” she tells honestly.

Byleth’s eyes darken suddenly and for a moment, Annette fears she spoke out of line.

“You regret it now, but a harsh lesson I must teach you is that war does not discriminate between you and your enemies,” Byleth says so evenly, as if she’s giving one of her lectures. Annette doesn’t notice how hard she clenches a fist under the desk. “It will take one after the other, and if you are lucky, you owe it to yourself to live another day.”

Hmm. That’s one way to put it.

Annette knows her Professor isn’t one for soothing words either. It is most apparent when she handles Dimitri’s outbursts and violent tendencies with a certain hardiness. He needs someone like that – someone to set him in place, not coddle and feed his murderous fantasies. People seem to think it’s her job as his teacher. Annette knows it goes beyond that. Her father mentioned once how forgiving someone’s darkness implies a love beyond measure. She thinks Dimitri loves her too, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

When Byleth asks if she has any other questions, Annette shakes her head. The rest of her day is spent kneeling by the church pews, as most people do when they have sins to repent.

----------

It’s almost sunset. Her father is usually here by now.

Lately they’ve been spending dinners with each other. It’s always a quiet affair and food rations from the kitchens are never tasty, but it’s taken a long time to get here. Gustave used to brush her off with a blankness that rivalled even the professor’s mercenary gaze. He is distant and haunted even now, but she refuses to be deterred. Somewhere along the push and pull, they’ve agreed to make things work. At the end of the day, she’s just grateful he no longer denies being her father.

After a few more minutes, Annette gets up and looks for him. She starts with his usual haunts: greenhouse, fishing dock, marketplace. Up next is the knight’s hall. She’s not looking to stay so she slips in quietly.

“Father? Are you- Bah!” Her eyes connect with a sharp navy blue pair and she reacts with alarm. Automatically, she straightens her spine and bows at the waist, as she would to any duke of Faerghus. “I-I’m so sorry for intruding! Lord Rodrigue, I should have knocked before entering. Please forgive me.”

He’d been in the middle of sorting documents and letters when she entered. Truly, he’s baffled by her insistent apology more than anything. When Annette looks back up, his expression molds into one of mild interest. He stands and abandons his work on the table.

“No need for apologies, Miss Dominic. Your presence is quite welcome, in fact.”

Her gaze is tinged with confusion. “…Pardon?”

He suppresses the urge to chuckle at her nervous energy. “You haven’t seen my son, have you?”

Annette fidgets with the ends of her gloves, thinking it’s been a long while since she’s seen Felix at all. “Err, I’m afraid not.”

She finds no disappointment on Rodrigue’s end. Rather, his gaze wanders in quiet contemplation. “He was supposed to meet me here for a spar,” he explains, not with any dismay or setback. “Sometimes, I find it’s the only way I can get him to speak with me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Her expression is largely wooden, only because she doesn’t know what to make of it. Felix has openly expressed his distaste for his father before, but she figured some of it had to do with his own stubbornness. He had a penchant for petty behaviour back then.

“Well, Felix can be quite fixed in his ways sometimes. I’m sure you know that as his classmate,” he reflects, maintaining a warm tone of voice despite their talk. He nudges his head in Annette’s direction, shifting course. “How are things between you and your father, by the way?”

She lights up. “It’s better, actually. We fight alongside each other and share dinners…Lately we’ve been catching up on the lost years. I’m glad we found each other when we did.”

He shoots her a fond smile of approval. “I hope you continue to remain positive, my dear. Gustave has a troubled past, but he means well. He also loves you more than anything. In fact, he let me know the other day how proud he is to see how strong you’ve become.”

She flushes a little, taking the compliment in stride. It feels nice to hear it from someone else. She understands it will take a while before her father is comfortable enough to say it directly to her.

Annette catches Rodrigue getting a glimpse of the clock, no doubt wondering whether his son has forgotten their meeting altogether. In secret, Annette hopes Felix isn’t that cruel. She knows the weight and burden of a strained relationship herself, but forgiveness is difficult too.

Rodrigue sighs softly. “Perhaps he’s not showing up,” he concedes. This time, the disappointment in his voice is more palpable, as much as he tries to hide it. He tips his head towards her with a raised brow. “…I hope he’s not giving you the same kind of trouble.”

She shakes her head resolutely. “Oh. He’s no trouble at all, actually.”

It’s Rodrigue’s turn to be surprised and his curious expression begs for an explanation.

Unconsciously, her fingers start worrying with the edge of her shawl. She doesn’t know if her cheeks are flushed pink or red, only knows she generally feels hot. “Felix, well…he’s kind to me, for the most part. I owe him a lot. He’s saved my life more times than I can count too. It’s actually kind of embarrassing.”

Rodrigue gazes with keen interest. “Is that true?”

“Of course,” she insists, and not just because she’s talking to his father. “He works so hard, especially with his training. Seeing him on the grounds everyday makes me want to become stronger.”

“How enlightening,” the man comments, quietly musing to himself. “You speak highly of him.”

She looks at him strange, thinking she has no other to speak otherwise. A lot of teasing and playful banter is exchanged between them, but she’s never mistaken any of it for cruelty.

“I suppose it’s fitting…” continues Rodrigue, her confusion going unnoticed. He puts a hand to his chin in contemplation. “You should know he speaks highly of you too.”

Annette did not know it was possible her face could heat up more, but it does. Her colour must be beet red by now. Embarrassed, she looks away to salvage any sort of control. She doesn’t notice Rodrigue chuckling at her unexpected predicament. Oddly enough, Felix teases her the same way just to get that reaction.

She startles with a yelp when the double doors swing wide open, rushing in a breeze of cool air. Felix waltzes in casually despite the awkward atmosphere, raises a brow at the pair and unceremoniously drops his weapons on one side of the room. Annette almost smiles in relief, and observes as he gets to work, quickly dusting his hands with powder before moving to the sword rack.

He shoots a pointed gaze at his father first. “Spilling all my secrets, old man?”

“Why, I would never,” Rodrigue says wryly, feigning an offended expression. “Am I not allowed to have pleasant conversation with one of your peers?”

It earns him an eye roll. “…Right.”

Annette eyes Felix in particular, thinking this kind of banter would have no place if he harboured so much hatred. Soon, he catches her staring, but she doesn’t look away.

“Annette.” He says her name so dryly, as to not suggest anything between them. It goes without saying how aware he is of his dad standing across the room. “I ran into your father in the dining hall. He’s waiting for you.”

She lights up in remembrance. “Ah, that’s right!” Her posture straightens up and she bows, mostly to Rodrigue, before turning to Felix. “I’ll…see you later?”

He nods curtly, masking his desperation to get her out of his father’s prying eyes. Even now, he won’t hear the end of it. Maybe she caught on, or maybe she didn’t, but she scurries out of there not a moment longer. Felix lets out a sigh of relief when she does and doesn’t miss the grin on Rodrigue’s face as he readies for a spar.

“Sweet girl,” he comments, shrugging off his coat and drawing his own blade.

Felix cannot tell if he’s teasing as a father would, or trying to lower his guard. “I would prefer if you keep out of my business.”

“Who says I’m meddling?”

He sighs in annoyance and unsheathes his sword. Felix is short-tempered to begin with, but Rodrigue could grate his nerves with a single look. Every moment like this resembles how they used to be, as if things could work out after all.

----------

Fate won’t have it.

Rodrigue falls in the next battle. He goes down the same way as Glenn and for a short moment, Felix despises the goddess for saddling his family with such an atrocious destiny; sacrificing themselves in the name of their king, or in this case, the boar. He’d be damned if he went out like that, not because he doesn’t care for the prince, but because Dimitri better get his grip on reality soon and start fending for himself. Even now, the man is still spewing insanity and nonsense from his teeth.

Felix doesn’t shed a single tear. All he can do is grit his teeth and bear it, even as the last words from his father is a whispered and choked-up apology.

Some distance away, Annette watches with grief, remembering how they used to bond over these things. Rodrigue and Gustave were hardly present and yet, she came to Garreg Mach in search for him. Felix scoffed at her, questioning how she could house a heart of forgiveness when she’d been intentionally ignored. He couldn’t fully grasp the concept at the time.

But Annette sees it on his face now, the way his eyes crinkle in pain and his hands clench in tight fists, that he understands it better.

----------

A week later, Felix is still unreachable. He spends his days sulking in the training grounds. Dimitri sulks in the church. He tells Sylvain to pass the message that he refuses to be consoled or coddled. As he takes out his frustrations on training dummies, he can’t seem to forget his stupid father, dying with regret and leaving this world with an apology. Felix thinks it would have been easier if he made no effort at all in the past five years.

Fuck.

He’s interrupted sometimes. Those who don’t know him usually scurry away. Sylvain stops by to bring him food from the kitchen, which looks like gruel nowadays. Mercedes stopped by once to heal his wounds. Today, it’s Ingrid who opens the door.

He thinks she’s here to scold him, nag him or drag him out for lunch. She acts so motherly even if she won’t admit it, but she surprises him today. Silently, she takes a lance from the rack and offers to spar.

He knows early in the fight that every strike and attack of hers is touched with anger. The unspoken person in the room is undoubtedly Glenn. Recently, she’s been reconsidering what it means to be a knight, no longer clouded with chivalrous tales and noble attributes. Both Rodrigue and Glenn had died with pain and regrets.

When they’re both bruised and catching their breath, she drops her weapon first.

He tips his head towards her. “Still intent on becoming a knight?”

Ingrid laughs, but it’s flat and empty. “Of course.” Then she withdraws from battle, stepping back and putting her weapon away. Before she turns on her heel, she looks over her shoulder and gives him a quick onceover. He can’t hide from her inspecting gaze.

“Felix, don’t overdo it. Please? I fear you’ll get reckless,” she says after a while.

Ah, there it is.

He scoffs, “I was waiting for you to say something like that.”

She doesn’t smile, not in the mood to joke. “I’m serious. If you die on the battlefield too, I won’t forgive you,” she says, which is her roundabout way of telling him she cares.

----------

Annette attempts to visit him the next day. Sylvain finds her sitting on the bench outside the knight’s hall. She’s leaning back, staring at the sunset hues of the sky, legs straightened out in front of her and a small box sitting precariously on her lap. A blank gaze graces her features.

“Annette?”

She jumps and startles. He’s about to dive for the sliding box until she secures it with her hands. She straightens up in her seat, eyes darting around until they settle on him. She exhales a small breath. “Oh, Sylvain. You frightened me.”

“How long have you been sitting here?” he asks, because the evening chill is starting to set and she looks paler than usual.

“Haha, I don’t know actually…” she answers sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. “I must have gotten carried away.”

Sylvain’s eyes shift from her to the knight’s hall. He might act a bumbling fool most of the time, but he dissects the situation easy enough. “Let me guess, you paid our good friend Felix a visit?”

She nods her head and gestures to her gift. “I went into town today and bought some goodies for him. The kitchen hasn’t been serving anything tasty as of late, so I picked out some meats and grabbed a few rolls of bread. Nothing sweet or covered in chocolate, of course.”

The redhead grins at that. Felix should consider himself lucky, because he hardly deserve her kindness. “That’s awfully kind of you. How come it’s still sitting in your hands?”

“He told me to leave his sight.”

She says it so bluntly Sylvain almost chokes on his saliva. He coughs and clears his throat, and Annette just shoots him an oblivious gaze. “Well, that’s rude of him,” he says when he finally gets his bearings. “I suppose he’s still being a jerk then. If you want, I could give him a piece of my mind?”

She chuckles, and then shakes her head. “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. I don’t think he’s ready yet. Maybe I should have been more patient instead.”

Sylvain resists the urge to roll his eyes. Felix, with his brash and condescending nature, doesn’t deserve this at all. What’s worse is he’s being difficult about it. Pushing away the thought, he molds his gaze to become kinder. “You know, I figured if anyone could reach him, it would be you.”

“Hmm?” Annette tilts her head curiously at him. “Why do you say that?”

Sylvain backpedals a little. “He warms up easier to you. With us, he’s more stubborn.”

“Oh, I see,” she accepts with ease. She gulps in her throat, and he recognizes she’s withholding something at the tip of her tongue. “Hey, you don’t think…he’s not overworking himself, is he?”

“Nah, I think he’ll be fine,” he reassures, not with a measure of doubt. Felix has his self-destructive ways, but he’s never spiralled out of control, not like Dimitri. Funny how some people think Sylvain is the least stable of the three of them. “Trust me. He acted the same way when Glenn died, and he turned around.”

Annette smiles, believing him. “Thank you.”

“You seem to care for him a whole lot.”

“Of course I do,” she says, flushing a light pink. It leaves Sylvain wondering when she became so bold about admitting to such things.

There’s a sound from behind. A heavy wooden door opening, and the clack of boots following. Felix emerges from the knight’s hall, looking dragged and worn. When his gaze cuts to the redhead first, his expression becomes annoyed. “Ugh, I knew it was you running your mouth out here.”

“Nice seeing you coming out of your shell,” Sylvain comments too casually, not interested in treating him with caution at all. Then again, Felix refuses to be talked with any hint of consolation or pity. “You done sulking yet or what?”

The dark-haired male just scoffs and turns to Annette, who’s standing now and clutching her offering between her arms. “You’re still here?”

She pouts, showing him her own stubbornness. “I told you I wasn’t leaving.”

The moment is followed by silence where the two of them just…stare at each other.

Sylvain’s about to interject and tease him again, but he quickly realizes what’s going on. He’s played this game before – the first to look away loses. A strange, but intimate way of arguing. Felix can easily take this one because he’s a petty and stubborn mule, but Sylvain pays special attention to Annette. Her lip quivers and she can’t hold her pout for much longer.

To his surprise, Felix submits first. He sighs and tips his head towards the room. “Get in. You’ll catch a cold sitting out here,” he says without a trace of softness.

She grins at her small victory and scurries inside because she’s shivering. She nods a small thanks to him when he opens the door for her. Before following after, he raises Sylvain a brow, particularly to the lopsided grin tugging the corner of his lips.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Felix is stubborn as always, not that he expects any different.

Sylvain notices he’s still holding the door open.

“You coming in?”

The redhead shakes his head. “And interrupt precious time with your girl? I think I’ll pass. Besides, third-wheeling isn’t really my thing, as you know.”

Felix puts a hand to his face and drags it all the way down. He peeks behind him in search for Annette, relieved she probably didn’t hear any of that. When he looks back at Sylvain, he’s already sauntering away.

“Treat her nice, Felix. She’s taking care of you after all.”

----------

Later, when the muscles in his arm ache from swinging his sword, he joins her at the table by the fireplace. She’s laid out a small feast for them, and sits in deep thought. When he approaches, she snaps out of her reverie. He quietly reminds himself to ask later what weighs heavy on her mind.

“Hungry?” she chirps.

He plops down on the seat in front of her with a grunt. “Starving.”

For some reason, she smiles at that. He reaches for the one of the bread rolls, breaks it in half and takes one in his mouth. It’s less stale than the ones they serve from the kitchen, but then he notices quickly she’s not taking any for herself. He’s about to ask why, but she breaks silence first.

“Felix, I always wondered…” she says, that faraway look in her eyes again. “What was your dad like?”

He squirms in discomfort, but hides it. He lets the silence go on for too long anyway.

“Sorry,” she says, withdrawing her hands from the table and onto her lap. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s just…now is not the right time. Once the war is over, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

That evokes a small smile out of her. She gazes at him earnestly because she hopes he’ll remember. “Is that a promise?”

He nods stiffly. “I promise.”

----------

Dimitri finally turns around. No one is probably happier than their professor, even if it doesn’t show on her face. He offers his formal apologies to his peers and friends, and again to his beloved teacher. Felix thinks it was nice hearing it the first time, but irritating the second and third time.

Even when the meeting is over, Dimitri follows him out the door and requests to speak with him. Considering the death of Rodrigue, Dimitri feels Felix is owed an extra apology.

“Felix, I must apologize again for my untoward behaviours. Words are all I have to offer, empty as they may be, but please tell me what I must do to make it up to you because I am, once again, indebted to you and your family.”

He rolls his eyes. Dimitri will follow him around and beg if he has to, so Felix saves him the trouble. It would prove more troublesome if it came down to that.

“To start, it’s annoying to see you reduced to grovelling,” he scoffs, unafraid of being honest. “If this is what the boar prince of Faerghus looks like, then the future is bleak.”

Dimitri actually smiles at the familiarity of it. “Perhaps I could make it up to you with a spar?”

“Hmph. Sure you could beat me? I’ve seen you let your guard down too many times.”

The blonde has a small change of heart, raising a brow at the challenge. “Perhaps it’s unwise to underestimate me? You have better speed, but I’m certain I have strength on my side.”

Felix huffs. He’s referring to his size, of course. Dimitri has always had the physical advantage when they fight. He’s taller than Sylvain now too, towering over most of them like a mountain, or a roof over a house. Even without his shabby cloak, the man appears imposing and enormous.

“I’ve taken down beasts like you before,” he jests, throwing in a casual shrug to tick him off.

Dimitri’s lone eye twitches. He’s surprised by how quickly they’re slipping back to their old ways. Always bickering and challenging one another. Simple conversations turning into pissing contests. Settling things with their weapons instead of their words.

“Besides, strength isn’t everything. If it were that easy, I would have done it myself,” Felix continues, following up with a shake of his head. “Even five years past, you still don’t know a lick of magic.”

Dimitri shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I doubt I would need it to defeat you.”

“Are you willing to test that out?”

“Well, I offered to spar, did I not?” Dimitri only wears a smug expression because he knows it gets under his skin. Rivalry has always been part of their friendship, after all. “We could settle it this evening and determine the results of our training then.”

Felix snorts, and then barely suppresses his laughter. “By ‘training’, do you mean the past few months you spent standing in front of the church rubble?”

Dimitri chortles, but he’s hardly fazed. “To be fair, I have spent the last five years on the battlefield.”

“Yes, and now you wear an eyepatch,” he retorts easily. “Unless it’s for show, I fail to see your point.”

The prince crinkles at the insult, but he’s still smirking underneath. “Oof, that one hurts.”

He shrugs. “It’s only your pride. Just wait till we get on the training grounds.”

They settle it there. Felix turns his heel and starts to leave the room. At the door, he pauses to hurl his parting words. Dimitri is still listening and waiting for him to say it.

“Keep yourself in line, Dimitri. That’s what my father asked of you before he died. Don’t make his sacrifice in vain. Personally, I don’t intend on dying to save your ass, so don’t let it come to that.”

----------

Fhirdiad, the crown jewel and capital city of Faerghus, is finally theirs again. It took a monumental effort on their part, worthy of a celebratory feast. There’s music and dancing. Lively conversation and laughter. Wine and liquor are being passed amongst the soldiers, so it’s bound to end in some sort of disaster.

When the server offers to fill his glass, Felix declines. Sylvain, rowdier than usual and drunker than most, passes him a full glass of whiskey before demanding him to loosen up.

Annette sits beside him and sneaks a glance every now and then. He still wears his perpetual scowl even in celebration, but part of it is irritation for the redhead’s antics on his other side. By the time dessert arrives, Sylvain is halfway done telling his exaggerated tales of bravery on the battlefield when he gets up and asks a vexed Ingrid for a dance. When he’s rejected, he pulls Mercedes instead, who doesn’t have the heart to refuse.

Annette, on the other hand, revels and savours each and every bite of her cake. They hardly serve desserts at the monastery, and nothing ever reaches this level of sugary sweetness. To no one’s surprise, she gobbles it up in minutes. When he notices she’s done, Felix nudges his serving in her direction. The expression of gratitude that flashes across her eyes is delightful. It warms his heart, even if he won’t admit it.

“Say, Felix…” she starts, spooning the frosting off the top of the cake. “Ever think about the future? You know, after the war is finished.”

“Nope,” is his short and curt answer.

She raises him a brow, wondering if he’s being difficult, or he legitimately has not given it any thought. For now, she’ll take his word for it. “I suppose it’s not that complicated,” she muses out loud, mindlessly picking at her plate. Somehow her mind always goes back to this. “When the war is over, Dimitri will ascend the throne. Some of us will have to do the same in our house.”

The two of them included, of course. Sometimes Annette forgets her nobility, much less that she’s heir to the house after her uncle passes. It’s been easy to brush it off because of the war.

“Does it upset you?” he asks pointedly.

She shrugs and pushes away the thought. Felix knows she’ll assume her cheery façade in no time. “No, but it’s just…don’t you have dreams or wishes? Things you wish you could do, but maybe you’re not allowed?”

He raises a brow, but he has an inkling of where she’s going with this. “Is there something you want to do?”

Annette sighs pensively. “Sometimes I think about becoming a teacher,” she admits, staring up at the ceiling. Mercedes has told her it’s far from unrealistic, but the war has dampened her hopes.

“I’ve always loved the school atmosphere,” she continues, remembering her academy days. Some people forget she was enrolled in another school before she joining the monastery. “Sometimes, I imagine what it’s like standing at a desk and explaining the basics of magic and spellcasting. I would have students of my own and I would treat them all equally, even the grumpy ones that don’t want to learn. I wouldn’t mind that for the rest of my life. Does that sound silly?”

When she tilts her head to him, his gaze is surprisingly tender. “Not at all. To be fair, I’m more surprised you don’t dream of becoming a singer or songwriter.”

He fully expects her to pout or nudge him on the shoulder, but she just laughs. He likes the sound of it; merry and bell-like. “I can’t say I haven’t thought about it,” she tells honestly. “But I think I prefer to keep the hobby to myself, so don’t go around telling people.”

Annette has grown rather comfortable with the fact that he knows her secret. In quiet moments, she’s even allowed herself to hum a few tunes, scribble down lyrics and sing in his presence.

“A teacher, huh?” He considers the thought only briefly. “…I think you would enjoy it. Maybe one day, you’ll get to do just that.”

When she smiles, it reaches her eyes. Felix has supported every decision she’s made since she’s known him. It’s odd, considering what people say of him.

“Maybe,” she echoes. “At the very least, I’ll want to pass my knowledge onto my own children, if I’m ever lucky.”

He snorts. “Children? You already think that far ahead?”

She shoots him her usual pout this time. “Of course I do. You don’t?”

“Not when the war is still raging.”

She narrows her eyes at him in suspicion. “Is that just your way of saying you don’t want any?”

He chuckles at her expression and then shakes his head. “No. What I’m saying is that you should probably save a question like that for later. There’s no point asking it now.”

Her lips tug to a smirk, because she’s heard this promise before. “Maybe when the war is over?”

Felix knows it too, because he’s smiling as well. She’s adding it to her list as they speak, but a dark thought flashes – maybe there won’t be time after the war. If it came down to the two of them, he’d be damned if he makes it out and not her. All his promises would be empty.

“You better not die before then,” she pipes up, and even though her cheeks are half-stuffed with cake, she means it seriously. “I’ll be upset if you do. You’ll never get to hear the swamp beastie song either.”

He snorts and wonders how she read his mind just now. Of all things, he would hate to miss out on her singing too. “Hmph. That would be a shame. I suppose we’ll both have to make it out then.”

----------

Enbarr is a messy affair.

After a blistering effort, all the Empire soldiers have either fallen or retreated on their own accord. Dimitri enters Edelgard’s throne room to settle the war’s end and Felix takes the chance to clutch at a hastily bandaged cut above his shoulder to stop it from bleeding. He doesn’t bother calling Mercedes. She’s busy with dealing with a graver injury; Ingrid had nothing to cushion her fall when her Pegasus was shot down as she set off. She’s lucky to escape with a few fractures.

Sylvain stands nearby with a worried look. Ashe waits in silence with Dedue. Annette is nowhere in sight, but she’d been paired up with her dad. He reminds himself to find her later and make sure she’s uninjured. Goddess knows she can be more stubborn than he is at times.

When Dimitri emerges from the throne room, he nods to his peers. It’s the only signal they need. The Empire is finished, and just like that, they arrive at the moment they’ve long dreamed and waited, except it doesn’t end with raucous cheering and celebration. The sound of silence reigns above all.

Dimitri appears distraught more than anything. Beside him, Byleth’s expression is unreadable, but more so than usual.

Felix lets his gaze wanders aimlessly across the blood-stained palace, thinking now would be a good time for rest. The last thing he remembers before his vision turns black is the evening sky.

----------

When he finally comes to, his mind latches to the sound of humming. A sweet, lilting tune. He knows that sound from anywhere.

With a groan, he blinks the blur out of his eyes. Despite the steady throb in his head, ribs and legs, he pushes himself up anyway. The humming stops and her hand goes to his back to help him sit. He fixes her a soft gaze, thinking he wouldn’t mind waking up like this every morning and she’s the first thing he sees.

“You idiot,” is the first thing she says, naturally. Her smile is quickly replaced with a more serious expression to match her scolding. He braces himself for her reprimand. “You’re lucky, you know that? You lost a lot of blood out there. Thank goodness we found you when we did, otherwise you would be dead. Why didn’t you say anything?”

He’s hurt her. Just for that, he supposes he deserves it. “I’m sorry.”

Her lips quiver, but her anger doesn’t hold out for much longer. With him, it wasn’t meant to last. Annette can never fathom how slowly, and then somehow all at once, he became someone to lose.

“Don’t do it again,” she says, sounding defeated.

Felix softens his gaze. “I won’t.”

It’s all she needs to hear. She exhales deeply and sits at his side to embrace him. Her arms are shaking, he realizes. She’s desperate to feel him, and hear his heart beating. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her she’s pressing against one of his wounds, so he just rubs her back to soothe her.

When she pulls away, a smile graces her features once again.

“How long do I have to stay here?” he can’t help but ask. It’s nice they pitched a medical tent for him, but as far as his injuries go, he’d rather be out and about than be bound to a makeshift bed.

“Couple of days, probably,” she says. His expression sours, and she pokes him on the cheek. “Hey now, I was the one who healed you. I’m not about to let you waste my efforts.”

He scoffs, “I promise I’ll be careful.”

She’s still shaking her head, unfortunately. “Nope. Nice try, but you’re staying here until you get better. Besides, I know you, Felix. You’re itching to go back to the training grounds as we speak.”

He harrumphs like a petulant child. If he crossed his arms too, he could be mistaken for one. She takes it as a sign that his recovery is well in motion.

Afterwards, she updates him on the war’s end. Who’s alive and who’s not. How their classmates are faring – alive, but not entirely whole. Dimitri in a rough mental shape, but not spiralling as he once was. The Professor seems to be missing, claiming she has matters to investigate about the war’s origins. Even at a time of rest, she does not stop.

When Felix asks about her plans, her tone shifts slightly. She takes his hand and wraps it in hers.

“I’m going home to visit my mom. My father’s coming with me, actually.” She says it with a certain glee. A sense of pride, too. He’s proud of her as well, because she’s been wanting this since their days at the academy.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

He inhales and exhales. By instinct, he squeezes her hand tighter. She chuckles at his reaction.

“We’ll see each other again, dummy,” she says, as if reading his mind. “There’s a lot I have to ask you now that the war is over. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

He smirks at the throwback and they talk until sundown when he’s hit with a wave of exhaustion. He knows when he wakes tomorrow, she’ll be gone like a distant dream, so he doesn’t let her go until she promises to write to him. How odd that he’s never given her a confession, and yet he’s comfortable requesting as such. She jokes that he’s becoming soft, but consents to the idea when he promises to do the same. After that, he memorizes her face and kisses the back of her hand. When he falls asleep, he hopes he dreams of her.

“Finally the world is at peace…” she whispers to herself, when she thinks he’s sleeping.

There’s silence, and then, very softly, she starts to sing.

----------

Dimitri’s coronation is three months later.

It will mark their first reunion since the war’s end. Most of them returned to their homes to resume their positions, help restoration efforts or bury the dead.

When the ceremony is underway, Annette stands with her father and uncle to represent the Dominic household. She spies Mercedes sitting at the front with Ashe and silently gives her a wave. In the front, Dimitri stands with the other dukes, most of them young and newly inducted. Felix and Sylvain are among them. Byleth stands by the throne too. She’s taken the role of the archbishop, but Annette likes to think she’s still their professor at heart.

Annette deliberately stares at new king of Faerghus. It’s obvious he still needs Byleth and that he depends on her – everyone depends on her, she’s the head of the church after all – but for him, it goes deeper than that. It’s as if he relies on her to keep him going, day after day. Like she’s all that holds him together.

It’s endearing to watch. Annette had been right about her suspicions all along.

Later, she wades through the crowd to find one of the people she’s missed the most. When she finds him, she lights up. Seeing him certainly feels like coming home. There’s a small crinkle in his eye when he finds her too. He barely gets out his snarky ‘hello’ when she takes his hand and pulls him outdoors for more privacy.

“Hasty, aren’t you?” he comments, even though he doesn’t resist.

Annette lets him go when there are no prying eyes to intervene. “You can stop me anytime, Duke Fraldarius,” she greets teasingly. She throws in a small curtsy when she pronounces his title.

He scoffs in mild disgust. “Ugh, I’ll have none of that.”

She laughs, warm and familiar. “Did you miss me?”

He wobbles his hand in uncertainty. “Meh. I hardly noticed you were gone,” he teases back.

She hits him on the shoulder, and then he catches her hand in his. “That’s too bad. I wanted to make it up to you.”

“Oh? And how are you planning to do that?”

She hums and muses out loud, “I could offer you a spar?”

“I think I’ve got enough soldiers at home to spar with.”

“What if I sing you a song then?”

He remembers the sound of her voice, all of a sudden. Soft lullabies she sang before he fell asleep. Strange lyrics she penned to distract him from war. Her soft voice offering peace to the screams in his sleep. When he looks at her and studies her face, he’s reminded of the small things she did to sustain him.

Impulsively, Felix leans closer, heart racing furiously in his chest.

She meets him halfway.

The kiss is soft, tentative and clumsy. It takes a moment to orient themselves to each other, but it hardly matters. He smells clean, not like resin or metal. She tastes like the bubbling champagne they served at the hall. Warmth unfurls in her chest and she grips the front of his shirt tighter when she realizes how much she’s missed him.

When they pull away, she smiles and tries to memorize the details of his face.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” she says the first thing in her mind. She’s acutely aware of how offbeat and un-romantic it sounds, but in a post-war period, it seems fitting. In return, he just chuckles.

He doesn’t say anything back, still not much for soft and soothing words. Instead, he pulls her again and kisses her deeper until all her senses and thoughts are filled with him.

Finally, they live in a world that knows peace. She looks forward to telling him stories, singing to him, getting him to laugh or smile, and asking him all the hard questions, but for now, this is enough.

----------

Thanks for reading! I paired these two up in my play through and it was worth it. I loved them so much I put it into writing. If you’ve made it this far, I sincerely hope you enjoyed the work. - Mint

#fire emblem #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fe3h #felix hugo fraldarius #annette #post timeskip #romance #fire emblem fanfiction #felianne #felannie

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captainmeowvelwrites · 4 years

Text

You Times Two (Ch.3)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 3354 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two… Marinette considered growing a magnificent beard and running away to join the circus. She reflected on the ramifications of Chat Blanc, which honestly, the author is still too upset about to make light of right now. And just to top it all off, Clumsy Girl smacked Golden Boy in the face with a door, then somehow called him Chadrien. Has our favourite gal’s cover been blown? Has her kitty quite literally had some sense smacked into him? And purrhaps most importantly, is his lil’ button nose okay? You can probably hazard a guess, but read on, I say!

---

Chapter Three

Adrien left Marinette in the locker room and stepped out into the morning sun, its warmth bathing his skin.

But the heat of his cheeks had a different source.

As he twisted his ring – something he often did when his brain was abuzz – he glimpsed his reflection in a tinted window, a reminder that his hair was still a bit of mess. He reached for his bangs, his thoughts drifting a minute into the past.

There'd been a light in Marinette's eyes, and a sense of ease about her, when he'd ruffled his hair.

Of course, that had only lasted a second.

And then, like Ladybug, she'd called him Chadrien.

That had to be a coincidence.

Ladybug had fumbled over her words last night, as Marinette often did.

Marinette's eyes were like the sky after a storm, a stunning shade of bluebell, just like Ladybug's. How had he not noticed that before?

His hand fell from his hair to his side, as his lips drew into a resolute line.

No, his suspicions were impossible.

Marinette was Multimouse.

She couldn't be Ladybug too.

His eyes sunk to his shoes as he continued to think of his lady. The reality was, she wasn't his lady. She never had been.

There was a thickness in his throat and a void in his eyes as he wondered—again—if things might've been different, if not for that boy. She'd said she couldn't even imagine a world without him, whoever he was.

And that hurt.

A lot.

To an extent, it had depleted his hope of something ever blooming between them. But more than that, it always made him wonder if she could say the same for him. Could she imagine a world without Chat Noir?

Truly, Adrien didn't know the answer.

His fingernails dug into the flesh of his palms.

This shouldn't matter anymore.

He was dating Kagami.

Well, sort of.

The press had snapped them eating ice cream together. And yes, they'd almost kissed—but they hadn't made things official, despite what the media were saying.

Regardless, everyone thought they were official—including Kagami.

He hated this.

Not because Kagami was basically his girlfriend, but because he'd never imagined this unravelling quite as it had.

He'd imagined a rose-covered rooftop and a candlelit dinner. He'd imagined a passionate declaration and actually asking the girl to be his girlfriend. He'd imagined a night ending in a flurry of hugs and kisses and laughter.

And he'd imagined it all with Ladybug.

He buried his face in his palms, where the dent of his nails still showed.

This wasn't fair on Kagami.

But Ladybug didn't love him back. She never would.

And despite the way he felt about her, to say he didn't care for Kagami was a lie.

Kagami had always been upfront with him. Maybe that's why he'd been so drawn to her. She was assertive, strong-minded and knew exactly what she wanted.

A lot like Ladybug, a part of him whispered.

A very annoying part.

With a huff, Adrien pinched the bridge of his nose. It was still tender from its encounter with a door and for some reason, that made him smile.

Plagg peeked up at him from beneath his white overshirt. "So why'd you have to come out here to wait for your friend?"

Adrien tensed. "Plagg," he whispered, his eyes snapping around the school courtyard, finding it empty. "Hide before someone sees you." He tugged the edge of his white shirt over his kwami's head.

Of course, Plagg squeezed his way back out despite his chosen's protests. "People are blind," he whined. "Not to mention I blend in with your shirt."

Adrien heaved a sigh, yielding to Plagg's question. "I just have a lot on my mind. That's all."

"Like what, hmm?"

"Since when do you care about something that isn't cheese-related?" He was half-joking.

"Oh please," Plagg barked. "I just wanna know what's got you in such a tizz."

Adrien glowered at that and glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting Marinette to barge out of the locker room right that second. When she didn't, he looked down at Plagg. "Marinette: that's who Ladybug reminded me of last night."

Plagg groaned in time with an eye roll. "So what? Marinette's always talking nonsense. Ladybug did for one measly night!"

"But, Plagg," Adrien said, desperation seeping through his words, "this isn't the first time I've suspected she was Ladybug!"

"Have you forgotten about Kwamibuster?" Plagg grimaced. "She was Multimouse. We even saw her and Ladybug side-by-side."

A thought flashed in Adrien's eyes. "Miracle Queen," he announced, and Plagg tipped his head. "Why didn't she show up to collect the Mouse Miraculous?" He cupped his chin, glancing toward the morning sky. "Every other Miraculous Wielder did."

"She isn't a Miraculous Wielder anymore," Plagg said simply. "Ladybug told her as much after she revealed her identity to you. Or maybe she just didn't get stung by those nasty bugs."

His hopes were crushed as quickly as they'd come, and he realised how much he'd been hoping to begin with. Did he want Marinette to be Ladybug? Was that why he kept searching for reasons to suspect her?

He pursed his lips, wrestling with these ruminations and the risks that came with them. His suspicions were circumstantial, if that. And if he ever learned Ladybug's identity, it should be on her terms.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder…

"I… guess you're right, Plagg." The disappointment in his voice was thicker than glue.

"Of course, I'm right!"

Adrien tapped his lips, eyes drifting skyward once more. "And Ladybug did say we don't know each other out of costume." Though she'd also said she wouldn't tell him if they did. "You know who Ladybug is, right? From when we faced Mr Damo—The Dark Owl."

"If you're suggesting what I think you are—"

Adrien shook his head. "You know I'd never betray Ladybug's trust like that."

"Good," Plagg said, throwing his whiskers in the air, "because I couldn't tell you who she is even if I wanted to. Tikki would kill me." His paw emerged from beneath Adrien's white shirt, and he placed a thoughtful claw to his lips. "As for Ladybug's stuttering last night, maybe your identity just… took her off guard? For all you know, she was starstruck! Like that time you took me to the Aligre Market." His green eyes glided upward, glazing over, and he let out a dreamy sigh. "So… much… artisan cheese…"

Adrien gaped—and it took him at least five seconds to form words. "You… You think Ladybug could be a fan of mine?"

"It makes a lot more sense than your stupid theory."

Adrien had never even considered that possibility, but Plagg was right. It did make sense. Maybe that's why she'd freaked out.

"But," Plagg continued, "how should I know if she's a fan of yours? Just ask her at patrol tonight."

Adrien's chest tightened as he pictured that very scenario. "But what if she is a fan and freaks out again like last time?" Worry weighed on his lips. "Or what if she's not and thinks I'm arrogant and—"

The thump of a hand against wood made him jump, and Plagg vanished beneath his shirt.

"Sorry I took so long!"

He turned to find Marinette, her hair a little more frazzled. Her eyes snapped around the courtyard, not meeting his.

Oh no! Had she heard him talking?

Adrien threaded his fingers, his thumbs circling each other. "No – No problem." He swallowed and forced a small smile. "I was just – uhh…"

"Don't worry," Marinette chimed, finally looking his way. Her eyes creased as she smiled. "I stalk—uhh, talk to myself too. All the time. I mean – uhh – some of the time." She cleared her throat. "So I – uhh – guess we're both nosy—I mean crazy."

"Oh, I…" Adrien broke eye contact, glancing between her and the ground. "What did you hear?"

"N-Nothing!" Marinette shrieked, waving her hands back and forth. "Just – uh – mumbling and stuff." She looked away, her fingers drumming against the straps of her backpack. "So, umm…" She nodded towards the nearby stairs. "Class, then?"

Adrien forced a chuckle, only for his voice to crack. And now they were both blushing. "Ri-Right." He squeezed the strap of his shoulder bag with one hand and extended his other toward the stairs. "After you, then."

Marinette took a single step forward and, true to form, somehow tripped over air.

Adrien's hands were on her shoulders in an instant, barring her greeting with the ground. "Are you okay?"

"No—I mean yes!" She peeled his hands from her shoulders and practically jumped back to her full height. "I'm just – uhh – clumsy. Ha ha. I am so clumsy." She flashed an oddly wide grin, her hands flying this way and that as she spoke. "Like, the Queen of Clumsy. Any physical activity whatsoever and I am not your girl. Not by a mile. Heck, I couldn't even run a mile. Because, y'know – I'm so unfit. And clumsy. Did I mention I'm clumsy?" The second she finished her spiel, her eyes shot to her ballerina flats.

Adrien managed a laugh, despite how his brows squished together. "Uhh… Yes, you did mention that." His brows settled, but he continued to smile. "And Marinette, you're not as clumsy as you think you are."

Marinette wiped her palms across her pants. "I'm… I'm not?" she squeaked, peering up at him.

"Well, I've experienced your dancing first-hand, remember?" Adrien slid an arm around her shoulders, showing a supportive smile. "And let's not forget your fencing and ice-skating skills. Try not to sell yourself short, okay?" His arm slipped from her shoulders to rub the nape of his neck, and he laughed lightly. "But maybe do try to be more careful sometimes."

She stared at him with wide eyes. "Uh – Um – Yeah. I'll… try to be more careful."

With that, Adrien extended his hand toward the stairs. "Shall we?"

---

She'd eavesdropped on Adrien and Plagg – but not on purpose!

In fact, she'd been about to shove those pesky doors aside when her name – or rather, Ladybug's name – had given her pause.

She'd only caught bits and pieces, but by the sound of it, Adrien suspected she was Ladybug. And in that moment, Chat Blanc's petrifying face had flashed through her mind. That was all the incentive she'd needed to throw him off her tracks, by deliberately tripping over air and pointing out her lack of physical prowess.

He couldn't know she was Ladybug.

Not yet.

Perhaps not ever.

Marinette quite literally shook that thought to the outskirts of her mind. Now, around Adrien, was not the time and place for it.

Instead, she panted excessively as they scaled the stairs, hoping he'd bought her 'I'm so clumsy and unfit' charade—if she could even call it that. She wasn't unfit, but she was a royal clutz, even if Adrien didn't think so.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Marinette's mind wandered elsewhere. She wasn't late thanks to an akuma, so her secret identity wasn't at risk. Did she even need to make up an excuse?

She could just say she'd slept in.

In fact, that's exactly what she'd done.

On purpose.

To avoid the very boy she was arriving late with.

A groan slipped through her lips—and of course, Adrien heard it.

"Everything okay, Marinette? You sure you're not hurt?"

"Err – Yeah! I'm – I'm fine." Her eyes flew this way and that, as she considered an excuse. "I was just… uh…"

Adrien's eyes were fixed on her and once more, she took in his mussed hair… so reminiscent of Chat Noir.

"I was just wondering what to say to Miss Bustier?"

Adrien smiled, his bangs bobbing with each step he took. "You mean, how do we explain our lateness?" He adjusted the strap of his bag, his ring in full view. "We don't. In my experience, Miss Bustier is fine as long as you apologise and don't disrupt the lesson beyond that. It's Ms Mendeleiev that's a little trickier to deal with."

"Tell me about it," Marinette muttered, only to gasp and go tense. "I mean, uhh… Yeah, I've been crate—late to her class a few times. It's never easy."

They stopped outside their classroom door, Adrien's hand returning to her shoulder. He leaned in close and this time, her unfit charade wasn't the reason her breath hitched.

"Just follow my lead, okay?"

Marinette nodded, unable to hide a slight smile at the irony. Usually, it was him that followed her lead. He just didn't know it.

Adrien offered her an encouraging smile, then eased the classroom door aside. Miss Bustier was seated at her desk, her eyes on them and her hands hovering over the keys on her laptop. Their classmates looked up from their tablets, their eyes flicking between Marinette and Adrien.

Adrien entered first. "Sorry we're late, Miss Bustier." He held the door open and snuck Marinette a supportive wink that made her cheeks burn.

This time, Marinette's stumble was unintentional as she stepped inside, feeling all eyes on her. She didn't know what was worse: the way Chloe and Lila glared daggers at her or the bug-eyed look on Alya's face.

Behind her, Adrien clicked the door shut, and she cleared her throat. "Uhh. Y-Yeah!" Her face scrunched in apology. "Sorry, Miss Bustier"—she itched her cheek—"for interrupting the lesson."

Miss Bustier nodded, showing a gracious smile. "Please take your seats and pull out your tablets. We're starting a pop quiz in a couple of minutes."

Adrien and Marinette nodded in sync, and he gracefully claimed his seat.

Her?

She tripped on the first step, greeted the second with her shin, and crawled the rest of the way. Once she was in her seat, her panic-struck eyes shot to Miss Bustier, only to be met by a knowing smile.

A sigh of relief slipped from Marinette's lips as she placed her backpack on her desk.

That relief was short-lived.

Alya leaned into her personal bubble, rocking a smirk. "Girl," she whispered, her eyes narrow with amusement. "Start. Talking."

Marinette played dumb. "About what?" she whispered back, hunched behind her backpack to avoid Miss Bustier's stare.

Alya rolled her eyes. "Seriously? You and Adrien just showed up to class together. Late. With super messy hair." She raised a brow. "There's gotta be a story there!"

"There's no story, Alya," she said through a sigh.

"Oh, come on." Alya eyed her from behind her tablet, her smirk growing. "Did you two finally make out in the utility closet?"

"ALYA!" Marinette screeched, somehow knocking her bag over the back of her desk. It brushed Adrien's back as it descended toward the wooden floor, meeting it with a dull thud.

"Marinette," said Miss Bustier, looking up from her laptop to send her a stern look, "if you arrive late, I expect you to do it discreetly."

She stooped her head low. "Sorry, Miss Bustier!"

Adrien turned in his chair - his tablet already laid out on his desk - and with a sympathetic smile, he heaved her bag off the floor. She nodded her thanks as he placed it on the desk. Only when he turned back to his tablet did she shoot Alya a glare.

"We both just happened to be late," she quietly growled, "and I kinda forgot to brush my hair, so Adrien messed his up to make me feel better. And to save us interrupting class twice, we decided to show up together." The slightest smirk Alya still showed only had her eyes rolling. "Need I remind you he's dating Kagami?"

That swept the smugness from her face. "All riiiight, I believe you." She watched, her eyes squinting in thought, as Marinette pulled her tablet from her backpack. "But hey, speaking of dating… How're things going with Luka?" Of course, her teasing smile returned; it never did seem to be gone for long. "Maybe it's him you're smooching in a closet, hmm?"

Thoughts of last night swarmed to the forefront of Marinette's mind, and her stomach churned at the reminder of Luka. "I… No! We're just hanging out." She set her backpack on the floor and turned back to her tablet, bringing up their pop quiz with a shaky finger.

Alya turned to her own tablet. "So, does that mean you guys haven't kissed yet?"

Marinette's cheeks flushed pink and she shook her head excessively. "Don't you think I'd tell you if we had?"

Alya lightly elbowed Marinette's side. "When it comes to you, girl, I never know what to think."

Briefly, she chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Okay. Fair point, but trust me, Alya, if I ever get a boyfriend, you'll be the first to know."

---

Usually, sitting behind Adrien was a blessing.

Today, it was a curse.

No matter how hard she tried, Marinette's eyes kept drifting to the boy ahead of her. She studied the curve of his broad shoulders, recalling all the times she'd seen them wrapped in leather. She strained her ears each time he spoke and now it was impossible to unhear her partner. And during last period, when Alya struck up a conversation with him, she caught her eyes travelling the defined arc of his jaw.

Now that she knew he was Chat Noir, she just couldn't unsee it.

"So, Adrien," Alya was saying, leaning over her desk. "You gonna come play Ultimate Mecha Strike III tomorrow?" She glanced between the two boys ahead. "I might also pull out Just Dance if I'm feeling a little bit groovy," she added, shimmying in her seat.

"Yeah, Alya!" Adrien said, his face alight. "I'll definitely be there this time!"

Marinette bolted upright in her seat, horror flashing across her face.

"Good to hear," Alya said beside her.

"Yeah! Would you believe my father said yes for a change?" Adrien tapped his lips, his eyes wandering up to the ceiling. "He's been in a pretty good mood lately… I think." He looked back at Alya, smiling. "Kagami's excited too. And maybe a bit nervous. She hasn't really hung out with more than a couple of friends at a time."

A splash of pity washed over Marinette. It'd been a while since her last orange juice outing with Kagami and she knew those meet-ups meant a lot to her. For a moment, she considered arranging another one.

That thought was quickly crushed by the glaring reminder that sat before her - otherwise known as Adrien Agreste.

Chat Noir.

Kagami's boyfriend.

She pulled her arms across her torso, her eyes sinking to the dented surface of her desk. She was almost certain a catch up with Kagami would end tragically. Heck, it would probably start tragically too—at least while her knowledge of Chat's identity was still fresh.

Adrien and Kagami's relationship had been – still was – extremely hard to swallow. Knowing Kagami's boyfriend was also Chat Noir somehow seemed to make things more complicated. And now that she thought about it, it was no wonder Chat had flirted with Ryuko last week, during their brief fight with Loveater.

Marinette had a feeling she'd continue to be struck by realisations like this for at least a few weeks. Understandable, considering she's been unknowingly crushing on her superhero partner this whole time. She barely bit back a groan at that lovely reminder. It sounded like the punchline of a very bad joke. Or maybe she was the punchline?

"I'm excited for Kagami to be a bigger part of our friend group," Alya was saying, a teasing lilt in her voice as she continued. "Especially now that you two are an item." She elbowed Marinette, prompting a wince. "Isn't that right, girl?"

Rubbing her aching side, Marinette grinned a little too widely at the boys seated below her. At any other time, the red that crept across Adrien's cheeks would've been adorable. Now, it twisted her heart.

"I – Uhh. Yeah." She hoped her smile seemed genuine, at least to Adrien. "I can – I mean, I can't wait!"

#ml fic #miraculous ladybug #you times two #adrinette #marichat #ladynoir #ladrien

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